16. Dax
DAX
H arrison's office feels like a fucking interrogation room, all cold leather and intimidating mahogany designed to make grown men feel like misbehaving children.
I've been sitting here for ten minutes listening to him drone on about "organizational standards" and "professional expectations," but my brain keeps drifting to Tessa.
"Are you listening, Kingston?"
"Every word," I lie, forcing myself to focus on his condescending smile.
"Excellent. Then you understand why we need to discuss your future with this organization."
My stomach drops like I just took a blindside hit. "My future?"
"I've received a very interesting call from Boston." Harrison opens a folder on his desk. "It seems the Bruins are quite interested in acquiring your services."
Boston. The word hits me like a puck to the chest. The fucking Boston Bruins—the team I've had posters of since I was eight years old. The team I used to dream about playing for when I was practicing slap shots in my basement until my mom threatened to take my stick away.
"What kind of interest?" I manage, my voice coming out rougher than intended.
"The kind that comes with a significant contract extension." Harrison slides a document across the desk. "Seven years, full no-movement clause, and they're prepared to name you captain immediately."
I stare at the numbers on the paper, and there are more zeros than I've ever seen attached to my name. Enough money to pay off my mom's house ten times over, set Emma up for life, and still have enough left to never worry about anything again.
"That's... a substantial offer," I say carefully, because my brain is currently short-circuiting.
"Indeed. And here's the truly interesting part—they specifically requested you for the leadership role. Apparently, your reputation for team-first mentality and natural defensive instincts has caught their attention."
Captain of the Boston Bruins. Jesus Christ.
"There's just one small complication," Harrison continues, and the way he says it makes my blood turn to ice.
"What kind of complication?"
"The timing. They want an answer by Thursday. Trade deadline is Friday."
"That's..." I do quick math in my head. "That's two days."
"Exactly. Which brings us to the heart of our conversation.
" Harrison leans back in his chair with that predatory smile.
"This opportunity represents everything you've worked for your entire career.
Childhood team, captaincy, financial security for your family.
The kind of offer that comes once in a lifetime. "
"But?"
"But I'd hate to see you make a decision that isn't in your best interests. Or the best interests of your career."
The way he says it makes my chest tight. "What are you getting at, Harrison?"
"I think you know exactly what I'm getting at, Mr. Kingston. Recent... entanglements have created distractions that could affect your judgment. Your performance. Your value to this organization."
"My performance has been excellent this season," I say through gritted teeth.
"Has it? Because I have documentation suggesting otherwise. Missed team meetings. Declining focus during practice."
"That's bullshit and you know it."
"Is it?" Harrison opens another folder. "Would you like to review the performance metrics?"
My hands clench into fists under the desk. "What's your point?"
"My point is that successful athletes understand that personal complications can derail professional opportunities. The Bruins are offering you everything you've ever wanted, but they expect total commitment. Total focus."
"And you think I can't provide that because I'm in a relationship?"
"I think relationships create divided loyalties. Especially relationships that violate organizational policy and put both parties at professional risk."
"What if I told you the relationship makes me a better player? Better leader?"
Harrison laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Then I'd say you're thinking with the wrong head, Kingston. Great players compartmentalize. They understand that sacrifices are necessary for success."
"Sacrifices like what?"
"Like choosing between a career-defining opportunity and a temporary distraction that's already caused more problems than it's worth."
The casual way he dismisses Tessa makes my vision go red. "She's not a distraction. She's?—"
"She's what? The love of your life?" Harrison's tone is mocking. "Son, that's not love, that's infatuation. And infatuation doesn't pay the bills or win championships."
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't I? You're about to throw away the opportunity of a lifetime for a woman who's already cost you professional credibility. A woman whose presence in this organization has created nothing but complications."
"Tessa's done nothing wrong."
"Oh, really? Boundary violations, compromised professional judgment, inappropriate relationships with players?—"
"Stop." My voice comes out like a growl. "Just fucking stop."
Harrison's smile widens. "There it is. The emotional volatility that proves my point. A focused player doesn't lose his temper in management meetings, Kingston. A focused player makes strategic decisions based on facts, not feelings."
