Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
tate
I feel lighter after our night together.
Not just because of the sex, although it was mind-bending and otherworldly, but because he finally opened up.
Telling me about his father, about the financial pressure he’s been under, about why he’s been pulling away, it all made me feel like I actually am important to him, that there might really be a future for us.
That maybe one day, he will be ready to take things to the next level.
It gives me hope.
Things make so much more sense now. The distance, the evasiveness. Ten thousand dollars a month for his father’s care would stress anyone out, especially someone dealing with gambling debts.
I want to help him. I want him to know I’m here for him.
My play has been strong, too, which makes me believe a lot of it stemmed from my feelings of insecurity. Having Zane in my corner makes me feel almost…invincible, to the point where I almost text Petrov to cancel our follow-up meeting.
Almost.
But something stops me. Maybe it’s curiosity about what his consulting firm actually does, or maybe it’s the practical part of my brain that says I should explore all my options before making decisions about my future.
One meeting can’t hurt. Especially now that I know I’m starting Thursday, that the team still has confidence in me, that Zane and I are back on solid ground.
I head to the office building address that he texted me. I take the elevator to the third floor and am escorted to a corner office where Petrov sits behind a large desk.
“Tate,” he says, standing up to shake my hand. “Thank you for making time. I know your schedule must be busy now that you’re starting again.”
I recoil. “Wait, how did you—?”
“Word travels fast in professional hockey circles. Congratulations. Thursday against Calgary should be an excellent opportunity to showcase your abilities.”
He’s done his homework. Knows about my starting assignment before I’ve even told anyone outside the team.
“Thanks. I’m looking forward to getting back out there.”
“I’m sure you are.” He holds out a hand and I slowly sink into one of the chairs opposite his. He sits once I do. “And I’m sure you’re wondering why I asked to meet again, especially given this positive development.”
Petrov puts his hands on top of a leather portfolio. “I’ve had a chance to review your situation more thoroughly since our last conversation. Your recent assignment to start against Calgary confirms what I already suspected…that you have real value. High value.”
“What kind of value?”
“The kind that can make you fifty thousand dollars per game.”
My eyebrows knit together. Fifty thousand. Per game. What the hell? He’d said twenty-five last time.
“For what?”
“Not every game holds the same weight or importance during a season. Early season matchups, games against bottom-feeder teams, contests where playoff implications are minimal.” Petrov opens the portfolio. “These games present opportunities.”
“Opportunities for what?”
“To control outcomes. A goal here, a goal there, when it doesn’t hurt your team’s season but helps our clients who bet on these games.”
There it is. No euphemisms, no corporate speak. He’s talking about fixing games.
Holy mother fuck.
“Wait, you want me to throw games.” I grip the edge of the desk, pressure building behind my ribs.
Petrov flips open the portfolio. “I want you to be smart about which games you win and which games you let slip away. Early December against Arizona? Late January against Columbus when they’re already out of contention? Those games don’t define careers, but they can fund them.”
“That’s still throwing games. It doesn’t matter if the games don’t count toward the playoff standings.” My heart pounds against my ribcage.
“No, that’s being strategic about your career. You think every goal you let in is because you’re trying your hardest? Performance anxiety already makes you inconsistent. I’m just asking you to be inconsistent on purpose, when it pays you fifty thousand dollars.”
I glance down at the document Petrov points to. It’s dense, full of legal terminology that’s completely foreign to me. But certain phrases like “performance consultation,” “strategic game analysis,” and “outcome management services” jump off the page.
“Fifty thousand?” I repeat.
“Fifty thousand dollars per consultation. Paid immediately following each engagement.”
Fifty thousand. Per game.
“That’s... a lot of money.”
“Elite professional athletes deserve elite compensation for their expertise.” Petrov’s expression remains businesslike. “Of course, this arrangement only works if you’re in a position where your performance can meaningfully affect outcomes.”
“Meaning I have to start.”
He nods. “Meaning you have to be the primary goaltender for games where our services are required. Which, given your recent assignment, shouldn’t be an issue.”
I stare at the contract, trying to process what he’s proposing. Fifty thousand dollars to... what? Let in a few extra goals during games that don’t matter?
“So, what exactly would I have to do?”
“Let in goals at specific times. We tell you which games, which periods, sometimes which specific moments.” Petrov’s tone is matter-of-fact.
“Nothing obvious. A rebound you don’t quite control, a save you’re a half-second slow on.
Things that look like normal play but change the outcome of the games. ”
“You’d tell me when to let goals in.”
“We’d tell you when the money is worth more than the save. And before you ask, yes, we already know which games don’t matter to your team’s playoff chances. We’re not asking you to torpedo your career. We’re asking you to make smart financial decisions.”
I stare at the contract, trying to process what I’m hearing. Fifty thousand dollars to let in goals during games that supposedly don’t matter.
“I need to think about this.”
“Of course. But I need an answer by tomorrow night. We have opportunities coming up, and we need committed partners.”
“What if I say no?”
“Then you say no. We thank you for your time.” Petrov’s smile doesn’t fade.
“Though I should point out that players in your situation don’t get many chances to secure their future.
You’re twenty-six, coming off performance issues, watching a rookie waiting to take your job.
How many more opportunities will you get? ”
“And if I say yes?”
“Then you make fifty thousand dollars per game while keeping your starting position. Think about it, Tate. You’re going to have bad games, anyway. You might as well get paid for them.”
He slides the portfolio toward me. “Take the night to consider everything we’ve discussed,” he says, standing up. “If you’re interested, call the number on the contract. We can arrange to meet tomorrow night to finalize the details.”
“Where?”
“I’ll text you the location once you confirm your interest.” He extends his hand for a final handshake. “Either way, Tate, I want you to know that our organization respects your talent and your potential. Not everyone in this business does.”
I leave the office in a daze, the portfolio burning the tips of my fingers. I flip it open once I’m sitting in my truck. The language is complex and way over my head. But the financial details are crystal clear. Fifty grand per “consultation engagement.”
I place the portfolio on the seat next to me and press the ignition button.
On the way home, I think about Zane’s financial struggles with his father’s care, about my own uncertain future.
And I also think about getting fifty thousand dollars per game for doing something I might end up doing anyway if my performance anxiety returns.
By the time I reach my apartment, I’ve almost convinced myself that this is a reasonable business opportunity.
The part of my brain that isn’t desperate knows me better. I’d be throwing games for money. It’d be against the code of conduct for the team and league. I’d be breaking rules.
But then my mind trips back to Zane struggling to keep his father in care and about my own family.
And Parker is hanging back, just waiting for me to shit the bed so he can swoop in.
Petrov is right. Not every game matters equally, and if I’m going to have bad nights anyway, maybe I should be compensated for them.
I pull out my phone and stare at Petrov’s contact information.
The Calgary start is my first real chance in months to prove I deserve to be the starting goalie for the Raptors. If I play well, if I show that I’ve overcome whatever was holding me back, maybe I won’t need Petrov’s offer.
But if I struggle, if the performance anxiety returns...
I put the phone away without making a decision.
After the game, I’ll know whether I’m good enough to succeed on my own terms.
If the answer is yes, I’ll call Petrov and decline.
If the answer is no...
I fall asleep with the contract on my nightstand, fifty thousand dollars per consultation dancing through my dreams.
Tomorrow’s game will tell me everything I need to know about what kind of player I really am.
And what kind of man I’m willing to become.