Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
DECLAN
Igo out to the back porch with a cup of coffee and a donut. It’s time to make the call. It’s not a call I’m looking forward to, but this is my fault.
When I turned eighteen, I signed a contract with my father’s agency. I can’t go get a deal with a team without him. I have no idea how he is going to take the news. I don’t actually care if he likes it or not, but I do need him to work for me. And any contract I get, he benefits from.
I know he was at every one of my playoff games and at the Garden, but he stayed out of my way. It’s his version of punishing me. Too bad I don’t give a shit if he was there or not. I had the one person I wanted cheering me on.
He hated it. He knows she’s living in the house. And knows I’m with her. He thinks he’s going to freeze me out until I go crawling back.
Never going to happen.
I sit on the top step with my coffee, pull up my dad's number, and hit call before I can build a case for waiting. I’ve put this off long enough.
"Declan."
I can hear the smug tone of voice. He's been expecting my call. He thinks I finally broke after his little freeze-out.
"Dad."
"I heard you had a good game."
"Yeah. We won."
"I know you won the championship. Congratulations." The word is robotic. It did feel strange to have such an amazing season without him there to see it.
“We did. I’m ready.”
He chuckles. “Holding that championship is a good motivator. I’m not sure Seattle is interested anymore. You put them off.”
“I did. I didn’t want Seattle. I have the team I want.”
“It doesn’t work like that.”
“Boston. I want you to make it happen. Use every relationship you have—call in every favor. Get their GM on the phone and make them want me. Negotiate a trade deal. I know you can do it."
I hear the shift. I can imagine him sitting forward. He’s paying attention now.
“I can’t change the draft.”
“Dad, don’t play dumb. I know you guys all negotiate behind closed doors.”
"I've spent the last year negotiating with Seattle," he says. "The relationships, the positioning, the conversations I've had on your behalf. You understand what I've put into this."
"I know what you've put into it."
"Then you understand the contract there versus here.”
"Dad." I keep my voice even. "I'm not calling to be talked out of it."
Another silence.
“Seattle was never my dream."
I’m pretty sure I can hear him grinding his teeth.
"Seattle was the plan," I say. "The plan you built and the plan you expected me to walk into.
And I understand why—I know how hard you worked for it; I know what it represents for you.
I'm not saying that was nothing." I take a sip of coffee, like the caffeine will give me strength.
"But it was your plan. I'm twenty-two. I'd like to make my own. "
"This is about that girl."
I knew that was going to come up. He can’t let it go.
"This is about me," I say. "I’m staying on the East Coast. Sutton is one of the reasons, but not the only one. I'd be making the same call if she weren't in my life. I want to build something with a team that has room for me to grow into it, and that's here. Not Seattle."
"You're a little fish swimming in a massive pond here. You’re not going to get the spotlight. Too many stars. Too much baggage. You’re throwing away the chance to be recognized, to be great."
"I'm not throwing anything away." I keep my voice calm. I will not rise to the fight he’s instigating. Not anymore. "I'm making a choice. My choice." I pause. "I want you to open the conversation with the team. If you won’t, I’ll find an agent that will.”
"You wouldn’t."
“I will," I say. "But I'd rather not. You're my dad, and your experience matters to me. I want you involved. On this contract, on the career, on all of it. I just need you to accept that I'm the one making the final call."
He doesn't say anything for a long time.
"I've given my life to your career."
"I know."
"I've made sacrifices."
That’s a stretch, but I don’t say it.
"I know, Dad. I know you have." I close my eyes for a second.
"I'm grateful. I mean that. Everything you gave me—the training, the opportunity, and the time—I don't take that for granted.
But it was also what you wanted." I pause.
"I'm not saying that to hurt you. I'm saying it because I think you know it's true. "
Silence.
"I don't understand you," he says finally.
It sounds less like anger and more like what it actually is—a man who mapped out a route for someone and can't figure out why they're looking at a different road. He really can’t understand why our dreams don’t look the same.
Like he truly believed I was his puppet to control for the rest of time.
"I know," I say. "I'm sorry about that."
He hangs up.
Not a dramatic hang-up—he just stops talking, and the call ends. I know he’ll start the process. He’s mad, and he’ll be pissy, but he’ll do it because it means I’m offering him a path that is adjacent to his dream.
I sit there with my phone in my hand and look at the yard.
I've been building toward this conversation for months, maybe longer. I thought when I finally said what I wanted out loud to the person I most needed to say it to, there would be some kind of release. But it just feels done. Very anticlimactic.
I stare at the bright green leaves on the maple tree in the backyard.
I can’t believe this is the last time I’ll watch that tree come into spring. For four years, I’ve lived in this house with my best friends. It all ends in less than two months. We had some good times here. I’m going to miss it.
All of it. The arguments. The laughs. The lazy days.
I hear the back door open.
I don't turn around. I hear her footsteps and smile. I know those footsteps. Sutton sits down next to me. Her arm brushes against mine.
She doesn't ask how it went.
She puts her head on my shoulder.
"He didn't take it well?" she says softly.
"He hung up."
"Ouch."
"He'll call back," I say. "He always calls back. He's angry now, but he's also my dad. He'll call back."
“Do you think he’ll try and negotiate, or are you going to have to find an agent?”
I chuckle. “He'll make the calls. It's what he lives for. He just needs to let me know he's not happy about it.”
“I’m proud of you, Declan. I really am. You knew what you wanted, and you found a way to get it.”
“I’m going to have everything I want. I’m determined to make it happen.”
“What is his biggest concern about Boston, or is it because it wasn’t his idea?”
“He’s worried Boston won’t bite. I’m not old, but I’m not so young.
If I don’t hit the ground running, my shelf life will expire before I really have a chance to get out there and show off.
He wants fame—the brand deals. I just want to play a little hockey and then move on.
I’m not trying to be a McDavid or Boldy.
I just want to play and then retire knowing I made it to the top.
These guys don’t want to step on each other’s toes.
Seattle has the first pick. And they’ve shown interest.”
“I would think they would want you more because they know someone else wants you.”
“Maybe. I don’t know. But I do know my dad knows this game better than anyone. These guys all play golf together.”
I check the time and hate to cut the conversation, but I have class. “I’ll see you tonight?”
“I work until nine, but I’ll be home after.”
I kiss her before we both get to our feet and head inside.
The house feels different in the post-season. It just feels—quiet. There’s no gear everywhere. Medical tape, Icy Hot, and the usual signs of guys that have had their asses handed to them on a daily basis are absent.
I’m really feeling melancholy. I’m mourning Icy Hot.
I shake it off, grab my backpack, and head out the door. It’s time to grind in class now.