Page 39 of For Pucking Ever

That’s the kind of energy we need in this league. Toronto ran scared too soon.

#TheirLoss #SeattleSmarterStrategy

So, here are the key questions:

Will Seattle be the home of Derrick’s comeback story?

Will they tuck him into their goalie rotation like the precious butterfly he is while he rehabs?

Will Sebastian and Baby Shaw reunite under the same roof and maybe the same sheets?

Stay tuned, shawties.

The season hasn’t even started and we’re already on thin freakin’ ice.

I’ve got my notifications set for breaking news, three burner accounts following staff, and a cousin’s roommate who works at the Seattle practice facility. Trust and believe, when this story develops, you’ll hear it from me first.

#InvestigativeJournalism #StalkingForContent

This has been HockeyHomeGurlHattie, live from the eye of the hockey hurricane. Stay hot. Stay messy. And never trust a franchise that wears black and white and calls it fashion (points finger at Toronto).

Like seriously, who told them those colors work together?

It’s giving corporate bathroom vibes, and Baby Shaw deserves better.

Smash that subscribe button. Hit that notification bell.

And remember: Hockey gossip is my love language.

HockeyHomeGurlHattie Out!

SIXTEEN

DERRICK

"Derek," Tony's voice had that tight, clipped edge that told me everything before he even said it. "They're letting you go."

I blinked up at the night sky as I stepped into Lia’s backyard, the weight of those four words sinking in like a stone, heavy and cold in my chest. I knew it was coming but not like this. "What?"

"It's a mutual buyout. That's the best I could do." Tony sighed, and I could picture him pinching the bridge of his nose, the way he always did when delivering bad news. "Otherwise, they were going to keep you benched indefinitely, keep you on long-term IR with no playing time, no pathway back, just. . .wait it out. Let you rot in hockey purgatory until your contract expired."

"They're giving up on me?" My voice sounded small. Hollow. Like someone had scooped out everything inside me and left just the shell. After everything, the playoff run, the blood I'd spilled on that ice, the concussion that still made the world tilt sometimes when I stood too quickly.

"They're protecting their cap space, not investing in you. That's the business side of this. It’s not personal." Tony's voice softened slightly. "I fought for you, kid. I swear I did. I told them you were worth the time. That you could recover. That you're only twenty-two⁠—"

"Twenty-three in two months," I muttered, counting the stars in the sky, hoping they somehow had the answers to all my problems. Another year gone. Another dream fading.

"Exactly. You've got time. You've got game. But Toronto doesn't want to wait." The determination crept back into his voice. "So, we're not going to let them hang you out to dry. You walk. You walk with your dignity, your freedom, and you let me do my job. That's what you pay me for, remember?"

Silence stretched between us. I could hear the traffic moving around the neighborhood and a commotion from inside the house but I couldn't focus on that at the moment. Life was continuing while mine felt suspended in amber.

"There are teams who will give you the space to heal. Teams who see what you're worth long-term." Tony was in full agent mode now, rapid and reassuring. "I've already reached out to a few. I'll keep you close to your mom, close to familiar ice. I promise, Derrick, we'll find the right fit. Someone who believes in you the way I do, the way your mom does. And I'll be there every step of the way, through rehab, through training, through whatever comes next."

Just like that, it was over.

Weeks of uncertainty after the call as I got my affairs in Toronto in order. Weeks away from Bast. My future hung in the balance while Tony worked his magic. No ceremony. No press conference. No thank-you from the team I bled for in the playoffs. Just a plane ticket and a quiet call in my hotel room, along with an email full of signatures and clauses I didn't even read. The PDF attachment might as well have been written in hieroglyphics. All I saw was the finality of it.

A few hours later, I was back in Seattle, walking through SeaTac with a baseball cap pulled low, dragging a duffel bag that felt heavier than it should. My shoulders burned under its weight, or maybe that was just the disappointment settling into my bones. Faces blurred past me, some probably recognized me, some didn't. I kept my eyes on the speckled floor tiles, counting steps to keep from thinking.