Chapter 23
twenty-three
Elijah
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
My phone won’t shut up.
I didn’t think I set an alarm this morning.
Not this early, anyway. I usually wake up on my own.
I pull one eye open as I grapple for my phone and blink at the screen.
Apparently, it’s not my alarm. It’s still pitch-black outside, and the screen is way too bright. I squint as my phone vibrates again.
Missed Calls:
Coach Carlson … 2 Bill Baker … 1 Dad … 2 Granite Ice Social Media Office … 6 Koren … 1 Unknown Number
Unknown Number
Unknown Number
Texts are stacked up like a book.
I jerk upright as sweat slaps my back. My heart thrums in my throat. I open the messages.
Axl: Bro. You seeing this?
Jackson: This is insane. You okay?
Team Group Chat: Dude, you’re trending. This is bad. Is this true?
My stomach drops. I open the news app.
There it is on the front page on a major sports site.
LEAKED DOCUMENTS SUGGEST GRANITE ICE PLAYER SIGNED UNDER “PERSONAL FAVOR” TO TEAM OWNER. Questions arise after an anonymous source reveals receipts.
My vision tunnels. They can’t possibly know.
The phone rings again, and it’s Coach.
I answer but I don’t dare say hello. I only swallow into the silence as my voice stuck in my throat.
“Where have you been?” he barks.
“I—I just woke up. I don’t even know what’s going on. Can you clue me in?”
“You’re all over social media. Someone leaked a story about an accident you were in last year.
The media got the body shop to produce receipts showing everything was paid for in a large lump of cash.
Then your dad was interviewed and stated they didn’t know about the accident, that it never went through your insurance, and they never helped with the payment.
Apparently, there is some question about where the large sum of cash came from because it was the exact week you were signed.
There’s a whole lot of speculation that Bill might have been involved.
I’m awfully confused. Care to fill me in? ”
“What! My dad?” I snap as I stumble out of bed and start pacing with my heart pounding. My hand finds the back of my head and, nervously, I scratch it. “Uh, did you talk to Bill?”
“I haven’t been able to get through to him yet. My phone’s been ringing off the hook. I would like to know what’s going on.”
“Ah, what’s going on.” I repeat, my brain blacking out. It feels like I’m being ambushed. “Uh, I’m getting fired, aren’t I?”
There’s a beat of silence.
“That depends.” Coach’s voice wavers. “Are you able to confirm if there is any truth to the allegations?”
My knees go weak. I sit on the edge of the bed. This wasn’t supposed to go like this. I trusted Bill. But what did I know? I was a stupid kid. I’m still probably a little bit stupid. “I didn’t ask for any of this,” I whisper. “I didn’t know what to do. Bill told me what to do.”
“You know, we all know Bill can be a little extreme sometimes. He loves his team.” Coach says firmly. “Tell me the truth.”
“I think it’s too late for the truth. Everyone is reading headlines, and they’ll all assume I didn’t do the work to get here. That I didn’t earn this spot. But you said just yesterday you thought I did.”
“That part is true. You came in as an underdog, but you’ve worked your butt off to keep your spot. Stats don’t lie, but we do have a code of conduct we have to follow,” His voice continues steadily, “So tell me the truth. Did Bill offer you something off-the-record?”
I clamp my top teeth on my bottom lip, fighting the quivers in my jaw. “I need to talk to Bill first,” I whisper. On cue, my phone buzzes with another call.
“Okay. You let me know when you can talk to me.”
I end the call and peek at the new number blinking on my phone. It’s not Bill. It’s an unknown number, which I let go to voicemail. Hopefully my mailbox is full by now.
While waiting for the phone to stop buzzing, I walk to the bathroom mirror and picture myself finally telling the whole truth. Tension curls through my body. But I know in my heart I earned that spot. This looks way worse for Bill than it does for me.
It stinks to be fired, but worse, I’ve just confirmed my suspicion that my dad is behind all of this.
I don’t even need physical proof anymore.
If he were on my side, he would have talked to me before the media.
Plus, he lied because he said he didn’t know about the accident, but he had those receipts in his drawer like he was just waiting for the perfect chance to use them. It all seems planned.
And there’s only one reason I can think of for doing that.
He wants to ruin my life.
Downton Mapleton blurs past my window with its cheery buildings, and people bustling inside the shops like nothing’s falling apart.
