Chapter 2
CALEB
Contract terminated.
The reality of my NHL career going up in smoke over the last few days still hasn’t hit me, even as my flight from Seattle lands in New York.
It’s surreal to be close to my hometown in Vermont after playing hockey out there for six of the seven years I’ve done so professionally. In the span of less than a week I went from scoring the winning goal for our game against Minnesota to getting kicked off the team. Mid-fucking-season.
The last time my career was on the line for underperforming, I thought I was screwed. My prospect rankings were good in college, but I made it as a third round pick to a team that gave me little time on the ice and didn’t reach the playoffs my rookie season.
Seattle was my fresh start thanks to a trade. I worked my way from the reserve list to the regular roster.
Now it’s gone. What’s worse, I wasn’t fired as a result of my player record.
My phone feels like a ticking time bomb in my hand. For the time being, it’s safe because it’s off. As soon as that changes, boom. Game over.
I shift uncomfortably in the cramped economy seat and pull my cap down for the millionth time, worried people will recognize me.
The last thing I need is more speculation online about my swift dismissal from my team. The media already influences trades and signing deals as it is. The paparazzi running with the story has only poured gasoline on this PR storm.
It’s made me a player no other team wants to touch.
I swallow a bitter scoff. From one of the top prospect picks at twenty out of Heston U to the guy probably being sent down at twenty-seven because I didn’t clear waivers for another team to take me.
My jaw aches from how hard I’ve clenched it every time I replay what went down after the game.
The guy in the middle seat across from me keeps looking my way for longer than necessary. I avoid eye contact. I can’t decide if it’s a hey-isn’t-that-Caleb-Adler stare or if he’s willing the plane to reach the gate while mentally fighting the crowded flight to get off first.
Standing six foot five amongst a group of hockey players? I fit right in. But being a tall athlete traveling incognito? Way harder than I care for.
I swear I hear someone take a picture in my vicinity, the audible snapshot setting my teeth on edge.
Shit. I should’ve flown First Class.
After the fallout of the club siding with the shiny new rookie over my good intentions, I didn’t want to wait around to find a more private seat.
I booked the first open one I could find heading to the East Coast, not getting my hopes up for a one-way ticket home to Vermont.
At least I lucked out with an aisle seat on a direct flight—it’s a holiday miracle I didn’t have a layover at another major hub.
The pinch of anxiousness has my strained muscles wound tight enough to cramp. Being cooped up on a plane for over five hours hasn’t helped, only made everything worse.
I can’t put it off forever. No matter how much I dread turning on my phone, I have to check in with my agent, Trevon, and let my family know in our group chat that my flight landed safely.
Just get it over with. Damn it. I power it on to let the world come flooding back in.
Out of habit, my thumb hovers over the text conversation I keep pinned to the top. The one I’ve never been able to bring myself to delete. It’s remained there for years at this point. I open it when everything’s getting to me and read her old texts.
Holly.
Being back on the East Coast means she’ll be nearby. Will I see her? Hell, probably not. It’s not like she’d want to see me. Seven years of silence from her has made that fact crystal clear.
I stare at the last thing she sent to me: Congratulations.
One clipped word, no emojis. So different from her usual radiant self. She sent it the day I was drafted to the NHL.
I thought all I ever wanted in life was to go pro playing hockey.
Once I got there, I never expected to realize too late how important other things were to me…like her.
Not until I lost her.
There have been so many moments I’ve wanted to talk to her. Wished I could see her again no matter how busy my life as a professional athlete is.
The only reason I’ve held back is the fear of seeing her beautiful features twisted in displeasure at a surprise visit from me.
Any time I’ve been home during a break, it’s noticeable that she avoids me.
I’ve come to terms with the fact she wasn’t in love with me and didn’t think what we briefly had in secret was serious enough to hold on to, or she wouldn’t have shut me out.
I need her more than she ever needed me, as much that truth crushes me.
I hate to admit that sometimes an irrational part of me is jealous of my sister, Layla, for getting to talk to Holly anytime she wants as her best friend.