I force myself to take a deep breath, to unclench my fists. "What exactly are you proposing?"
"I'm proposing you take the Boston offer. Clean slate, fresh start, no complications. Just pure hockey excellence with the resources and support to achieve everything you've ever dreamed of."
"And if I don't?"
"Then you stay in Chicago with a reduced contract offer, continued scrutiny of your personal choices, and the knowledge that you chose temporary satisfaction over permanent success.
" Harrison closes the folders with finality.
"The choice is yours, but I'd choose wisely.
Opportunities like this don't come around twice. "
I stare at the contract again, at those impossible numbers, at the word "Captain" printed in official team letterhead. Everything I've ever wanted, handed to me on a silver platter.
Everything except Tessa.
"I need time to think about this," I say finally.
"Of course. You have until Thursday at noon. After that, the offer expires." Harrison stands up, signaling the end of our conversation. "And Kingston? Whatever decision you make, make it with a clear head. Don't let emotions cloud your judgment about what's best for your future."
I walk out of his office feeling like I've been hit by a Zamboni. Boston. Captain. Seven years. The words keep echoing in my head as I make my way through the facility, past the observation windows where Tessa usually watches practice, past the equipment rooms where we've stolen moments together.
My phone buzzes with a text from Jamie:
How'd the meeting go? Harrison looked like he was planning someone's funeral when he called you in.
Need to talk. Meet at home in an hour?
Course. I'll order pizza. You sound like you need carbs.
Jamie knows me too well.
An hour later, I'm sitting in our living room staring at a slice of pepperoni pizza that's gone cold while Jamie processes what I've just told him.
"Holy shit," he says finally. "The Boston fucking Bruins want you as captain."
"Yeah."
"Dude, that's... that's huge. That's everything you've ever wanted."
He's not wrong. Growing up, I had Bruins everything—sheets, posters, jerseys I wore until they fell apart. I used to practice their plays in our basement, pretending I was Bobby Orr flying across the ice at the Garden.
"It is huge," I agree.
"But?"
"But Harrison's basically saying I have to choose between Boston and Tessa. And the way he's framing it, choosing Tessa means choosing to destroy both our careers."
Jamie sets down his beer and looks at me seriously. "Okay, let's break this down. What does your gut tell you?"
"My gut tells me Harrison's a manipulative asshole who's using my dreams against me."
"True. But putting aside Harrison's shitty tactics, what do you actually want?"
I run both hands through my hair, frustrated. "I want to be captain of the Bruins and I want to wake up next to Tessa every morning for the rest of my life. I want both, and Harrison's telling me I can't have both."
"What does Tessa think?"
"She doesn't know yet. I came straight here after the meeting because I needed to figure out what the hell I'm going to say to her."
"Dax." Jamie leans forward. "You know what she's going to say, right? She's going to tell you to take it. She's going to insist that you can't pass up this opportunity because of her."
"That's what I'm afraid of."
"Why? It's a good opportunity. Like, life-changing good."
"Because it feels like I'm being forced to choose between the woman I love and everything I've worked for my entire life. And the fact that Harrison engineered it that way makes me want to tell Boston to go fuck themselves just out of principle."
"That would be a very expensive fuck you."
"I know."
Jamie is quiet for a long moment, staring at his hands. "Can I ask you something?"
"Yeah."
"Do you love her? Like, really love her? Or is this just the best relationship you've had so far?"
"I love her. Completely. The kind of love that makes you want to be better than you are. The kind that makes everything else seem less important."
"Even hockey?"
"Especially hockey."
Jamie whistles low. "Shit, man. You've got it bad."
"The worst part is, I know exactly what she's going to say when I tell her. She's going to look at me with those hazel eyes and tell me I'm insane if I don't take this opportunity. She's going to be completely selfless about it, which is going to make me want to throttle Harrison even more."
"Have you considered that maybe she's right? That maybe taking the Boston offer is the smart play here?"
I look at him like he's lost his mind. "Are you seriously suggesting I choose hockey over Tessa?"
"I'm suggesting that maybe you don't have to choose. Maybe there's a way to make both work."