Meanwhile, I’m gripping the steering wheel like it’s the only thing keeping me from spinning out.
I take a left onto the interstate, set my cruise control, and reach for my phone on the dash, calling Koren on speaker.
“Hello,” she answers quickly, like she knew I’d call, and knew I was already dealing with so much.
“Hey.” Hating to be a disappointment to her, I tighten my grip on the wheel. She doesn’t need to go through this.
“So I’m hearing a lot of things,” she says with a soft voice. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know exactly,” I admit while keeping my eyes fixed on the road.
“Someone leaked a tip about when my car was fixed at the body shop. The body shop gave up receipts showing I paid in cash, and now everyone says I didn’t earn my spot on the team.
The thing is, though, Bill knew my name because he’d watched me play in high school.
I never would’ve gotten that spot without working hard …
” My voice trails off as I pass a slow-moving car and get back in my lane.
“I get that the way I met Bill was unconventional, but he doesn’t hand out favors when it comes to his team.
Everyone earns their spots. As much as I was lucky, he was lucky too, because I’m good at what I do. ”
“I agree. You work just as hard as the other guys.”
“I’m on my way to the arena now, and my heart’s in my throat.” Shaking my head, I can’t get another word out because I don’t even know how I ended up here. The real question isn’t whether I’ll keep my job. It’s not about my job anymore. It’s about loyalty, and who leaked the tip.
Bill has enemies.
Lots of them.
Could this tie back to his rivalry with Arctic Force?
And how did my dad get involved?
Because he couldn’t have pulled this off all alone.
“Well, I’m already here. They opened the pressroom about five minutes ago. I’ll be waiting for you.”
My heart slams against my chest. As much as I don’t want to subject her to the media firestorm I know is coming, I also don’t know what I would do without her support. “If I lose my job, I don’t know what else I’d do. I don’t have any other skills.”
“Don’t worry about that right now. Just speak from the heart. We’ll figure the rest out together,” she says, like it’s the simplest thing. “You can always help me at the flower shop. You impressed me with all your knowledge, and hey, your Funky Chicken skills could go viral.”
I almost laugh. Instead, a noisy exhale escapes before I clench my jaw again.
“Do you know how much I love you?” Her voice softens again.
This time I chuckle. Not because it’s funny, but because it's the only thing keeping my chest from cracking wide open. “I have a good idea, but it’s not as much as I love you.” I turn on my blinker to exit the highway and coast down the ramp until I get to the stop sign.
In my peripheral vision, I see the arena, and my heart stops.
This is where my hockey career crashes.
“I better get off the phone. I’m pulling into the arena, but I’ll see you inside.”
“I love you. Remember, no matter what happens, we’ll get through it together.”
“I love you too.” I nod, even though she can’t see me. “Wait for me after.”
“Always.”
I hang up as I steer into a parking spot. Throwing my car into park, I sit still for a solid minute while I stare at the arena’s brick walls. When I’ve run out of reasons to stall, I shove the door open and step out.
Time to walk into the fire.
I’m not surprised by the packed lot. After all, I’m the one who called them here.
I thought about calling Bill.
When my phone started blowing up this morning, I even hovered over his name, thumb ready to press, then scratched that idea.
I guess I’m a wuss. I’m not sure this is better, but I panicked with all the incoming calls, and I called a press conference.
I want to say what I have to say one time.
I’ll live with the consequences, but the last thing I need is this dragging out for days with every reporter cashing a paycheck at my expense while I slowly lose my mind.
I stride into the arena and head straight for the pressroom. I don’t slow until I push through the pressroom doors, and there are already rows of people lining both sides of the room.
I’ve never been good with this kind of stuff, but I make it to the podium and stand up straight, staring out at them.
The spotlight above my head burns the back of my neck, sweat sliding under my collar.
I regret not wearing my jersey. Out of respect for the situation, I put on a collared shirt, sport jacket, and tie.
I don’t feel worthy of my jersey this morning.
A suit is more layers than I’m used to, but I’ve never felt more exposed in my life. In the back, I spot Koren, standing off to the side like she’s afraid to take up space. The Granite Ice PR rep walks up, flicks the microphone on, and walks away. So much for an introduction.
The spotlight seems to grow hotter. My fingers tug at my tie. Loosening it just a bit, I try to pull air into my lungs. Clearing my throat, I adjust the microphone, pulling it a little closer.