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“Cassidy? It’s Will.”
My agent. I sat up and cleared my throat. Will Koker was as much of a conversationalist as I was, which was one of the things I liked about him. He got to the point. But that also meant when he called, he had a point to make.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“You skipped out last night before we got to talk. What time is your flight today?”
“Was supposed to be a half hour ago. Overslept.”
“Got time for some lunch then?”
Why not?It wasn’t like I wanted to rush home anyway. “Sure.”
“Twelve in the hotel restaurant?”
“Sounds good.”
I stayed in bed another hour before showering and packing my shit. The team travel agent rebooked me on a five o’clock flight, so I figured I’d check out of the room and head to the airport after lunch.
Will was already seated at the table, on his cell phone as usual, when I walked into the restaurant. He waved me over.
“Alright, let me talk to my client,” he said. “But if he agrees, we’re going to need approval of the final copy for the script and an acting coach to work with him on his lines. And of course, first-class accommodations.” He gestured for me to sit and laughed into the phone. “No, thanks. I don’t need any.”
He swiped the phone off and set it down on the table. “Freaking Viagra-type commercial offer for one of my retired clients. I’m presenting the offer over the phone, because there’s a distinct possibility he might punch me when I tell him about it.” Will shook his head. “Why can’t these advertising companies want tennis players or baseball wimps? Nope. They gotta have the biggest, burliest, toughest hockey guys to promote their shit.”
I laughed. “Just putting this out there now. You can decline if they ever come for me. Don’t care how broke I am. Not peddling dick pills.”
Will’s phone vibrated on the table. He checked the screen, but then hit the button at the top. “Sorry about that. Things have been hairy lately.”
“Uh-oh,” I said. “You never turn that thing off. Should I be scared of what this lunch is about?”
“I turn it off.”
“No, you don’t. I saw you answer it at Vince Farone’s funeral.”
“That was an important call. I was negotiating the longest contract extension the league’s ever seen.”
“So is today just a friendly lunch, then? You felt like shooting the shit?”
“Not exactly…”
The waitress came over and asked to take our drink orders. Will ordered a scotch on the rocks. I wasn’t normally a day drinker—or much of a night one, for that matter—but I thought I might need it today. For multiple reasons.
“I’ll take a vodka 7UP.”
“Coming right up.”
Will leaned back in his chair. “Talk to me. What’s going on with you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Your game is off. You’re even less friendly than usual. And when I called Doug Allen to open up discussions about another contract extension the other day, he said your coach had mentioned he thought maybe you were looking to retire. He said he usually sees a change in his players right before they hang up their skates. Thought he might be seeing that in you.”
Oh fuck. I scrubbed my hands over my face. “I’m definitely not ready to retire.”
“Something going on? You nursing an injury you don’t want to tell anyone about because you’re afraid you’ll get benched and some whippersnapper will steal your spot?”
“No. It’s not that.”
