Chapter Nine
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Jefferson Howard: Typical Starling, rumormongering and threatening a good player’s reputation for clicks.
By the time he made it to Cyberian Arena, Kilian’s head pounded.
He’d scrubbed his face raw in the same club bathroom where he’d fucked himself on his fingers an hour earlier.
But he couldn’t quite remove the last black streak of eyeliner, and his lips were so red and puffy from the rough treatment he might as well still be wearing the lip gloss Liam had smeared across them.
He spat out the gum he’d bought from a twenty-four-hour convenience store along with the biggest bottle of water they had and a cup of scalding hot coffee. He’d finished both of those in the Uber on his way here and hoped the gum would be enough to eradicate the combined alcohol and coffee breath.
None of it made him less aware that he wore a blush-pink crop top under his tightly zipped jacket. His grandpa was going to be so disappointed by the trade; he didn’t need to see Kilian looking ridiculous in addition if he got photographed. The less said about what his dad would think, the better.
He crushed the gum under his shoe and used his ID to swipe into the arena. The doors whooshed open, and he followed the familiar path toward the head coach’s office.
The call from Lindy came in three minutes after he hung up on Damir.
It gave him enough time to get away from the dance floor and into the bathroom, the door muffling the loud music, and enough time to practice answering the phone the way a sober person would.
He supposed he should thank Damir for that.
“Howie.” Lindy smiled warmly. “So glad you could make it at such short notice.” She pushed open the office door to let him in. Behind her waited Phil Easton, the team’s star D-man turned defensive coach, and Coach Edwards. Great. A full committee.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Lindy continued. “We’ve got your agent on video call.”
Kilian forced a smile. “No problem. Hi, Derek.”
Derek waved through the screen, managing to look at least slightly sheepish. He could have warned Kilian about this.
“Wow. Big news, huh?” Was it rude of him to pretend he didn’t know? He couldn’t explain to them how he knew about the trade, but acting as if he didn’t made him feel like a dick.
“You could say so. Have a seat.” Lindy gestured to the free chair across from her desk, which left him sitting alone with his back to the door and everyone else opposite him. If the goal was to put Kilian at ease, it failed.
“Now, as you know, we’ve had a few talks about your role on the team recently,” Lindy said.
Kilian nodded. Derek shot him a quizzical look.
Right. Kilian probably should have told him about the time she called him into her office.
It was the sort of thing a player ought to let his agent know about, the head coach asking for a one-on-one meeting to talk about how much he sucked.
But Derek had gone to college with Dad, and Dad liked to call him up every now and again to ask about Kilian’s career and stats, so the last thing Kilian needed was for Derek to have more information.
“I don’t want to draw this out,” Lindy continued. “You’ve been trying hard, and I’ve seen a real improvement in the last couple games, but the fact remains that the Sea Lions have a lot of forward depth and not a lot of goaltenders.”
Just say it, Kilian thought.
“For the good of the team, the GM made the call to trade you to Chicago for Arnold Henderson. I’m sure your agent will go over all the contract details with you.
This isn’t a reflection on you as a player or as a person, Howie.
You just aren’t the right fit for the Sea Lions right now. We all want the best for you.”
“Right.” Howie smiled at her, as fake as the expression of compassion she directed at him.
She hadn’t mentioned that the GM had also thrown in two draft picks, which absolutely was a reflection on him as a player.
So was Lindy being the one to break the news.
With important players, franchise players, the GM would do it himself. “When’s my flight out?”
“We can get you on one to O’Hare in three hours.”
“Not much time to pack.”
Lindy’s smile widened. “No. Chicago’s been clear they need you as soon as they can get you. And it goes without saying we’re pretty desperate for a new goalie too.”
Phil cleared his throat. “I can take you to the airport. And help you with anything else you need.”
“Cool.” Kilian got to his feet. “So is that all, or…”
“No, I guess that’s all.”
“Right. Well, thanks for the opportunity to play for the Sea Lions. It was an honor to be drafted here.”
The tightly drawn lines around Lindy’s eyes softened. She stood as well and patted his shoulder. “See you on the ice, Howie.”
After shaking her hand, Kilian left the room, his heart beating so fast his head spun.
He should have said something to Derek. Told him he’d call later or whatever.
He should have said goodbye to Coach Edwards, though he’d remained silent through the meeting.
Edwards had never done much for Kilian, but the man had been his coach for over a year now.
