Page 134 of In Your Wake

“You remember he’s just as obsessed with the game as I am. It’s going to be fun.”

And possibly hectic and chaotic, but in a good way, I think with a smile.

Phil leans back in his chair as if I’ve told him the most shocking news. “You’re fucking with me.”

“No, I’m not,” I answer with a chortle. “Who wouldn’t want to hear us two bums chatting hockey?”

He cocks his head. “Mitch, you’re thirty-one. You’ve got years to play before you turn to podcasts.”

“The hip’s bad, Phil. Worse than I’ve let on.”

I confide in him, tell him about the secret doctor visits, the X-rays, the fourth opinion, even the attempts with Eastern medicine, and admit that nothing has worked. Turns out that finally telling him the truth, admitting my weakness isn’t as scary as I imagined it would be—it’s actually a massive relief getting it off my chest.

“And the hip is only what started this ball rolling,” I add. “Since my dad died, I’ve seen things differently.”

“Mourning a loved one does that to a guy. And if you need more time off to deal with his passing, we’ll work something out. I’m sure the team will understand. But this isn’t the way.” He pastes a wide, confident grin on his face. “Why don’t you take a couple more weeks to recuperate? I’ll get an extension on the contract. They’ll wait. If we need to keep some details from them, then so be it.”

“Phil, I’m not going to Germany,” I state with a bit more firmness. “And I’m done with the lying and manipulation. That’s not what the game is about. I’m not taking up a spot some other kid could fill. I know there’s a young player out there who would be great in my position. Someone that wants it more than I do. That lives for it. They deserve it more than I do.”

Defeated, Phil glances away with a heavy sigh. He’s angry, and I’m sure after years of working with me, this isn’t the outcome he expected, but I still see his wheels turning. He’s trying to come up with an argument to convince me, and that’s why he’s the best.

“Tremblay and I are doing this. And it’ll be good for me,” I add before he tries to argue some more. “I could work remotely, which would be ideal for where I’m headed.”

His eyes return to mine. “So, you’re leaving New York?”

I nod as our lunch arrives—two steaks Phil ordered before I got here, I guess.

“But you love it here,” Phil points out, ignoring his food.

“I used to,” I say, glancing out the window at the bustling city street. Instantly, my chest tightens, and I long for the crisp Oakwhite morning air. “Not anymore.”

Phil shakes his head, then glares at his plate. He takes his frustration out on his steak, slicing into it like an angry caveman.

“What the hell happened, Mitch? You went off to Oakwhite a team player and came back this introspective old man?” A smirk hints at the corner of his mouth, telling me he’s not that upset, and I laugh.

“I’m the oldest thirty-one-year-old guy you know,” I joke, cutting into my filet mignon.

“True.” He chews slowly, thinking about what to say next. “I’m just… shocked. This isn’t how I thought our meeting would go.”

“I’m sure it isn’t. But I hope you understand this is what I need.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he replies, taking another bite.

I’ve known Phil long enough to tell when he’s actually pissed, and I’m happy to see that this isn’t one of those times.

“Ah, come on, Phil.” I raise my water with a chuckle. “You know I’ll always love you. And you better come visit once I’m all settled.”

He rolls his eyes, fighting a smile, then clinks his glass to mine. “Shut up. Eat your food. This lunch is costing me a fortune.”

Max

“There’d better be extra chocolate glazed in there,” I say as I open the door.

Zayne looks insulted, standing in the hall holding a box of donuts. “Who do you take me for? As if I’d show up without.”

He comes in, shutting the door behind him as I crack open the box and steal a donut. The sticky treat floods me with delight as I lift it to my mouth and settle onto the couch, my feet tucked cozily beneath me.

“So, what’s going on?” Zayne asks, setting the box on the coffee table. He bites into a crueler, and crumbs fall onto his olive-green T-shirt, which he hurries to scoop up.