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He won’t take that deal. Doesn’t matter what they offer, he’s not going to play for a team that has me on the roster.
Present Day
Nigel
I’ve been sitting in my car for ten minutes, trying to work up the nerve to go inside. I check my phone, noting I still have twenty minutes before I’m supposed to meet with the GM. I’ll probably die of heat stroke by then, but even that might be preferable to seeing Corwin. I rub my palms vigorously over my face, and pull down the visor to check the mirror. I didn’t sleep last night and, unfortunately, that’s exactly how I look. Hopefully, my naturally brown skin will hide the fact that I’m pale and have bags under my eyes. This isn’t the face a new team wants to be presented with.
Sighing, I slap the visor back into place, and shove the door open. I can’t sit here all day, and the odds of Corwin being here already are pretty slim.But he’ll be here eventually. I wonder if he’s thinking today about what happened six years ago. I wonder if he thought about it every time we’ve played against one another in the past, facing off across that red line.
I tried to pretend it never happened. I took the ice with whatever team I was playing for at the time, and I treated him the same way I treated everyone else. Shame, anger, and regret bubbled to the surface every time I skated out of the chute; how lucky for me that I play a sport where it’s so easy to release aggression.
I need to be the bigger man and apologize. But I’m not the bigger man, am I? I’m the man who pushed him against a wall and held him there until he told me to stop. I’m the man who didn’t hear him say no, and didn’t stop until he shoved me away. I’m a piece of shit.
I’m so caught up in my thoughts of Corwin that I barely register someone calling my name. I turn around and see Troy Nichols half-jogging across the parking lot toward me, smiling like he’s actually happy to see me.
“Hey! Welcome to South Carolina.”
“Yeah, thanks.” He settles in beside me and matches my stride. “Did you, ah, have a good summer?”
Now he’sreallysmiling, joy radiating off of him like sunshine. “I had a great summer. My boyfriend and I went to Ireland. Have you ever been? How was your summer?”
My mind snags onboyfriendand the casual way he just threw that out. I don’t follow any of the gossip that circulates about NHL players, but even I would have heard rumors about an openly gay player. I realize I’ve been awkwardly silent, and that he asked me a question. Scrambling, I try to think of a way to respond that isn’t an outright lie.
“Uh, yeah, my summer was okay, I guess.” Actually, my summer was spent waking up each morning in a cold sweat, dreading the upcoming season. Corwin Sanhover, front and center, each and every day—fuck my life. “Oh, and no, I’ve never been.”
“You should go sometime, it’s really beautiful.” His smile slips a bit as he considers me, reaching out to hold the door for us. “Sorry about the trade, it must have been tough to leave again.”
Itistough to get traded. And truthfully, I had loved being back in Canada. But I’m well used to being traded by now, and I can hardly tell him the exact reason why this trade stings more than the others.
“Yeah, it was. Thanks.” I shrug, trying to shake it off. We’re inside the arena now, and I look around vaguely, wondering if there are any signs posted that might show me the way to the GM’s office. No such luck. “Hey I don’t suppose you know where Mr. Frank’s office is? I’ve got a meeting with him.”
The smile completely disappears this time, and he looks like he wishes he had a different answer for me. “Yeah, I can show you where it’s at.” He brightens again. “I can introduce you to Sam along the way!”
He strides off and I follow, wondering who the hell Sam is and why I’m meeting him. Eventually, we come to what appears to be the administrative section of the building, and we stop outside of a door that readsSam Jameson, Strategy Analyst. I frown at the sign, even more confused now. Nichols knocks lightly and a low, masculine voice calls us in. I hesitate in the hallway, but end up following him inside; probably best not to alienate someone who is actually going out of their way to welcome me to the team.
Sam Jameson, Strategy Analyst, is a smoke show. Also, definitely off limits as he unfolds himself from his desk chair and reaches a hand out to Nichols, brushing a hand tenderly down his arm in a way that screams familiarity.
“Nigel St. James, this is Sam.” Nichols is smiling proudly at me when he introduces Sam, and I can’t help but return it as I step forward to shake hands.
“Nice to meet you. You guys can just call me Saint, though, if you want. Otherwise, it’s kind of a mouthful.”
Sam has rounded his desk and is leaning against the outside edge, one knee pressed against Nichol’s leg. I wonder if he also spent the summer in Ireland.
“Saint.” Nichols tries out. “Cool. I’m just Troy.”
Sam laughs, and then looks over at me appraisingly. “I’ve just been watching an old video of you, actually.”
“Sorry.”
His eyebrows wing upward, and, beside him, Troy laughs and shakes his head. “Corwin says you’ll make a good addition to the team, and he’s never wrong.”
Does he?I try to school my facial expression into blandness, but some of my shock must bleed through as Sam’s head tilts a bit to the side and he watches me with discerning brown eyes. When he looks back over at Nichols, his features melt back into fondness;oh yeah, if this isn’t the Ireland boyfriend, I’ll eat my own leg.
“Well, anyway, I just wanted to introduce you guys. But I can show you down to Mr. Frank’s office now.”
“Thanks, Nich—I mean, Troy.” I nod at Sam. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.” Sam walks back around his desk, shooting Troy a look that makes him flush. “Have a good practice.”
