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)
“Upset?” I repeat, shaking my head. “Upset would be an understatement. We went through four years of rebuilding. Four years of finishing in the last place and not making it to the playoffs, then for the past three years we choke in round one.”
“I know this is not what you want to hear,” Damien starts. “And I wish I had better news.”
I don’t bother saying anything because we are definitely on the same page. I get up, and they thank me for my time, and I walk out toward the locker room. I sit on the bench, looking around the room. The logo is in the middle of the room, and I remember walking in the first time and being in awe. Eighteen and drafted first to one of the teams that had the richest hockey dynasty. Twenty-four Stanley Cup banners hang in this arena. The fans in the city eat, breathe, and live hockey, and I was so fucking pumped to be a part of it.
Leo walks in and sits down in front of his name, the look on his face the same as mine. “That was fucking brutal.” He puts his head back. “It would have been better had we not even made the playoffs.”
I don’t agree with him out loud. “I’m going to head out. See you tomorrow.”
He nods at me. “Locker clean-out and more press.” He gets up. “Can’t wait.”
I laugh, walking out of the arena and getting into my car. My first thought is to call Alex, but I know that she’s in meetings this morning with Wilson. I can’t believe she moved to Dallas. I shake my head, still in shock. I mean, it’s not like we lived in the same city before her move, but New York was an hour flight. She would come here all the time and be gone the next morning, but she seems so far away. The burning in the pit of my stomach starts again, and I pick up the phone and call Erika, my agent and also my cousin’s wife.
“Hey,” she answers after one ring.
“Hi,” I respond, making my way home. “Can you talk?”
“Of course,” she says, and I hear clicking in the background, so I know she’s sitting at her desk.
“What are my options?” I say the four words and immediately hear the clicking stop. “I know my contract is up after this season.”
“It is,” she confirms, her voice low. “We have an offer on the table from Montreal. We spoke about it.”
“I know,” I say, parking my car. “But what do you think?”
“Dylan.” She says my name. “Where are you right now?”
“In my car,” I tell her.
“Okay, so you can talk freely?” she asks, and I laugh.
“Well, yeah.”
“Good,” she huffs out, and her voice goes tight. “I’m going to need you to start doing that and not playing a guessing game with me.”
I can’t help but laugh because I can picture her face and the way her teeth are probably clenched together. “Okay, what if I leave Montreal?” I ask and close my eyes. “I don’t know if it’s just the emotions of losing or what it is, but I want to know what my options are.”
She laughs. “You’re kidding, right?” she says, and I just sit here shocked. “You will have every single team coming in with an offer. The question you should be asking yourself is where do you want to go?”
“I have no idea,” I answer honestly.
“Why don’t you think about it, and then we can make a game plan? I don’t want you making a big decision like this because you’re pissed off.”
“I’m past pissed off, Erika,” I huff out. “They are talking about rebuilding the team.”
“Damn,” she says. “Okay, go think about it, and we can talk more tomorrow. No one is going to come in with contracts during playoffs, but if they know you aren’t signing with Montreal again, they might start calling in.”
“Okay. Let’s touch base tomorrow,” I say and hang up, opening the text to Alex
Me: Call me when you have a minute.
The phone rings as soon as I press send and get out of the car. “What’s wrong?” she says as soon as I answer.
“Why does something have to be wrong?” I ask as I walk up the steps to the house and open the front door.
“Because you never say call me when you have a minute,” she huffs out. “Usually, it’s like ‘can you get off your lazy ass and call me?’” I laugh when I hear Big Mac run through the house to get to me, her tail hitting the wall as she sees me—the golden Lab that I adopted when I came out here because I was lonely.
“Hey there, little lady.” I rub her neck and walk to the back door letting her out. “I never call you lazy.” I walk over to the couch and sit down.