Page 12

Chapter Twelve

Hayden

“I don’t know what else I can do, man,” Landon sighs, his frustration clear in his voice. “When is it gonna be my turn to be called up?”

I take a sip of my coffee, allowing time for my brain to find the right words.

“Without this sounding like some Yoda master type, but your time will come, kid. You’re killing it right now. You’re the second-highest goal scorer in the league for the third season running. You lead in ice time per game, and you have at least one assist in every game you’ve played,” I reassure him, hoping my voice conveys my confidence in him. “They are some great stats. It’s coming, I can feel it.”

Landon Leroux is one of my newer signings. He’s a twenty-two-year-old forward who has more talent in his pinky than quite a few guys who are currently playing in the NHL. He was a first-round draft pick for Toronto, and after finishing his freshman year at Michigan State, he joined Toronto’s farm team in the AHL, where he’s been playing since. His frustration right now is down to the various injuries Toronto has seen early into the season, and for him, it feels like everyone’s being called up except for him. Which I know isn’t the case, but it’s easy to feel excluded in those situations.

It’s clear he’s chomping at the bit to play his first NHL game, and I genuinely believe it’s only a matter of time until he gets the call to join them. And if my gut feeling is right, he will shine so bright they would be foolish to send him back down.

“Thanks, man. It just pisses me off. I don’t want it to sound like I’m sucking my own dick?—”

I let out a bark of laughter, which causes him to laugh too.

“Now, that’s some talent. Don’t know if you should promote that to the team, though,” I joke.

He snickers.

“But seriously, I’m a great fucking hockey player. They would be lucky to have me.”

This kid is definitely going to go places. He has belief in himself without being annoyingly arrogant about it, and that’s a great trait to have.

“No need to thank me, I’m just speaking the truth. And I agree with you. You are a great hockey player, and they would be lucky to have you. You’ve just gotta keep doing what you’re doing. Keep putting in the effort. Keep smashing it out on the ice. It’s gonna happen one of these days, and when it does, you need to continue to hustle so you become invaluable to them and they won’t want to send you back down.”

A moment of silence passes through the line, and I start to worry I’ve said the wrong thing. Was I too harsh? Too honest? Did he want me to say something else? Each one of my clients has different needs and expectations. I’ve had to learn how to handle all of them, molding myself to be what they need. Some like the tough love approach, but some don’t. Some like more support, while some prefer the more businesslike approach where we only talk when there’s information to share or offers to discuss.

I’m still figuring Landon out, though. I’m getting the sense he’s the kind of guy who needs the support and reassurance. He also happens to be the youngest person on my roster.

And he has this uncanny ability to make me feel twice as old as I am.

“I knew you were the best guy to rep me,” he says, and relief washes over me at the smile in his voice.

“I’m honored to rep you, kid. And I get it, truly. It’s frustrating waiting for your moment. Wondering if and when it’s gonna come.”

“You spent a few years in Providence before you got called up, right?”

“Yeah, that’s right. I played three seasons there. I was called up twice for a game or two, but it wasn’t until my third season that I got the call and never went back down.”

I remember how fucking ecstatic I was. Not that I wished any of the guys on the team harm. Usually when you got the call, it was to fill in for someone who was on the injured reserve list, but you have to be selfish in hockey. It’s a dog-eat-dog world, and there are always other talented, eager guys out there, ready and willing to take your spot. I made sure that I gave it my all. Every time I stepped out onto the ice, my effort was maxed out. Two hundred and ten percent every time. And it paid off. I turned my two-way contract into a one-way NHL contract and stayed with Boston until that very last game.

And I want to help Landon get there. He deserves to be there, and I’m confident I’m the one to change his two-way into a one-way.

“I’m in my third season now, so maybe I’ll follow in your footsteps.”

I choke out a laugh and glance down at where I’m currently lying on the couch with ice packs on both my knees. “I mean this in the nicest way possible, I really hope you don’t.”

He laughs, and then his voice takes on a softer tone when he says, “Thanks, Hayden. I really appreciate it.”

“Anytime, kid. I’m here to make your life easier, and that includes impromptu pep talks or if you can’t decide between the Lucky Charms and Cap’n Crunch.”

“Fuck you very much,” he chuckles.

I’ve always vowed to be the agent I never had when I was Landon’s age. I didn’t get the supportive calls or the reassurance when I needed it. My first agent seemed to forget that I came into all of this when I was still a kid. I was playing in the OHL at sixteen, then moved into the AHL at twenty. I didn’t know how to handle money or the pressures that came with playing at a professional level. It was only when I had been with Boston for a full year that I realized what an asshole he was. I fired him not long after that.

