22. Hendrix
HENDRIX
F irst thing Christmas Eve morning, I slouch in the leather chair across from Malcolm Chase's mahogany desk, my agent Derek beside me rattling off contract terms. The words blur together - signing bonus, performance incentives, no-trade clause.
I should care more. This is what I've been fighting for all these months.
The Toronto skyline stretches beyond the window to my left, all steel and glass, nothing like the warm twinkle lights of Brookking Sound.
"This is a fantastic offer, Hendrix," Derek says, sliding the contract toward me. "Better than we hoped for."
Chase leans back, steepling his fingers. "We want you on the ice tonight. Christmas Eve game against Montreal. Show the fans what they've been missing."
I stare at the contract, but all I see is Colette's face that night at the faculty party.
The hurt in her eyes when she found out about the bet.
The way her voice cracked during that ridiculous dueling Christmas carol.
Everything between us had been real for me - the snowball fight, the dance, that kiss in the snow.
But she'd been trying to drive me out of town the whole time.
"Hendrix?" Derek prompts. "This is what we've been working for."
But what am I even working for anymore? Hockey used to be everything. Now all I can think about is how Colette's eyes light up when she talks about literature, how she fights for her students, how she makes me want to be better.
I love her. The realization hits me like a cross-check to the chest. I'm completely, stupidly in love with her.
And maybe that means giving her what she wanted all along - staying away from Brookking Sound.
I grab the pen and scrawl my signature across the dotted line, feeling something crack inside my chest.
"Welcome back to the Titans," Chase says with a satisfied smile. "Hit the ice at 6 for warm-ups."
I nod numbly, barely registering the terms I just agreed to.