51. Gods of the Ice Teaser
Gods of the Ice Teaser
Ryder
“ K ingsy, my man, I have news for you. It’s good and bad, so I’ll just rip the Band-Aid off. Boston traded you to Atlanta. You’re going to that new team those billionaires bought.”
My head swims at the worst news my agent could have given me. I squeeze the phone and pace across my living room, along the floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over Boston Harbor. How the fuck could this happen? I was named one of the best goalies in the league and we just came off a seven-game playoff run for the Stanley Cup. I was supposed to be signed for another eight years in Boston. I just fucking went through arbitration last year and spent this season showing the team why they needed to keep me. I’ve given seven years of my life to Boston, how could they do me dirty like this after I’ve given them everything?
“Tell me you’re fucking joking, Mark, this isn’t fucking funny,” I growl, my mind still spinning down a dark tunnel of my personal hell .
“I’m shooting straight with you like I always do. They’re in contract negotiations with Upton to keep him on instead. They couldn’t have two number-one goalies forever, and unfortunately, you had the bigger target on your back with this series run and that devastating loss,” Mark says.
His words burn like acid and remind me of my failures that are never far from my mind. We were so close to the cup, in the conference finals, game seven against Dallas, and the deciding factor if we would advance to the Stanley Cup finals. We lost, three to two, and those three goals were my fault. I let them past my glove and we lost our shot, again. The huge weight hanging on my shoulders and one of the biggest black marks against me in arbitration last year was not being trustworthy during playoffs. I proved them right again by not performing when it counted, and look where it got me, traded to a brand-new team in fucking Atlanta.
“I’m going to the hell hole of the South? Hot-fucking-lanta? This is a fucking nightmare.”
“It’s a thirty-three-million-dollar, three-year nightmare. That’s the upside. We got you far more than Boston would’ve given you if they’d kept you. You’re now the highest-paid goalie in the NHL. That should help make up for the trade at least a bit, and you get to help shape a brand-new team with an unlimited budget. These billionaires aren’t sparing a single penny and are pulling in the best talent in the league for this team. I’ve heard rumors of their moves and it’ll be good. They even got Connor Kennedy to coach. That man’s a fucking legend. You’ll be skating for someone with more cup runs and wins than any current coaching team can boast. This isn't what you had in mind, but it’s not the worst that could have happened.”
No shit. The worst is I could be done with hockey forever, injured and unable to play, or so shitty no team wanted to pick me up. I see what Mark’s doing, and I’m rational enough to understand this is a good fucking deal. But fuck, I don’t want to be rational, I want to wallow and stick with my routine and the things I wanted for a change. Hockey isn’t a sport you get your say in all that often, and I’ve been damn lucky to stick with the same team I was drafted to right out of college. Seven years is a lifetime to spend with one team, and I guess I was pushing my luck hoping they’d keep me longer. Knowing that doesn't make this loss any easier to swallow.
“So, what now?” I ask Mark, a note of despair in my tone I don’t like the sound of. I need to know what’s expected of me to establish my routine immediately. I know it’s stupid to some people, but I need everything to be the same, and to know what to expect. I thrive in routine, knowing the rules and how to play by them—when to show up and where to be, what to eat, what my training plan is—all that fucking bullshit hockey players are told makes us superstitious sheep. And I know what they say about goalies being the worst. I just don’t fucking care.
“You enjoy what little of your summer you can, settle up in Boston, and get your ass to Atlanta for training camp in September. And hey, another bright spot is Knox is in Atlanta, so at least you’ll know a friendly face right off the bat and I’ll finally have my two best clients in the same city.”
That’s the only upside I can see right now—living in the same city as my best friend for the first time since college. Knox Contraire is a tight end for the Atlanta Condors football team and the best dude I know. He'll have to save me from this nightmare one way or another because I don't have the option of turning down a trade this lucrative at the top of my career. I hope he's ready to be my knight in shining fucking armor.
The Gods of the Ice series is coming in 2025!