Chapter 4 Boone #2
But that wasn’t my mistake. When she asked if I was going to get her phone number at the end of the night, I told her I didn’t date blondes.
It was a joke and a way for me to avoid getting attached considering I’ve been intentionally celibate and avoiding women for the sake of repairing my reputation. And it completely backfired on me.
Let’s just say accidentally snubbing the mayor’s daughter is not a good look when you’re trying to convince people that you’re stable.
“I had no idea who she was.”
Caleb shakes his head like I’m a disappointment. “And what about the social media incident in the fall?"
Okay, you’ve made your fucking point now.
Accidentally going live on Instagram and streaming myself singing Mariah Carey’s All I Want for Christmas is You while taking back-to-back shots of whiskey made everyone in the city think I had a problem. And maybe I did. But I don’t anymore.
I haven’t touched alcohol since. But something tells me Caleb won’t care about that little detail.
“And unfortunately,” Caleb continues, his tone clipped, “because of the backlash over this recent bar fight, the law firm that represents the team and all its players has decided to drop you, along with their sister PR firm.”
“What? Can they even do that?”
Coach Steele leans forward, nodding somberly. “Unfortunately, they can. Which means you’re out of legal representation and PR support during a crucial time in the season and in your career.”
Read between the lines, idiot. You screwed yourself with your own decisions, and now there’s no fixing your reputation in the media because even the people paid to represent you see you as a lost cause.
“Okay…” I say slowly, trying to process this mess.
Caleb moves to the chair next to me, crossing his legs in a way that feels too casual for what is most definitely not a casual conversation. This whole situation freaks me out. I’m not some screw-up.
I’m not a bad guy. Hell, I’m probably the most chill, drama-free player on this whole team.
I don't ever start fights. I was in a committed relationship for years.
But one very public breakup, paired with my teammates dragging me into their obnoxious antics over the past year, and now here I am, dropped by my law firm and looking the two men who I don't want to let down most dead in the eye as they practically serve me an eviction notice.
“So, what’s the plan?” Stay calm. Stay calm.
“We need to go bigger and find you some new representation until the team's firm will take you back,” Caleb says flatly. “We need a firm that will not only get this case dropped but fix your reputation and put you back in the ‘good guy’ persona where you belong. And this is your last shot, Boone. If you screw it up with this new firm, we’ll have no choice but to release you from the team.”
I draw in a sharp breath. Wow, straight to the fucking point.
“Well, that sucks.” Because I’m definitely not ready to retire yet.
Coach Steele’s lips twitch at the corner, a hint of sympathy breaking through.
“Son, we don’t think it’ll come to that.
And we don’t want it to. You're our strongest forward, and you’re an integral part of the team.
People come to watch you play. People buy Tremblay jerseys more than any other on the team. Just help us, help you.”
Yep, yep, that I am.
Caleb cuts in, his tone all business. “Yes, but despite how much we pay you, and what you bring to Mayhem, we can’t afford any more bad press, not after what happened between the trainer and Penn.”
Fucking Penn. Always putting his dick where it doesn’t belong. At least I didn’t have a sex scandal.
“Understood,” I say tightly. “So, who’s this last shot lawyer?”
“The Law Offices of Prescott & Associates.”
I frown. The name doesn’t sound familiar. “They do sports?”
“Not typically,” Caleb admits. “They specialize in actors, actresses, and social media stars. They’re mostly entertainment lawyers but are looking to branch into sports.
And don’t worry, getting your case dropped for this bar fight will be their top priority.
With that said, they have a PR firm in the same building which will handle managing your reputation online and in the news. ”
“Okay…”
“Together, they plan on turning your perception in the media around. Maxwell Prescott runs the firm. He’s ruthless. A real bulldog. Doesn’t let his clients go unless it’s an extreme situation. The last client he dropped was because one of their rock stars drugged someone’s girlfriend.”
“Well, fuck. That’s terrible.”
Caleb narrows his eyes. “I trust we won’t have to worry about anything like that with you.”
I cross my heart with my finger and shake my head. “Never drugged anyone before. Wouldn’t even know where to find the drugs if I wanted to.”
Caleb exhales sharply and leans back. “You need to take this seriously, Boone. The PR firm that they work with is a hybrid setup. The lawyers handle legal and PR, and they’re expensive. I need you to take this investment seriously.”
I nod, bracing myself for the inevitable. “Who’s paying for this?”
Caleb chuckles dryly. The first smile I’ve seen from him all day. “You.”
Despite being the highest-paid player on the team, hell, maybe the highest player in the league this year, with a solid financial advisor who’s helped me stack millions into investments that I intend on retiring off when that day comes, I’ve always been very cautious with my money. Sometimes to a fault.
I come from a blue-collar logging family in Canada, and those roots run deep. Spending money frivolously feels wrong. I cook almost all my meals at home, rarely eat out, and avoid living above my means.
Hell, I’ve been rooming with Penn since I ended things with my ex, Anastasia, partly to save money, partly because I don’t see the point in renting a place twice the size of what I need since we're always on the road or practicing.
The only downside is that he insists on me being his wingman.
I’m retiring in a year or so, and every penny I’ve earned is already mapped out in my plans.
I’m not looking for lavish living or expensive luxuries.
Once hockey is behind me, I want to slow down, start a family, and enjoy the rest of my late 30s and 40s while raising some wild, hockey loving babies.
It’s never been about the paycheck—it’s about building a life that I can actually enjoy, and I'd hate to think about spending any of my hard-earned money on fixing my reputation, something that I care little about.
Coach Steele cuts in before I can continue spiraling. “We’ll split the cost with the club as long as you do whatever they instruct you to do to turn this whole thing around.”
Caleb stands, looming over me like a judge delivering a final verdict. “But only if you follow every single one of their instructions. I mean it. If you go against anything they recommend—anything, Boone—you’ll be footing the entire bill.”
I nod, swallowing nervously.
"Got it. Don’t disobey. Do whatever they tell me to do."
He nods. "Tomorrow morning. Eight a.m. sharp. Be at their offices wearing your most expensive suit to meet with your new legal team who's going to help you win this case and turn your reputation around."
“Yes sir.”
With that, Caleb leaves the office, his polished shoes clicking sharply against the tile as the door shuts behind him. I sink back into my chair, completely drained.
“It’s going to be okay,” Coach says firmly.
“Easy for you to say.”
He chuckles. “Did I ever tell you about the time I trespassed on an old dairy farm and rode a cow? Got a three-game suspension out of it but a hell of a memory.”
He launches into some story from back when he played pro hockey, but I barely hear a word of it. My mind is already somewhere else, spiraling through the rules my new legal and PR teams are about to shove down my throat.
And how much I’m going to hate every single one of them.