28 #2
She wasn’t there, and I was still having the best game of my life. Both truths would have to survive each other.
By the time I sat on the locker-room bench with a towel around my waist, the final horn had been over for twenty-three minutes, but I could still hear it inside my skull. Music shook the walls while beer sprayed across the room despite Waters threatening murder if alcohol got near the equipment.
Gray stood on the center bench wearing compression shorts and one skate, conducting the room with a broken stick.
“Four to fucking three!” he shouted. “Minnesota came into our house, sat at our table, breathed our air, and left with one big fucking L.”
“They didn’t stand a chance,” Hollis said while buttoning his shirt.
“They received a step-by-step guide on how to play hockey correctly.”
Keller threw a roll of tape at Gray’s head. “Put pants on.”
“My body is part of the celebration.”
“Your body is a disciplinary hearing.”
I pulled my dress shirt over my shoulders and began buttoning it. My suit hung inside my stall, protected from whatever bullshit was happening behind me.
Hollis dropped onto the bench beside mine and nudged my knee with his. “Hell of a game.”
“You handed me the first one.”
“I expect financial compensation when you’re rich.”
“You’ll get a gift card.”
“To where?”
“Somewhere disappointing.”
He grinned. A bruise darkened his jaw from a hit in the second period, and one knuckle had split open despite his insistence that he hadn’t thrown a punch.
“You played out of your fucking mind tonight.”
“I played hockey.”
“No, you were different.”
I reached for my tie. “You becoming philosophical?”
“Only when somebody else might buy the drinks.”
“What was different?”
Hollis stretched his legs in front of him. “During the first period, you played angry. In the second, you played mean. By the third, you looked like somebody removed the part of your brain responsible for self-preservation.”
“Sounds efficient.”
“It was terrifying.”
“That’s why they call me the Knife.”
He studied my face. “Whatever happened to it worked.”
My hands stopped against the tie because nothing about the last three days had worked.
I lost Charm, nearly beat the shit out of Briggs, got drunk the night before the most important game of my career, weaponized a kiss, and woke up hating myself almost as much as I hated the woman who taught me what it felt like to need someone.
Then I played the best hockey of my life.
“Yeah,” I said as I resumed tying the knot. “Something like that.”
Coach Waters stepped into the doorway and killed half the room with one look. The music lowered immediately, though Gray remained standing on top of the bench.
“Decker.”
I tightened my tie. “Yeah?”
“Finish dressing. Gloria wants you in the conference room.”
The room erupted before he finished the sentence. Gray jumped from the bench, forgot about the single skate, and nearly pitched forward before Hollis caught him.
“Scouts!” Gray yelled. “El Cuchillo is abandoning us!”
“I haven’t gone anywhere.”
“You’re already too important to return my texts.”
“You send me videos of raccoons stealing food.”
“They’re culturally significant.”
Waters pointed toward the floor. “Gray, put both feet down before I trade you to Minnesota out of spite.”
Gray lowered himself carefully. “That would violate my civil rights.”
“Put on pants and file a complaint.”
I finished my tie, pulled on my jacket, and ignored the hands striking my shoulders as I headed toward the door.
Hollis caught my wrist before I passed. “Whatever happens in there, you earned it.”
I clasped the back of his neck and bumped my forehead against his. “Save the emotional shit for the bar.”
“No promises.”
The conference room overlooked the lake from the upper level.
Most of the crowd had begun filtering out, but arena staff continued moving through the stands while workers scraped snow from the exposed walkways.
Frost Lake gleamed beneath the lights, scarred by skates and stained in places where the game had drawn blood.
Chris stood near the windows with his phone in one hand. Coach Waters took a seat beside Gloria Mercado, Flint’s general manager, who had three folders spread across the table.
“Shut the door,” Gloria said.
I did and looked at Chris. “How bad?”
His smile widened. “Your life is terrible. Three teams want you.”
I took the empty chair across from them. “Offers?”
“Preliminary contract packages. All three have the authority to move tonight if you accept.”
Waters leaned back. “They watched more than the goals. Your defensive work was clean, your shifts stayed disciplined, and you didn’t take the bait when Minnesota spent three periods trying to make you lose your head.”
“I wanted to.”
“That isn’t a statistic.”
“It should be.”
