Page 133 of In Your Wake

“What’s going on here?” he asks, pointing to his chin.

I rub my scruffy jaw. I have to agree with Max; seeing more of my face and not hiding it behind an overgrown beard is definitely refreshing.

“I needed a change.”

My shoulders slump as we take our seats, the weight of the world pressing down on me.

“All right. So, are you ready to sign?” Phil asks.

I frown. We both know that if I were ready to sign with the German team, I wouldn’t need to meet him in person, and I would have done it a while ago.

Phil is one of the best agents in the league—negotiations, even last-minute ones, are what he lives and breathes for. So, my wanting to meet him like this goes against his very fabric, and I can tell he knows. Anxiety swims in his slate-colored eyes.

“About that… I’ve got some news.”

He sighs, letting his head fall a little as he reaches for his vodka tonic. “You’re not signing, are you?” There’s no bitterness in his voice, only disappointment with a lack of surprise. He knew what was going to happen, which proves how well he knows me.

I drink some water, hoping to quench my dry throat. “No, Phil. I’m not.”

He settles his glass on the table with enough force to make the ice cubes rattle and keeps his eyes on it. “We don’t have time to keep shopping, Mitch, you know that.”

“And I’m not talking about shopping around. I’m leaving.”

“Leaving?” The space between his eyes wrinkles when he looks at me, and his frown intensifies. “The city?”

I shake my head. “The game.”

He leans in and drops his voice. “You’re… quitting? Kid, I love you, but you’re making a huge mistake.”

“Actually, I’d be making a mistake if I continued playing.”

He leans away, smiling. “So, what if you’re not a spring chicken? Who cares? You’re so fucking talented, Mitch. You can still take out any guy on the ice and—”

“That’s the thing,” I interrupt, lacing my fingers on the table. “When did that become all I’m good for? I never wanted to be the bully. I need to be more than that.”

“I agree. You are more. We’ll work on your reputation with that PR firm. We’ll change your image. I’ll talk to the coaches.”

I remember Liv, the beautiful strawberry-blond PR rep I spent some time with last year. She was crazy in bed, but somehow, when I imagine being teamed up with her again, I’m not filled with excitement, but with complete disinterest.

“I don’t want that, Phil. It’s not about my reputation. I’m not meant to play anymore. Deep down, even if you could change my image, I still wouldn’t do it.” I lean back and grin, relieved to speak my truth. “The game isn’t like it used to be. It doesn’t give me what it used to.”

Phil rubs his forehead, then runs his hand down his face. “I get it. It’s awful what happened to your dad, and I understand you’re upset. He was a good guy.”

“With all due respect, you never met him. You don’t know anything about him.”

“Agreed, but I know he gave you your drive. Your love of the game. Hockey’s in you, Mitch.” He grips my shoulder. Like any manager worth his salt, Phil looks fearful as if I’m slipping out from under him. “It’s in your blood. You can’t give it up. You’re just having a rough couple of months and—”

“I’m not talking about giving it up.”

Confused, he frowns at me.

“I spoke with Tremblay.”

“Logan Tremblay? What about?”

“We’re starting a podcast.”

“A podcast?” Phil looks stunned but amused.