Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 84344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
I push open the door and grab the seat, putting the twenty files in front of me. “Hope you’re ready.” I sit down. “We have over one hundred and fifty submissions,” I relay, and his eyes go big.
“Wait, what?” he asks me, shocked.
“Well, I took it in my hands,” I say, smiling. “And I reached out to the different hockey associations in the city and asked them to have the coaches submit some names for the program.” I open the file and hand him the questionnaire I sent to all of them with the criteria they had to meet. “Needless to say, it went over really well.”
“You did all this.” He grabs the sheet, looking down at it and then his eyes go over to the files that are beside me.
“It’s my job. Now let’s start at the top.”
Chapter 3
Dylan
I park my truck and get out, looking over at Leo, who gets here at the same time. He steps out of his own truck wearing the same tracksuit I’m wearing. The only difference is that I’m wearing a baseball hat backward. “Hey.” I motion with my chin up at him. He comes over, shaking my hand, and then we pull each other close. It’s almost as if we know that one of us is leaving the team, if not both of us. “How are you doing?” I ask as we walk inside the locker room.
“Same old shit,” he says, scratching his eyebrow, going to his spot in the dressing room. It’s been two days since we were kicked out of the playoffs, and even two days later, it hurts. More this time than any other time.
“Stone,” the public relations manager, Gilles, calls my name. “You’re up.”
I take a deep breath before getting up and following him to the same room I was in two nights ago. I grab a bottle of water and then go to sit down in front of the microphone. “Afternoon,” I mumble, folding my hand in front of me, and my other hand comes up to play with the beard I have as I wait for the questions.
“Hi, Dylan.” David from SportsCenter starts the questions. “Just in listening to your other teammates before you and they are all committed to put this series behind you guys and focus on the goal for next season. Are you on the same page?”
My head screams no. “Well, obviously, it’s still fresh and very raw,” I start as the sadness creeps into me. “Obviously, we have to get over it at some point and move on.”
The rest of the questions are the same, just worded differently, and no matter what they are trying to get out of me, I will never say anything. When I get up and walk out of the room, I see David, the GM of the team, with Damien, the coach. “How did it go?” David asks me, and I just shrug.
“It went how it was supposed to go,” I reply, looking around to see some of my teammates carrying boxes as they clean up their locker space.
“I heard your father is taking over the coaching job in New York,” Damien says, and I just shrug.
“That’s what they are saying.” I won’t ever tell him anything that has to do with my family. Unless my father comes out and announces it, which I know he will next week. “Not sure yet.”
“Do you have a couple of minutes to talk to us?” David asks, and I nod as he leads us down the blue carpet toward his office. The office I first stepped into when I was drafted here eight years ago. It was surreal back then. Now it’s just frustration.
“We just want to tell you how much we value you in the organization.” Damien starts to talk. “You wear that C on your shoulder because there are lots of men on the team who look up to you and follow your lead.”
I nod my head. “I’m not going to lie. This time, losing it fucking sucks,” I say as I squish the water bottle in my hand. “We were the better team all season long.” I shake my head trying to forget, but this time I can’t.
“We know,” David says. “And we also know we have lots of contracts that are coming to an end and”—he looks down—“I know many of them are moving on.”
“Are you telling me what I think you’re telling me?” I sit up now.
“We want to make sure that you are on the same page as us,” Damien says. “A rebuild is not something that is easy to do.”
“A rebuild,” I reply, shocked. “We’ve been rebuilding for the past seven years,” I say, my voice going higher a touch. “Like, what the fuck are you talking about?”
“We know that you are upset,” David starts, and I throw my head back and laugh.