Gloria tapped the first folder. “We’re doing this cleanly. Each organization gets private time with you. Chris stays, and I stay because you’re under contract with Flint. Any future arrangement has to respect that agreement. Coach Waters can remain unless you prefer otherwise.”
“He stays.”
Waters gave me one short nod.
“Your Frost contract runs through the end of this season,” Gloria continued.
“Nobody is removing you from this roster tomorrow. Any professional agreement you sign tonight takes effect after Flint’s season ends.
The organization may require medical testing, media obligations, development calls, or occasional meetings before then, but you finish here. ”
Relief moved through me because I wasn’t ready to leave Flint tomorrow.
Kimball Falls was different.
When the Frost season ended, I would move wherever I signed.
I wouldn’t keep an apartment in Kimball Falls and spend weekends driving back toward people and places that held Charm’s fingerprints.
I needed a city where I could buy groceries without remembering what she liked, a bathroom without her products, and a bookstore where no one knew the woman who’d taught me to picture her inside every poem.
I wanted enough distance to become someone she’d never touched.
Chris caught whatever crossed my face. “You understand this is real, right? Whichever contract you sign becomes your professional future.”
“I understand.”
Gloria closed one folder. “Washington is ready.”
The meetings blurred at the edges, but the differences remained clear.
Washington offered prestige, more guaranteed money, a respected development system, and enough national attention to make my name larger before I played my first professional game. They talked about speed, aggression, marketability, and the identity I carried onto the ice.
The offer I once believed I wanted most sat across the table from me, but all I could picture was the distance.
Washington meant being too far from Cade, Easton, Briggs, and Rider.
It meant being too far from KFU and the people who drove two hours to stand in a frozen parking lot because I sounded wrong over the phone.
Leaving Charm didn’t mean leaving all of them.
Pittsburgh offered structure. Their representatives brought a precise development plan, projected line placement, strength targets, and enough film to explain every weakness before I mentioned it. They were smart, their offer was solid, and they made me feel like a player they intended to sharpen.
Then Milwaukee walked into the room.
Their representatives placed numbers in front of me that made even Chris stop moving.
The guaranteed portion nearly matched Washington’s.
Their housing allowance was better than Pittsburgh’s, the medical coverage began earlier, and their performance incentives were aggressive enough to change my life again if I played the way I had tonight.
They had a clear path for me on the left wing.
They didn’t talk about sanding down my temper or turning El Cuchillo into something easier to market.
They showed me film and explained how my speed fit their transition game, where they wanted me during the forecheck, and which parts of my defensive work made them keep watching after the first goal.
They had done their homework.
Their director of player development closed the folder. “We know Washington has prestige and Pittsburgh has a strong system. We’re offering you the clearest path to playing time and enough financial security that you can focus on hockey.”
I glanced toward Chris. His expression remained neutral, but one finger tapped twice against the table.
Very fucking good.
The Milwaukee representative continued. “You’ll finish the season in Flint. After that, we want you relocated and training with our development staff as soon as your contract permits.”
“How soon?”
“We can have housing ready before you report in March.”
The answer moved through me with an unexpected sense of relief.
Milwaukee offered a clean apartment in a new city without memories waiting inside either.
It was close enough for me to reach my boys without getting on a plane and far enough that Charm couldn’t appear at my door in twenty minutes because she couldn’t survive another fight.
Distance without exile. A future without her.
The thought hurt, but that didn’t make it wrong.
After Milwaukee’s representatives left, the room remained silent. Chris closed the door and returned to the table.
“Well?” he asked.
I looked at the three folders. Washington had been the dream when hockey was the only future I allowed myself to want. Pittsburgh appealed to the part of me that survived by controlling every variable.
Milwaukee offered the strongest deal and the life I needed now.
Gloria rested one hand near their folder. “You don’t have to decide tonight.”
“Yes, I do.”
Waters studied me. “You sure?”
I opened Milwaukee’s offer again. The numbers remained real, and so did the distance.
“Milwaukee.”
Chris leaned back. “That was fast.”
“The deal is too good.”
“It is.”
“The development plan is clear.”
“Yes.”
“And it keeps you closer to Flint,” Gloria said.
“To the guys,” I corrected.
She caught it, and no one mentioned Charm.