3. Sawyer
3
SAWYER
I ce chips fly from my blades as I come to a hard stop after Coach Knight calls time. We practiced hard and my muscles are sore in the best way. The guys are all spent, sweaty, and pumped up. The new season starts next month, and the Titans are more than ready.
We cleaned house last season, taking home the Stanley Cup and the Hart Memorial Cup. Even though the Hart Memorial Cup is only for Canadian leagues, I think it holds more clout to them than the Stanley. National Pride. Since my home is in Toronto at present, I share that pride with my Canadian brothers on the team.
But after the Hart Memorial Cup was stolen last season from the arena, the committee has it locked in a box somewhere instead of on display at the Blizzard Dome. The location is top secret. I’m picturing a big warehouse full of wooden crates like at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark .
The Titans’ owner, Malcom Chase, and a few other hockey club owners are rallying for them to change that, promising better security measures. That’s the extent of the drama this season, and I’m fine with that. My personal life is crazy enough, thanks.
The few unread texts from my sister have been sitting on my phone like little red pimples begging to be popped. The latest updates on our parents, probably. But I just don’t have the head space for that right now. I haven’t even checked my phone since I dropped off Maggie at Owen’s house the other day.
She’d stormed inside, and I waited on the street until Owen and Emily arrived a couple hours later. Apparently, the cops blocked the exits to the bar and didn’t let anyone leave until they were questioned. Owen told them he didn’t see anything. He’s a good friend.
“O’Malley.” Coach Knight calls to me just as I get off the ice. The permanent scowl on his face is deepened as he inclines his head in the direction of my agent Bruce, waiting to see me.
Standing next to Bruce is Hannah, the Titan’s social media manager. Hannah is always filming us, always has her phone out, and likes to get the players involved in silly viral dance moves. I steer clear of that circus.
“They want a word with you,” Coach says. “But make it quick. We’ve got videos in thirty.”
“Sure thing, Coach.”
“And while you’re talking to Hannah, could you ask her to keep her camera off me? Her last post makes it look like I’m in the middle of a sneeze.” He grunts and walks away, shaking his head.
I slip on my blade guards and meet Bruce and Hannah where they are. Bruce has been trying to get me to do more promo stuff for the team. Maybe that’s what this is about. The answer will be no, of course. Just like the last three or four times he asked.
When I reach them, though, Bruce’s face looks grim, while Hannah is biting her lip.
“I don’t exactly know where to start,” says Bruce. “This is…”
“Maybe we should take this into the conference room?” Hannah suggests. “Where we can sit down and discuss?”
“Sit down and discuss?” I scoff. “If you’re going to ask me to do one of your synchronized skating posts or try to get me to say ‘I’m a Titan, of course I wear toques with suits,’ or some other fill-in-the blank trend, I can save us a lot of time right now, because whatever it is, I’m not doing it.”
Considering what my family is going through right now, all I want to do is play the game and stay off social media.
“It’s…not that,” says Bruce.
I look between Bruce and Hannah, both their faces scrunched with something that might be worry, but also might be constipation.
Hannah twists her features. “We have a little…snafu.”
“A snafu? What’s a snafu?”
Bruce looks me right in the eye. “The bar fight. And before you say, “What bar fight?” might I remind you that while you most likely don’t keep track of all the scrapes you get yourself into, I am unfortunately tasked with the responsibility of putting out your fires. So, to refresh your memory, I’m referring to the brawl you started at The Crowned Loon this past Saturday.”
Ah crap.
Bruce is giving me a hard look, but I know he’s too much of a teddy bear to hold onto an ounce of anger.
Hannah presses her lips together. I think she’s trying not to laugh.
I raise my eyes to the ceiling and sigh. “Okay. How much?”
“How much what?” says Bruce. “Damage?”
“How much is this going to cost me?”
“You can’t just throw money at your mistakes, Sawyer,” he says. “This goes beyond that.”
“Technically, I didn’t do anything, so…”
“There were eyewitnesses,” says Hannah. “And this.” She taps on her phone where she has a video cued up and lets it play. It’s a little wobbly, and the lighting in the bar is crap. But I guess one could make out my image in a blurry sort of way. It just catches me shoving Buzz Cut Guy to the floor.
“It’s gone viral,” Hannah says.
“Look,” I say, holding up my hands. “The guy deserved it. I gave him a little push and walked away from the fight.”
More like crawled away, but let’s not go there.
