Chapter 51
CHAPTER
FIFTY-ONE
CHANCE
I used to think the worst thing about playing pro hockey was the risk of concussions, which happens sometimes, even when you’re wearing a helmet.
But I was wrong.
The worst thing about being a pro athlete is that I can’t sit on the couch and drink away my sorrows after a break up—an almost break up. A potential breakup? Whatever it is April is upset. I’m the one who upset her, and it all hurts like crazy.
Sadly, my new coach doesn’t care that my love life is in shambles.
My teammates don’t care that April hasn’t responded to any of my texts.
The physical therapist could care less that I don’t feel like eating.
Forcing my body to move, follow the PT schedule, and focus on training is supposed to be a distraction. I throw myself one hundred percent into my routine.
But none of it helps.
Instead of being able to fall asleep, I end up staring at the ceiling, beating my head against the wall trying to understand where it all went wrong.
Why didn’t I get those text messages from April?
I’m still pondering the question during lunch when my phone buzzes.
The moment I see the name on screen, I push away the food I didn’t feel like eating anyway and answer eagerly. “Hello?”
“Mr. McLanely, I have an update for you,” the lawyer’s crisp tone fills my ears.
I straighten my shoulders. “Did you find any evidence?”
“No.”
My shoulders tighten. “Crowley, we’re running out of time here.”
“Unfortunately, my hands are tied.”
Those tied hands sure cost a fortune. I shake my head. “That’s not good enough.”
The lawyer sighs. “It is extremely difficult to find evidence without a witness statement.”
“I don’t want to involve April until we have something solid,” I say firmly. “Dragging her back to that moment over and over again is not something I’m willing to do.”
“I’m aware of your preferences, but there’s a reason cases are built on victim statements. I informed you of this from the moment you hired me. If we can’t find evidence, the statement is a must.”
I squeeze the bridge of my nose. “Even if we submit one, the harassment and discrimination took place between April and her boss. No one else was in the room at the time. I’m no lawyer, but even I know we can’t build a case on ‘he-said, she-said’. It has to be more substantial than that if we’re going to make this guy pay.”
The lawyer remains quiet, which tells me I’m right.
I hunker over the table. My voice is low but heated. “This guy took April into his office, looked her right in the eyes, made unsolicited remarks about her appearance and then fired her. That wasn’t a one-off incident. It’s a habit. I know we can find other women to come forward if we keep searching.”
“That’s the other issue. This man seems very well-respected in the town. Our investigators haven’t found anyone willing to say anything negative.”
There’s a hint of a question in there. As if I’m sending him and his team on a witch hunt after an innocent man.
I fold my fingers into fists. “Small town closets aren’t any different than big city ones. Give it a shake and the skeletons will fall out.”
“I’ll keep working every angle, but don’t get your hopes up, McLanely. Sometimes, shielding the victim and not letting them tell their story hurts more than helps in the end.”
The lawyer hangs up and I massage the bridge of my nose. My temple is throbbing and I wish I could pop a Tylenol and go to sleep.
Unfortunately, I have afternoon training and a suit fitting for the conference tomorrow.
A few hours later, Derek picks me up from the rink and takes me to the fitting. My hair is still damp from the shower since training ran late and I didn’t have much time to do anything with it.
Derek talks loudly on the phone beside me, “No, Sinclair. I don’t want just any makeup artist. I want the world’s best. Give me one of those guys who work on those K-pop idols. I want this guy’s face plastered on the walls of teenaged girls. I want crazed fans lining up around the block, willing to jump into traffic for him.”
I give Derek a squeamish look.
Derek waves away my concern like a common mosquito. He keeps negotiating on the phone and finally hangs up.
“That was the new PR company. I upgraded to a team that works with A-list Hollywood celebrities. Cost me an arm and a leg, but the results speak for themselves.”
I give my fidget spinner a flick. “Why are you talking to Hollywood PR companies?”
