1. Hendrix #2
"Contributions?" Derek scoffs. "He's the heart of the first-line trio!"
I raise my hand. "I wouldn’t exactly say that…"
"Not now, Hendrix." Derek cuts me off without breaking stride. "The numbers we're discussing aren't even close to market value for a player of his caliber."
I glance at Coach Knight, who's doing that thing where he rubs his mustache like he's trying to start a fire with it.
"Look," Malcolm steeples his fingers on his mahogany desk. "Perhaps it would be best if Hendrix took some time away from the ice… while we sort this out.”
"Away from- Are you serious?" I look around the room, waiting for someone to crack a smile. "This is a joke, right? The season's just getting good! We're on a winning streak!"
"Which is exactly why we need to protect our assets," Derek jumps in.
"It's standard procedure," one of the managers pipes up. "With the Christmas Trade Freeze coming up…”
"Christmas Trade Freeze?" I bolt upright. "Since when are we talking about trades?"
"We're exploring your options," Malcolm says smoothly.
Derek shoots Malcolm a look that could freeze hell. "No one's saying anything definitive.”
My stomach drops.
"Hang on a minute," I say, "I don't care about being the highest-paid forward or whatever. The Titans are my home."
Derek gives me a warning look. "Hendrix, remember what we discussed about letting me handle the negotiations?"
I laugh. "I just want to play hockey!”
"And we want fair market value," Derek cuts in. "Your plus/minus ratings–-"
"Are impressive," Malcolm interrupts smoothly. "But also, there’s concern about your hits from an insurance standpoint."
"Those were all clean hits last night. Mostly clean. Okay, one of them might have been a bit enthusiastic."
"That's exactly the kind of thing we need to avoid right now," one of the managers pipes up.
"Maybe he's right,” Derek concedes with a sigh. “One injury during negotiations could tank everything."
Coach finally speaks up. "It's for the best, Ellis. Clear your head, let the suits duke it out."
Why does it seem like they’ve already discussed this before I arrived?
"But the team?—"
"Will manage," Coach Knight says, though he doesn't look happy about it. "We've got depth in the roster."
The thought of watching from the sidelines while my teammates play makes me feel physically ill.
This is my team. These guys are my family.
Owen, Sawyer, Griffin—we've been through everything together.
And if the suits decide to trade me… The thought of wearing different colors makes me want to check someone through a wall.
"How long?"
"Until we reach an agreement," says Malcolm. "Or until other arrangements are made."
"But-"
"No buts," Derek interrupts. "We need to protect your interests. You should stay off the ice until we resolve this."
"So what, I just... stop playing? Just like that?" I look desperately at Coach Knight. "Coach?"
He sighs. "It's for the best, kid. Take some time."
"We've made our decision," Malcolm says firmly. "Take some time off. Let us handle the negotiations. Consider it a paid vacation."
Looking around the room, I can see I'm outnumbered.
"Fine," I mutter. "But for the record, this sucks."
I slump back in my chair, defeated. The old hockey players stare down at me from their frames, and for once, I don't have a witty comeback ready.
"We'll continue negotiations while you’re gone," Derek assures me.
"You'll still come to practice and watch the games," Coach Knight says, slapping his big palm on my shoulder. "Non-roster players usually sit in the press box or a suite on game days. Keeps you out of the way, but you can still study plays, stay in the loop."
"Absolutely not." Derek's already shaking his head. "We need to keep him away from the media circus. One wrong comment to a reporter, one photo of him looking dejected in the press box, and our negotiating position tanks."
I laugh, but it sounds hollow even to me. "Hockey's all I know! What am I supposed to do, take up knitting?"
Being benched is bad enough, but not even getting to watch the games? That's just cruel and unusual punishment.
"Take some time away," Derek continues, straightening his tie. "Why don't you visit family for the holidays? Your dad's living in San Diego, right? Or your sister? You can work on your tan."
I picture Ingrid's perfect Instagram-worthy life and suppress a shudder. This year’s Christmas card came last week. Ingrid and her husband walking along the beach with their three kids. Hair purposely windswept. Forced smiles. Holding hands. All wearing beige linen.
Don't get me wrong, I love my sister, but I think I’ll pass. And Dad... well, watching hockey with a Hall of Famer means endless commentary on everything I could be doing better. Namely, being more like my brother Liam. The family’s golden boy, currently playing defense for the Nebraska Knights.
I tune out as Derek lists the benefits of California sunshine, my mind drifting to the dozens of voicemails from Grannie Bell asking when I'm coming home to Brookking Sound to visit.
She's been calling weekly, threatening to send her famous fudge to the entire team if I don't show up soon.
And Aunt Goldie's been texting photos of her new giant nutcrackers for her lawn display.
Every year, her decorations get more and more competitive.
I suppose Brookking Sound doesn’t sound too bad… and it’s only three hours up north... close enough that I could technically sneak back for home games without anyone knowing.
"Hendrix? Are you even listening?" Derek waves his hand in front of my face.
"Hmm? Oh yeah, totally. Family time. Great idea."
I'm already planning my stealth mission to catch next week's game. Maybe I'll wear a fake mustache. Or a wig. Or both.
Unfortunately, fate has other plans.