But now, I’m the one who’s taking on young hotshots like Landon, and I won’t let him down like my agent did with me.

I don’t take as high of a cut as other agents do because I’m not doing it for the money. I’m doing it for the well-being of my players. And I know it’s ironic because I bet if guys like Landon knew the state of my own mental health, they wouldn’t be so eager to sign with me. But I’ve perfected the art of hiding and wearing confidence like a mask because I won’t be a burden to them.

We hang up with the promise of keeping in touch. I rest my head back against the cushions and close my eyes. Today’s pain is worse than my baseline chronic pain. I knew from the minute I woke up that it would be a write-off. I’ve ended up rearranging my appointment with Roberta and had to reschedule a business trip to Seattle because there’s no way I can get on a plane and face people like this. Even wobbling the short distance from my bedroom to the living room was excruciating. I’ve spent the morning switching between doing some emails and snoozing on the couch to the sound of the waves outside while waiting for my pain relief to kick in.

I must end up drifting off again because I wake with a start when my phone vibrates on the coffee table. Stretching over, I glance at the caller ID, then prop myself up on my elbow.

Jackson .

We’ve been talking daily since that night at Peyton’s party. I’ve been keeping to my morning texts that consist of a photo of the ocean and a random fact about jellyfish, but other than that, I’ve been letting Jackson take the reins. The number of texts and calls has gradually increased, and since his game in Dallas, he’s been more… flirtatious. Not that I’m complaining. Not one bit. Hell, I’m happy with any kind of attention from Jackson, but knowing he’s attracted to me, again, it’s a high I never want to come down from.

I quickly answer and bring my phone to my ear. “Hey, Jax. What’s up?”

“Hey, I’m sorry to call you out of the blue like this… I just…” He trails off and makes a frustrated noise. I’m instantly on high alert at how off he’s sounding. “I needed to talk to you. I’m having a shit day.”

“You know you can call me at any time. What’s going on? Why are you having a shit day?”

“Both of the kids woke up with a fever, and it seems they’ve caught some kind of bug. I skipped out on practice this morning so I could stay at home with them, but I’ve just spoken to my mom, and it seems whatever the kids have, they’ve passed it on to my parents too.” He sighs dejectedly. “I’ve got a game tonight, Cas, and I think I’m gonna have to call Coach and put me as a scratch.”

Ah, shit. It sucks being a healthy scratch. It’s not a fun feeling knowing you’re not going to be dressing for the game, so I can understand Jackson’s worries about it. I’ve seen guys spiral downward after being scratched, and sure, it wasn’t for the same reasons as Jackson. It can be for roster management, or it can be strategic, but it still has implications on an athlete’s mindset. It can take its toll on you mentally, knowing you’re capable of playing, but you’re unable to contribute.

“What about your sister? Is she around?”

“No, she’s out of town. Fuck,” he curses. “I’ve never had to do this before, but I can’t leave my kids, Cas.”

The panic in his voice has me getting to my feet. I’ve never heard him sound like this before, and the need to help outweighs my need to look after myself. I wince as pain ricochets through my body. But I push it down and try to ignore it. I head into my bedroom and glance at the clock on my bedside table. I work out in my head how long he has between now and the latest he needs to leave for the arena for the game. “Okay, you’ve got like… sixish hours, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you eaten anything yet?”

“No.”

I chuckle under my breath and fetch my duffel from the closet. “Okay, so first of all, you need to eat something, Jax. Then, go check on the kids and take a nap. It’s going to be okay. We’ll figure this out.”

He makes another noise that sounds a lot like he’s groaning into his hand. “Normally I’d ask Ethan or Jacob to help me out, but Ethan has his pre-op today, and I don’t want to risk him getting sick.”

“Oh, shit, I forgot about that. Knee, right?”

“Yeah, I think Jacob’s more worried than he is.”

I smile at that. Jacob has one of the kindest souls I’ve ever met. He’s the complete opposite of Ethan, who’s gruff and grumpy, but they fit each other perfectly.

“I’ll bet.” I throw clothes into my bag, along with my shaving kit and medication. Once everything is packed, I zip it up and head to my closet to grab a change of clothes. “So, I’m gonna make some calls while you go get something to eat and take a nap. We’ll speak in a few hours.”

There’s a long pause, and when he finally speaks again, gratitude is palpable in his voice. “Thank you, Cas. You still have the ability to stop me from getting stressed-out. ”

A grin spreads across my face. “Don’t thank me just yet.”

He ends the call, and I change into jeans and a hoodie. I grab my laptop from the living room, putting it in my bag before going around and locking up the house.

Then, I’m dialing the number to the private jet company I use as the door closes behind me.