“Chance, did that small town mess with your brain or your eyes?”
I scowl.
Derek doesn’t seem to notice and prattles on. “You’re not seeing the big picture. You’re thinking too small.”
“I’m thinking about hockey.” And April. “I pay you to do the rest.”
My agent hooks an arm around the back of his seat and swivels his body so he’s facing me. Those eyes that only see dollar signs are beaming with excitement. He does a flick of his wrist so his Rolex catches the light. “You were all about hockey before and look where that got you?”
“I was suspended,” I say flatly.
“Precisely.” Derek delivers the word with a dramatic flair. “An athlete’s true value isn’t his stats. It’s his influence. And you Chance McLanely have magnified influence. ”
“We’ve talked about this, Derek. I’d rather be known for my skill.”
“It’s too late for that. If I hadn’t stepped in and saved your reputation, no one would have remembered your skill on the ice. You would have been known for that suspension.”
I give the fidget spinner another tap, annoyed but unable to argue back when it’s the truth.
“The thing is, Chance, your story is exactly the kind that people prefer. No one cares about a talented hockey player who exceeds at everything. But they do love an underdog. That’s exactly what you are. You fell to the bottom and then rose to the top in such a spectacular fashion that the world took notice. More people know you now than in your best days pre-suspension.”
“I wasn’t happy with that suspension, Derek. And I’m not proud of having to lie to get it back.”
He scoffs and faces ahead. “For someone who’s not proud, I don’t see you complaining about getting exactly what you want out of it. Anyway, the league is a stepping stone, a tool in the hands of an expert artist, if you will.” He taps his palm. “With your influence and my know-how, we’ll be the Michael Jordan of the league.”
“Michael Jordan?”
“I’m thinking your own skates. Your own sneakers. Your own arena.”
“Derek, take a breath. Who said I wanted all that?”
“Whether you want it or not, it’s coming.”
I stare at my agent as he taps furiously on his phone. A thought filters through my mind. The day April got sent to the hospital, I’d been on set for a photoshoot and Derek had my phone. The device had been turned off at the time, so when April accused me of ignoring her message, I hadn’t once suspected Derek.
But now…
“Do I still need to date April in this grand future of yours?” I ask cautiously.
“Of course not!” Derek rambles, still distracted by his phone. “The small-town, humble-pie thing worked for a season, but now you’d be better off with someone who matches your prestige. I’m thinking of someone more… aspirational.”
“And April isn’t aspirational?”
“April’s too Plain Jane, Girl Next Door. She was great when you wanted sympathy. People related to her and so they related to you. But for this next stage,” he keeps tapping, “it won’t work. I’ll get in contact with some B-list actresses who do intense humanitarian efforts. You still want to portray yourself as a good person. That’s important.”
As he speaks, the truth becomes clearer and clearer. The fidget spinner comes to an abrupt stop.
“Derek,” I say gravely.
“Hm,” he speaks without looking up.
“Did you delete April’s texts the night of the photoshoot?”
Derek’s eyes don’t stray from his phone, but I see his jaw tightening. His grip on the cell gets much tighter.
“Why would you ask that?” he says uncertainly.
In that moment, I feel a distinct sense of sadness. For all his uncouth habits and lavish lifestyle, Derek is the one who saw something in me before anyone else did.
He scouted me in college and promised he’d get me into the league. He kept that promise and has been keeping all his promises since then, helping me go after bigger and bigger contracts and larger brand deals.
Thanks to Derek, I even got a chance to play with legends in an All-Star tournament, a pro-athlete’s dream.
Too late, I’m realizing that Derek promised me we’d make history together, but he never actually promised that I’d be proud of that history.
“Derek?”
“Hm?”
“You’re fired.”
His eyebrows hike to the top of his forehead.
“Stop the car,” I growl.
The driver rolls the car to a stop.
I pocket my fidget spinner, calmly open the door, and step into the black night.