The video plays on, and all you can see is complete mayhem. Chairs flying, bottles crashing, guys punching each other for no reason. The video shakes even more, all you see is the floor for a little while and then it zooms in on me. And there’s Maggie, radiant as ever. Even more than I remember.
“The Crowned Loon is not holding you accountable,” says Bruce. “Not financially, anyway. An apology wouldn’t be amiss, though.”
“All right. If you write it up, I’ll sign. Or whatever.”
“That’s…actually the least of your worries right now,” he says solemnly.
Oh no. It couldn’t be about my dad, could it? No. I’d hear about it from my sister first. Then again, I have been avoiding her texts. My stomach drops. Could it have something to do with Maggie? Is she okay?
“Spill it,” I say, shifting my gaze to Hannah, as if asking Bruce if she should be hearing sensitive information about my family.
“It’s Nitro Blitz,” Bruce says. “They’re threatening to pull the deal.”
“They can’t do that,” I cry.
“Yes, they can if you’re in breach of contract. Which, getting into bar brawls pretty much qualifies.”
“Okay, fine. Let them. Tastes like piss anyway.”
Hannah nods. “It really does.”
“Sawyer, you need this endorsement deal.”
“No, I don’t. I don’t even like energy drinks. I feel like a damn liar every time I see myself in that stupid commercial pretending to drink it.”
“Sunrise Foods also reached out to me,” he goes on. “They have concerns.”
I look to Hannah and gesture at her phone. “So here’s where you tell me to recite poetry on our socials and prove I’m Boy Scout enough to sell cereal?”
Sunrise Foods is the conglomerate behind Happy Puffs and Sugar Squares, which they rebranded as Honey Squares in the 1980s. Their answer to a healthy breakfast cereal, Nutty Morning, is the endorsement deal I’m locked into. My face is on the damn box. When I got traded to Toronto from Boston, my new teammates teased me about it, saying “Top ‘o the Nutty Morning to ya,” when they’d see me. Even Owen. So one day, I gave them a nutty morning they’d never forget. You don’t want the details, but let’s just say they laughed their heads off for weeks. I earned their respect after that, and now we’re thick as thieves.
But not actual thieves. I’ll leave that to my dad.
“I’m tired of pushing energy drinks and breakfast food,” I say. “What about Nike or Starco? Didn’t you say we were close to getting a Velocity Gear endorsement?”
“Sawyer, you’ve been in three fights—that I know of—this year. You could have gotten yourself arrested at this last one. If you want the big clothing brands, you need to clean up your act. And don’t even get me started about your residency status. Do you want to get kicked out of Canada?”
I actually love Canada. Mostly because it’s not Boston, where my dad does business, and it’s not Tennessee, where I lived the lie of my childhood. And it’s not Ireland—not like I’ve ever been there. But if I can associate something to my dad, I don’t want anything to do with it, so Ireland’s out.
I’ve grown to truly love the red maple leaf flag as the whole crowd in the Blizzard Dome proudly sings “O Canada.” I’ve gotten used to everything being in English and French, right down to the shampoo labels. I even tolerate Canadian beer. I love it here. It’s home to me. I hope I never leave.
“You really think they’d kick me out?” I ask sincerely. “For getting in a few fights?”
Bruce sighs. “Probably not. But I wouldn’t push it if I were you.”
I run a hand over my face, wiping the last traces of sweat dripping from my scalp. “Okay,” I say. “I’ll do my best to stay out of trouble. I promise.”
“Good.”
“Can I go shower now? Coach will kill me if I’m late to video training.”
Hannah clears her throat to remind us she’s still here and exchanges a look with Bruce. I guess I could make some kind of statement on the team socials. I’ll complain the whole time. But I’ll do it if I really have to.
Bruce nods at Hannah and says, “Do you want to tell him or should I?”
“Tell me what?”
“There’s one more thing,” Bruce says tentatively.
“Seriously?”
Hannah scrunches her nose and winces. “It’s uh…actually the whole reason we wanted to talk to you.”
I look back and forth between them. “So the bar fight, the endorsement deals, my immigration status…That was all preamble?”
“It all ties together,” she says. “It’s actually a funny story when you think about it, ha ha.” She fake-laughs nervously.
“Why do I get the feeling I’m going to hate this?” I grumble.
Bruce smooths the clean-shaven skin over his jaw and chin with his fingers and thumb and offers me a somber grimace. “Because you probably will,” he says. “But I need you to remain calm while we tell you.”