Sometimes I tell her about my day only to delete the drafted message before sending.
The things I don’t have the balls to say in case I accidentally send the text is stored in my note app instead.
One line for every time I’ve needed to say it.
I miss you. Over and over again, countless entries over the years mixed with all the things I wish I could tell her.
I rub at the dull ache of regret in my chest and push aside the sense of something missing that always arises when she’s on my mind.
When my phone connects to the network, it buzzes nonstop for a few seconds with a bombardment of messages from my teammates. Ex-teammates, I remind myself with an exhausted sigh.
Maybe I should’ve recognized how strongly I subconsciously had one foot out the door from the minute I got to Seattle.
Instead of putting down roots, I kept a sparsely furnished short-term lease rather than buy my own place, like most players once they make it to the big leagues. I put all my focus into the game, yet detached myself. The only thing I enjoyed out there was the hiking.
It’s not like I made deep connections with most of the guys I played with, either. Not like I did with my Heston U boys when I was in college, because I still keep in touch with them. Other than Davy, my linemate and the guy I’m closest to, the rest were little more than co-workers.
Skimming through the texts wanting to know what happened, I pick Davy’s. He was the one to hold me back the night it all went down with the rookie when I caught him getting pushy with a girl at the bar.
Davy
What the fuck, bro? I just woke up to this.
He sends a link to the story announcing my contract termination with Seattle. The headline cites conduct issues between me and the newly acquired star rookie as the reason the team let me go. I scrub my face and tap out a reply.
Caleb
Sorry for not telling you. It all happened fast. When I took it to management, that little shit Chet had already gotten there ahead of me.
They didn’t believe my side of things. I guess since the rookie’s family owns one of the club’s biggest sponsors, they’d rather drop me instead of losing the money for that deal and Chet at the same time.
Davy
Goddamn. Club politics are bullshit.
Caleb
Don’t I fuckin’ know it.
Davy
I’m making Chet eat the ice at practice tonight. Where are you right now? Let’s go grab a bite to eat.
Caleb
Thanks, but it’ll have to be the next time I see you. My flight just landed in New York.
Davy
Oh shit. You left?
Caleb
No point in staying there when I didn’t clear waivers. If no other team is biting on me to buy out my contract, my agent wants me close by while he works his connections. Otherwise, I’ll most likely be sent down.
The other teams must view me as a liability, despite all the work I’ve put into my career. If I’m lucky, Trevon will negotiate a new offer that keeps me playing at the NHL level.
Davy replies again, but I swipe out of the conversation before reading it.
I’m not in the mood for platitudes when it’s not like it’s a skill issue that’s burning my career to the ground.
I made it through my rookie years and a trade.
Then I solidified my place on this team with dedication, and my focus one hundred percent on honing my game.
This is where it gets me. Fired like I’m the bad guy, not Chet.
Swiping a hand over my mouth in agitation, I shuffle off the plane with the flow of passengers and keep my head bowed until I reach baggage claim.
As pissed off as I am about this mess…I don’t regret my actions that landed me here.
I’d do the same thing again in a heartbeat, because it made my blood boil to see the cocky rookie harassing the girl he was trying to take home.
She wasn’t interested in Chet, but he wasn’t taking no for an answer.
When I intervened and offered to escort her home safely, Chet started a fight with me that he couldn’t finish.
He’s the one with the fucking conduct issues. Not me.
I keep myself distracted by checking in with my family’s group chat, scrolling back through the messages I’ve missed since I turned my phone off last night.
Dad
Mom made your favorite, kiddos. Except none of you are here, so I get it all to myself now hahaha.
Layla
Jokes on you, Dad. I know the recipe by heart and make it for dinner once a week.
Dad
[GIF of Homer Simpson compilation yelling Doh!]
Elijah
Seriously, who taught him where the GIF keyboard is? I just wanna talk…
Lyla
Yeah, that was me. No regrets. [Laughing emoji]
Elijah
Anyway, is that your way of saying you miss us? I sent you guys tickets and bought you flights for my game in Tampa so you both could have a nice weekend.
