23. Chapter Twenty-Three #2
The shower's still running. Sarah will be in there another ten minutes at least. She takes forever in the shower. I know this because I've spent well over a year very carefully not thinking about what she's doing in there.
I'm failing at that right now.
"Between now and January when we can officially negotiate," Dave continues, "you need to play clean.
And Kevin? That Vancouver fine didn't help.
Five grand for a game misconduct. I know they were goading you, but you can't take the bait.
You're playing for your future right now. Every shift matters."
He’s talking about the fine in the abstract. He doesn’t know the real reasons. But I do. I know it was worth every penny to make Vostrikov eat his fucking smirk.
But Dave's right. I can't afford to lose my temper again. Not with this much at stake.
"Understood."
"And Kevin?" His voice shifts. Softer. Almost sympathetic. "I've been doing this twenty years. In all that time, I've only seen guys dig their heels in like you're doing for three reasons: family crisis, legal issues, or a woman."
The shower shuts off.
"You want to tell me which one it is?" Dave asks.
Silence stretches down the line. I can hear Sarah moving around in the bathroom.
"That's what I thought," Dave says. "Look, whatever's going on in your personal life, that's your business. But my job is to get you the best contract possible, and I can't do that if you're making decisions based on information I don't have."
He's right. He's absolutely fucking right, and I hate that I can’t lay it all out on the table for him right now.
"So, here's what I need from you," Dave continues.
"Play hard and clean, keep your options open, and if this Austin thing is non-negotiable, you need to tell me why before January.
Because right now we're looking at roughly a $5 million gap between Vegas and Austin over five years.
That's not nothing, Kevin. That's post-career security. That's your whole life after hockey."
$5 million.
For staying close to Sarah and our kid.
For being there for bedtime stories and first steps and scraped knees and hockey practices if they want to play.
The bathroom door opens. Sarah's padding down the hall.
"Can we table this until after the holidays?" I ask.
Dave's quiet for a long moment. "Yeah. But Kevin?
Whatever — or whoever — is keeping you in Austin?
Make sure it's worth $5 million. I've seen guys take less money to stay somewhere for a relationship, and half the time, the relationship doesn't even last. Don't sacrifice your future for something that might not be there in six months. "
Six months from now, she'll be in her last trimester.
Six months from now, we'll know if we can make this work.
Six months from now, I'll either be signing with Austin or packing up my life for Vegas or Vancouver or wherever the money and the game takes me.
"I hear you," I tell Dave.
Sarah's back in the kitchen now, refilling her mug. Pulling a second one out of the cabinet and checking how much is left in the coffee maker’s carafe. She’s doing that for me, I realize.
"We need to get on the same page before teams start making real offers," Dave says.
"We will. After the holidays."
"Alright. Enjoy Thanksgiving. Try to relax. And Kevin? Think about what I said."
“I will, Dave. Happy Thanksgiving to you and Emily and the kids.”
We hang up.
I sit there, staring at my phone.
Sarah can't move to Vegas. The rescue is her life's work. She owns it. Built it from nothing.
I can't ask her to give that up.
But I also can't imagine being a thousand miles or more away from her and our kid.
Missing first words and first steps. Being the dad who's always on the road, always in another city—maybe even another country, always choosing hockey over family because that's what the dirty business of this beautiful game required of me.
And Vancouver? Playing for the guys who've been trying to end my career? Sharing a locker room, a plane, team dinners, and my whole life for 84 games a year? With Fjellvik and Vostrikov?
It makes me feel nauseated. I’m not the pregnant one in this condo, but I am two seconds from walking out of this office to get some saltines and ginger tea.
I wasn’t exaggerating when I told Dave a firm no.
I'd rather hang up my skates than sign that deal.
There's a knock on my door. Sarah pokes her head in, holding two mugs.
"You okay? You look stressed."
I try to rearrange my face into something that doesn't scream the guy who negotiates my contracts just basically told me I'm choosing between my career and my family.
"Agent call."
She winces, stepping into the office. Sets one of the mugs on my desk. "Contract stuff?"
"Yeah. Nothing urgent." The lie comes out easier than it should.
She studies me for a second, and I can see her trying to decide whether to push. She doesn't. Just squeezes my shoulder. "You eat yet?"
"Not yet. Was probably going to grab something at the facility."
"I made toast. Well, I burned toast. Then I made new toast."
I follow her to the kitchen. She's still got the kettle on for tea, and there's a plate with slightly-too-dark toast on the counter. The coffee she brought me is perfect: cream, no sugar, exactly how I take it. She's been making my coffee for months. She knows.
And then, I make a decision.
"I'm taking you out tonight," I say.
She looks up from adding honey to her mug. "Out where?"
"On a date. A real one."
Her eyes widen. "Kevin—"
"Seven o'clock. I'll pick you up properly."
"I thought you said I live here for a while now."
"You do. So, I'll pick you up from the living room. Any room you want. Properly."
The corner of her mouth twitches. "This feels very formal."