Chapter 22
Season End
Sam sank into despair during the weeks that followed, watching helplessly as his team was eliminated from the playoffs in six. Guilt and what-ifs ate at him. What if he’d been healthy? What if he’d been able to contribute on the ice instead of stuck cheering from the press box?
The lone bright spot was Angie. Helping her with the animals at the shelter and letting Mr. Claws climb him.
Cuddling with her on the couch during a movie.
Getting lost in her every time they made love.
These were the ties that kept him grounded to sanity, like the stakes that held a tent in place in a howling wind.
He leaned on her harder than he cared to admit. It wasn’t healthy. It wasn’t normal.
At least his ankle had turned a corner. He was almost back to normal, though it wasn’t much consolation.
The day came for the players to clean out their stalls for the final time this season.
The mood inside the dressing room was somber, the jokes subdued.
As Sam’s gaze traveled around the dressing room, he couldn’t help but wonder which guys would be back next season, which ones would be gone.
Would he be standing at this stall or a different one in a different town? Or no stall at all?
What was coming?
One last dinner tonight—it was the last time they’d all be together as a team. Would he be one of those guys missing from the roster next season?
Then there was the bonus money. No one would know the exact amount until the playoffs were over and the league distributed the payouts, but the structure for who got what was already in place for the Blizzard—and it was still a mystery how much Sam would get, assuming he got anything.
The question festered like a blister that refused to heal.
He’d tried to have a sit-down with Coach, but the man had told Sam he had no updates about his future. Decisions would be made at the end of the Cup finals, about a month away—and mere weeks before Sam’s two-way contract expired.
As Sam was placing his belongings in his truck, his brother’s ringtone sounded. “Jo-ee! What’s happening?”
“Hey, bro. Sorry about your team’s early exit. How you holding up?”
“I’m good,” Sam lied.
“Yeah? Any updates on next year’s contract?”
Sam masked the wrench in his gut. “Nothing yet, but that’s not unusual.
Teams don’t usually talk contract during playoffs.
” Except the Blizzard’s playoff run was over.
But that was the line his agent had used to reassure him.
Herb had heard only radio silence whenever he reached out to the GM, while other Blizzard players’ agents were having conversations with management.
He’d told Sam not to worry. “You’ve done everything they’ve asked, the ankle’s healed, and they’ve got good tape on you. ”
Joey brought him back to the present. “You played in the NHL all season, so that makes you a bona fide NHLer, right?”
“So I’m told.” As long as there were no offers on the table, though, Sam didn’t have the NHL security he craved.
Everything was up in the air, suspended in hypercharged limbo.
“My agent tells me to hang tight, that everything will shake out.” Herb had simply repeated what he told every client he worried would spiral out of control.
Meanwhile, decisions about Sam’s future were being made without him on the ice, and replacement players like Toby and the hotshot minor league call-ups had been auditioning in real time.
“I’m sure he’s right. It’s why you pay him the big bucks.” Joe laughed at his own joke. Sam didn’t. “Uh, speaking of bucks, that’s one of the reasons I’m calling. I enrolled for summer semester, and you wanted to know the amount.”
Sam braced himself. “When’s it due?”
“Wednesday?”
“Today’s Monday, Joe.”
“Yeah, I know, and I’m sorry for getting behind. But like I’ve told you before, you don’t have to foot the bill for my education.”
This had been an ongoing debate ever since Joey had started college. Couldn’t he understand Sam was fulfilling a promise to Mom?
Sam deflated on a sigh. “Send it. I’ll see if I can move some money around. Talked to Dad lately?”
“Yeah. He sounded down.”
Alarm bells began a steady clang in Sam’s head. “I just talked to him a few days ago, and he sounded fine.”
“He always puts up a good front for his pro-hockey-player son,” Joe chuffed, though Sam didn’t detect any resentment. “Between you and me, I think he could use a visit from you. Got any plans?”
“Hadn’t made any yet.” Not before finding out where his life was going to land. The thought of facing his dad when everything was so unsettled rattled Sam to the core. His dad would ask questions, and Sam’s poker face might not remain intact.