Mom
Ignore your father, sweetheart. I told him not to tease you kids. And thank you for the trip, Eli. It was a great time. You know we love getting to watch you and your brother playing. We’re so proud.
Layla
What about me? Aren’t you proud of me? No love for the middle child? [Sobbing emoji]
Elijah
Wait, who are you?
Layla
Shut up.
Dad
Of course we are, sweetie!!!!!!! You are the light of my life!!!! I’m so proud to be your dad!!!!
Layla
Mom, take his phone away. No one needs to use that many exclamation points.
My lips twitch reading through their conversation.
The tangled knot in my chest loosens slightly.
With a wry shake of my head, I tap out a quick message to let them know I’ve landed and will see them for Christmas in a couple of weeks.
Hopefully the media storm will have blown over by then.
Once I get out of here, I’m heading straight for our cabin in the Vermont mountains to ride it out.
People online can put whatever bullshit spin on things they want. It doesn’t matter. I know I’ll come out of this on the other side. Whatever it takes, I’ll get back to the ice. To the game I love.
My stuff makes the slow parade around the baggage carousel, a small suitcase and an oversized equipment duffel.
I cared more about making sure my gear was with me than packing clothes.
I paid a service to ship whatever I left behind to a storage place in Candlewood, Vermont not far from my parents’ place.
I wait it out until they’re close, tracking the agonizingly slow crawl of the belt. At last, I grab my things and head for the car rentals.
Trevon calls while I’m waiting in line. I keep my voice low when I answer.
“Hey. What's going on?”
He snorts. “Not much, man. Just this player on my client list making me work for my dinner.”
His wide, shining smile is easy to picture. It always lifts his cheekbones higher to crinkle the corners of his warm brown eyes.
I squeeze the back of my neck. “I said I was sorry.”
“Didn’t mean it, though, did you?” he fires back.
After a beat, I grunt. He chuckles.
“I’m just messing with you. Don’t sweat it,” he says.
“Easy for the guy who retired from the NHL with a stellar record to say,” I reply.
His chuckle becomes a wheeze of amusement. “If I hadn’t messed up my shoulder, I probably could’ve played another year or two, but then where would that leave you? Shit out of luck, that’s where.”
I’ve always appreciated this friendly vibe about him since he became my agent. He’s like a big brother to me and it sets me at ease. I know he’s got my back.
“I’m sure your husband is glad you spend your days in that cushy office instead of getting banged up at work,” I say.
His smile is evident in his voice. “He’s very appreciative, and the man loves to show it any chance he can.”
The edge of my mouth lifts. “Is that why you let my calls go to voicemail midday sometimes?”
“Mind your business,” Trevon answers smoothly. “Your flight landed twenty minutes ago. You know the drill: keep your head down while I deal with this.”
I don’t bother asking if he kept tabs on it. “I’m in line to pick up a rental, then I’m heading up to Mt. Helen where my family has a cabin.”
It’s a five hour drive from the city to northern Vermont on a good day. The weather report flashing on the airport monitors makes my stomach sink in resignation. It’ll be five hours if I’m lucky, but I’m probably looking at spending the entire day on the road.
He makes an approving noise. “Good, good. Keep out of the public eye for the time being. I know you’re itching to set the record straight, but hold it in for now. Give me a call when you get there. When I have something for you, I’ll let you know.”
“Got it.” Exhaustion creeps into my tone.
“Like I said, don’t sweat it. We’re not done yet.”
I nod even though he can’t see it. “Thanks.”
“And Caleb?”
“Yeah?”
“No gossip sites. Stay offline.”
My jaw works. Too late for that. I’ve already stewed over some of the ridiculous articles.
“I heard that,” Trevon admonishes.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Exactly. I know you too well. Your silence said it all. I mean it, man. Stay the hell offline for your own good.”
“Fine. I’m next in line. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Don’t worry, kid.”
“I’ll try.”
After hanging up, I blow out a breath and mute my notifications. The only thing standing between me and getting out of here is the rental agent at the counter who looks far too chipper this early in the morning.