Page 2 of A Vegas Crush Collection #3

max terry

Grant

“So, it’s done then, hey?” Marcus asks as he takes a swig from his beer bottle. “The i’s are crossed and the t’s are dotted?”

I open my mouth to respond but then realize what he’s said. “I think you got that backward, friend.”

He lifts a shoulder. “Whatever. You get the picture.”

I nod. “Yep. I signed all the paperwork yesterday in the presence of my lackluster divorce attorney. We’re selling the house and splitting the proceeds, but I might as well just hand her the money, considering all the spousal support I’ve had to pay to get to this point.

” I take a swig from my own bottle. “Just glad our financials are now and forever severed.”

“Bitch cheats on you in your own bed and then asks you to pay her to go away,” Marcus answers, shaking his head of wild, blond curls. “Did you at least get to punch Barton Graves in the face?”

I cringe at his choice of word. Bitch. I just don’t like to talk about her like that.

Even after she had an affair with one of my (former) best friends.

Even after she acted as if our fourteen years spent together meant nothing.

“I’m not paying her to go away and…don’t call her that. ” I toy with the label on my beer.

“Dude, you’re too nice. Too much of a gentleman. She did you wrong.”

“She did,” I agree. But I still don’t like that word. For any woman, really.”

He lifts his shoulder again. “Okay, man. Sorry. And what about Barton?”

“I’ve got nothing to say about Barton. He’s nobody to me now.”

“Gonna make work holiday parties a real hoot.”

I snort at this. He’s not wrong. The thought of having to be in a room together with the two of them, in front of the team and the whole office staff? No thanks. It curdles my stomach, actually. Makes my beer taste sour. “A shitshow indeed.”

Marcus nods, his mouth set in a distasteful pucker. “With a capital S. I’ll bet you wish you’d never heard the name Margot at this point.”

Margot. We met when I was twenty-four, just two years out of college.

I’d taken my college team to the national championships playing center, and there was no way I wasn’t going to make a career of the game I’d been playing since I could stand in a pair of skates.

I went straight into the AHL and made a name for myself early.

One night, my teammates and I were out celebrating.

The usual group of hockey groupies were hanging around, eager to spend the night with a pro player.

Any pro player. But that wasn’t an interest of mine.

However, my eyes did keep wandering to a table full of college-aged women, where a pretty blonde with blue eyes was trying very hard not to look as interested as I thought she might be.

I went to the restroom just to get a chance to walk by her table.

We made eye contact, and when I came back out, I asked if I could buy her a drink.

Margot and I were inseparable after that night.

She was always in the stands, cheering for me.

She watched my career take off, was there when I won the Calder Cup, and saw me represent my country as the Canadian team took Olympic Gold in Sochi.

And then.

And then that thing happens that all pro athletes dread.

The injury that brings it all to a screeching halt.

For me, it was my knee. Not your usual ACL or meniscus tear for me.

No, I shattered my knee, a hard feat when you’re covered in pads.

Thank God for knee replacement surgery, but still, those manufactured joints are not made for pro athletes.

After fifteen years of professional hockey, I was out. Hence, the move into management.

And I’m good at it. I like it. I had a lot of good years as a player, and now I’m a damn good administrator. So that’s all fine.

However, I am an administrator at a team that, due to a prolific grapevine, now knows my wife cheated on me with my best friend and the CFO for the team. No bueno.

When did my marriage fall apart? Hard to know, which I guess means I wasn’t a very attentive partner.

I’d thought Margot was the one. I loved her.

I thought she loved me back. That we were happy.

I wanted kids. She wanted kids. We tried for years and never had luck.

Every month, her period came like clockwork, and every month, I found myself disappointed.

Frustrated. Because I always wanted a family.

And I wanted it with her, so it felt like my failure when it never happened.

So here I am at thirty-nine, divorced, and replaying it all over and over as I try to figure out where I could have been better, done better, as a husband.

My friends all think it wasn’t me—that, really, it was Margot who disengaged.

She’s the one who cheated, that’s true, but people don’t cheat if things are great between them and their spouses.

Marcus nudges me out of my thoughts. “Hey, bro, your phone is buzzing. Come back to earth.”

Blinking away my stroll down memory lane, I pick up my phone from the table. A Las Vegas number I don’t recognize scrolls across the top of the screen. I consider letting it go to voicemail, but frankly, I could use some air, so I grab it and stand, heading for the door.

“This is Grant,” I answer as I step out into the cool night.

“Hey, Grant,” an unfamiliar voice says on the other end of the line. “Sorry to call you after hours. Is this a good time?”

“That depends. Are you trying to sell me something?”

A chuckle. “No. My name is Max Terry.”

Max Terry. Max Terry. The name is so familiar, but I can’t place it.

“I’m the owner of the Las Vegas Crush.”

The fuck? The Las Vegas Crush, a top-five team in the NHL who’ve won the cup and eaten up a shit-ton of talent over the past few years. Whoa.

“Well, hello, Mr. Terry. How can I be of service?”

“Our long time GM has recently told me he intends to retire before the season starts. We’re sad to see him go, obviously, but excited to bring in some new ideas. Fresh perspective. We need to move quickly, though, to get him replaced. I’m calling to see if you’d consider a conversation with us?”

He wants to know if I would consider a conversation with the Las Vegas Crush? About taking the top administrative role at a team that is literally at the very pinnacle of the NHL?

“I would definitely consider a conversation.” I try to keep the eagerness out of my voice. “But what made you think of me, sir?”

“I’ve heard good things. You’re a former player with a ton of league awards under your belt.

You’re a Gold medalist. You’re not a media liability.

You’ve got good, solid management experience, from what I’ve heard.

Young, fresher in your approaches. Well respected.

I could go on, but I don’t want to give you too big an ego boost.”

“No worries, there. I just got hammered in a divorce settlement, so my ego is good and surely managed right now.”

Why did I just tell him that?

Luckily, he laughs. “Boy, don’t I understand that.

But I’ll tell you, it’s good news for me.

No baggage. It’s a chance to come in fully focused on the team, and I really need that right now.

I’ve got a roster full of amazing players with huge salaries.

It’s been a good run, but I have a real concern about our bench strength and our longevity.

Come down for a visit, Grant, and we can talk more about it. ”

“Yes, of course. I work with Nic Marchessault at Talent One. Can your HR team liaison through him to set things up?”

“We can. We’ll get ahold of your agent and get you down here posthaste.”

“Sounds good. Looking forward to it.”

“Grant, keep this under your hat. The team hasn’t been informed yet and we’re only looking at a couple of guys. I want to keep it quiet for now.”

“Roger that.”

“Also, I may hire an assistant GM. We haven’t had one here in a few years and I’d like to get with the diversity bandwagon. You aren’t a racist or a sexist, right? Because I’m looking at a couple of women for the role.”

“No, sir. I’ll work with anyone with a brain for hockey and a desire to be a team player.”

“Good man. See you soon.”

He hangs up, and I stand there for a long minute, taking in what just happened. When I finally make my way back inside to the bar, Marcus has ordered another round. I reach for the bottle and take an extra-long pull before meeting my friend’s inquisitive gaze. “Guess who that was.”

“Your attorney?”

“No.”

“Margot?”

“No. Thank God.”

“I give up.”

“That, my friend, was the owner of a major NHL team. Things might just be looking up after all.”

Talk about incredible timing. This could be the perfect opportunity to put the shitshow in Alberta behind me and discard all the “baggage” attached to it. And I can move forward with my life.