Anxiously, he looked over his shoulder, but the door to the office had already closed.
Phil’s hand came down on the back of his neck, heavy and comforting. “You did good, kid.”
Kilian wanted to bristle at being called “kid,” but he was tired and kind of drunk and his whole life was about to change. “Yeah?” His voice was less steady than he wanted it to be.
“Yeah. Didn’t let her see you were upset, kept it classy.”
Kilian nodded sharply. “Thanks for driving me.”
Phil smiled. He had so many crow’s feet. Maybe Kilian really was a kid to him. “Of course. Look, Howie, I’m sorry this happened—”
Kilian held a hand up. “I can’t be all gracious and magnanimous to you too. I’m maxed out for the day.”
They reached the elevator, and Phil pushed the button for staff parking. Thank fuck he’d offered to drive Kilian. There was no way he could sit through the Uber ride home and then to the airport without crying or screaming or doing something else to tank his rating.
“You don’t have to be nice to me,” Phil told him as the elevator descended. “Hockey is a business, trades happen, whatever. I’m telling you I’m sorry, and I mean it. You shouldn’t have been blindsided this way. Lindy never told me about her meetings with you, or that there were talks happening.”
“Meeting. It was one, and she didn’t tell me there were trade talks going on either.” Kilian laughed darkly. “I should have guessed.”
Phil shook his head. “This isn’t how I want the team to be run. I became a coach so this shit wouldn’t happen. You should have had a say in this.”
Kilian shrugged. “Should have talked to Derek sooner, I guess.”
Thankfully, Phil didn’t press the issue on the drive to Kilian’s apartment. He also didn’t comment on the shitty elevator or the tricky lock or the dinginess of the apartment.
What would be the adult thing to do in this situation? Probably make sure the fridge was empty so nothing would spoil. Kilian opened the fridge. Nothing there but condiments. Mission accomplished. “You need any hot sauce?” he asked Phil.
“I’m good, thanks.”
That was the kitchen dealt with. In the bedroom, he pulled his suitcase out from under the bed.
With two hours to go until his flight, he wouldn’t be checking any luggage, so he stuffed clothing in indiscriminately.
A week’s worth of boxers and T-shirts should do it for now.
He packed the dark blue suit and a few shirts.
All of Kilian’s clean workout gear bore the Sea Lions logo, and he didn’t have space for sheets, so he shut the suitcase on top of the three charging cables he found under the bed.
He hoped the Firecrackers had a hotel room ready for him, and he hoped they would give him enough of their own team-branded clothes to hit the weight room. He’d been skipping too many workouts.
The thought of Firecrackers gear made him groan.
From the doorway, Phil made an inquisitive sound.
“I’m going to look so shit in the Firecrackers’ home jersey.” It was fire-engine red, not a great look with his darker hair and pale skin. At least the away jersey was black with red detailing. Ugh.
Phil laughed, the asshole.
With his bag packed and time ticking down, there was nothing keeping Kilian.
He thought longingly of the bottom drawer of his dresser, the lace he still hadn’t tried on, but he couldn’t pull it out with Phil watching.
Phil might know he was gay, but he didn’t need to know Kilian was that kind of gay.
On the ride to the airport, Kilian realized he’d forgotten to pack a sweatshirt for the flight, leaving him in nothing but his jacket covering the crop top.
It rode up at the waist, and goosebumps proliferated on the sliver of exposed skin.
He also hadn’t brought his water bottle, so he’d have to pay airport prices for more drinks if he wanted to stave off the hangover already building in his temples.
He checked the time on his phone. Close to two in the morning.
“Sorry I’m keeping you out so late.”
“Don’t apologize.”
“Your husband must be waiting up.”
Phil laughed so hard he snorted. “Are you kidding? Ben will have passed the fuck out four hours ago. Charlie might be up playing Overwatch, and if he is, I’m gonna ground him.”
“Know what’s really easy to do when you’re grounded?”
“Hm?”
“Play more Overwatch.”
Phil cursed.
Kilian studied him from the passenger seat.
He wore a checked shirt that wouldn’t look out of place on a restaurant manager, and he had a pen sticking out of the breast pocket.
When Phil had played on the team, Kilian had thought he was the coolest of the alternates.
Being ripped as hell made his questionable style choices look intentionally retro.
Now that he knew Phil a little better, Kilian understood him not as a deliberate trendsetter but as a man moving into middle-aged dad status with relish.