“Well, maybe I can get there before the semester starts.”
“I’ll get you the airfare.” Sam had room on his credit card, didn’t he?
“You don’t need to do that, bro.”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Sam, sometimes I think you take on way more than you need to. In any case, I want you to know how much I appreciate everything you’re doing for me and Dad.”
They hung up, leaving Sam in a crisp spring breeze staring at the inside of his truck. He could always sell it if he needed more cash. He sagged against the door, welcoming the support.
How did I get here? I was finally where I belonged.
This was supposed to be my year. The most important games had happened without him, and he’d lost the chance to prove himself.
To show everyone he could play under pressure.
To show everyone he was a gamer. He’d had no control over the narrative because he hadn’t been able to “play through it,” like he might have done with a different injury.
His only choice had been to rehab and wait. And time had run out.
He locked up the truck and headed back to the arena for today’s PT session. When he entered the lobby, Attila the Bun was nowhere in sight, and he arrowed straight for Angie’s table.
She looked up, concern in her bright blue eyes. “Hey,” she said softly. “Rough day?”
“Cleaning out a locker at the end of a crap season is never a good time,” he bit, immediately regretting his harsh tone.
She didn’t flinch, going through her motions with practiced precision, which only served to chafe at him.
“I know something that might make you feel better,” she offered. It wasn’t a sexy come-on, and he shot her a puzzled look. She hesitated a tick, then went on. “Dora let me know Mr. Claws got adopted. Isn’t that great? He found his forever home.”
So swift he nearly lost his breath, Sam’s heart compressed. He wouldn’t get a chance to have the little guy climb him again. What had he expected, though? When your priority was chasing the game, you didn’t have time for distractions like pets.
“Yeah, that’s awesome.” His monotone probably didn’t fool her, but mercifully, she didn’t challenge him.
His brain became a whirlpool endlessly spinning the same bits of debris it couldn’t eject.
When he was settled on his back, he asked her again to come to the dinner with him.
“It’s the last event of the year,” he posed, “and every player’s significant other will be there. I really want you there too.”
“Sam, you know we can’t.”
He propped himself up on his elbows. “Why not? The season’s officially over, and I’m probably not going to be with the team anymore, so what does it matter?
” The words were bitter in his mouth. But what did it matter?
They’d been out together in public a bunch, and no one had called them on it.
Denver was a big city, and he wasn’t famous.
She bent over his ankle, her ponytail tickling his skin. “Just because we haven’t been outed doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.”
“Do you let your hair fall across other guys’ body parts when you’re working on them?”
She brought herself upright. “Excuse me?”
He pointed. “Your hair. It’s all over my ankle. Do you do that with every guy you treat?”
Her eyes went puck-wide. “Not that I’m aware. Sam, I don’t think—”
“Fuck it.” He lay back down with a huff. “And fuck going with me tonight. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.” He knew he was being a sarcastic dick, but somehow he couldn’t stop himself.
“Do you want to talk about what’s bothering you later, after you’re done with the dinner?”
“No, I don’t want to talk,” he snapped.
Silence stretched between them, and for the first time as far back as he could remember, he wanted this time with Angie to be over. He practically vibrated with a need to escape.
Angie stole covert glances at her crabby patient.
Knowing it was locker clean-out day, she’d been prepared for some kind of fallout, but she hadn’t anticipated Sam coming to PT spoiling for a fight.
She got it, she really did. He was agitated, pissed about circumstances she couldn’t comprehend because she didn’t understand the whole picture, and she was a convenient target smack in the center of his vision, a big fat bull’s-eye painted on her chest. It wasn’t fair, but her emotions leaned toward sympathy, not anger, and frustration that she couldn’t help him.
Was she selfish for turning him down for dinner tonight?
She was motivated by self-preservation, that constant sword hanging over her head that was the fear of losing her job.
Part of her hoped the Blizzard didn’t renew his contract because then they really couldn’t be accused of fraternizing within the same organization.
That was selfish too. And if he got his wish and stayed with the team?
A different part of her cringed. How would this ever work?
Guess you should have thought of that before you fell for him again, dummy.
“I want to try something new today,” she said.