The Fake Out (Vancouver Storm, #2)(108)

I can’t imagine a guy like my grandpa told my dad he loved him.

I think about the things I’ve done this season—going back to the pickup league after I failed miserably, taking risks in games with the team, telling Hazel I love her.

“Hard things get easier with practice.” The knot in my chest begins to loosen, and I follow my own advice. “I love you, too.”

He pulls me into a hug, and while we embrace, whatever I’ve been missing all these years opens in my chest, taking up every inch of space.

We break apart, and he clears his throat. “I’m in town for a couple days,” he says. “Maybe I can take you two for dinner.” He nods to her with a serious expression that I think might be nervousness. “I’d like to get to know you better, Hazel, if that’s alright.”

“Of course.” She smiles, any trace of anger from before gone. “Rory plays in a pickup league on Tuesday nights,” she adds lightly. “I’m sure they’d love for you to drop in.”

He gives me a sidelong look, arching an eyebrow. “Pickup league?”

“Mhm. It’s fun.”

“Fun,” my dad repeats, like he isn’t used to saying the word.

“You gotta pass the puck, though. No hogging the shots.”

His expression turns bemused, and I snort, because watching him try to be a team player after fifty-five years of being the star is going to be a trip.

“Passing the puck,” my dad murmurs. “Okay, then.”

Stars score goals, but there’s so much more to life than being the star.

Ward’s office door opens, and my coach looks us over.

“Come on, Miller.” He tilts his head into his office. “Let’s talk.” My dad steps forward, but Ward levels him with a hard look. “Just Rory.”

My dad opens his mouth to protest, alarm in his eyes as he looks at me.

“We’re not negotiating,” Ward says. “He doesn’t need an agent for this. I just want to talk to my player.”

“It’s okay,” I tell my dad. “I take back what I said about you not being my agent anymore, but I want to talk to Ward alone.”

He looks between me and Ward before he nods. “Okay.”

I follow Ward into his office, close the door, and pray I can convince him to keep me.





CHAPTER 81





RORY





Behind his desk, Ward lets out a long sigh, closing his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“What a fucking mess,” he mutters, and I’m grateful he didn’t send me to postgame press.

All the questions would have been about the trade, and my answers wouldn’t have been professional.

“Alright.” He folds his arms over his chest. “Let’s get some things clear. I think I know the answer based on your pregame interview that’s being broadcast on every sports network, but do you want to leave?”

“No.” I swallow past the rock in my throat, looking Ward dead on. “I love this team. It’s the first place I’ve ever felt like I belonged. I know I’m not playing like I did last year, I know I’m not the superstar you signed, and I’m probably not even the captain you wanted—”

“You are.” He pauses. “I didn’t make it easy on you this year, Miller, but I wanted to see what being captain meant to you, and who you really are.” His eyes glint. “You’ve shown incredible progress. What you’ve done so far this season? It wasn’t easy. I know that. I see Rick commentating, I see the headlines about you.” He looks out the window at the city. “Part of this job is learning to block out what doesn’t matter and hold on to what does.”

A flash of memories hits me: running up the stairs with Hazel while she shrieks with laughter, passing to the guys at the pickup league, celebrating with my team when a play worked. Telling my parents I loved them, even though it was hard.

Those are the things that matter.

“And even tonight,” he goes on, “when the pressure was higher than ever to revert to your old ways, you didn’t.”

I considered it—ignoring the plays and taking the puck for myself, sinking it in the net to get my numbers up and show management I can be whoever they want me to be.

I can’t, though. Now that I’ve had a taste of winning as a team, I don’t want to go back.

“That being said,” Ward adds, “there are three offers on the owner’s desk.”

My lungs feel tight, and there isn’t enough air in the room. None of it matters if the owner wants to sell me. I’m either an asset or a liability. It’s all money, in the end.

“Here’s what I’m going to do.” Ward leans forward, interlacing his fingers. “I’m going to call in a favor the owner owes me and ask to keep you, and you’re going to keep up whatever you’ve been doing this season.”

I’m hit with a tsunami of relief. I’m not leaving. It wasn’t all for nothing.

“It was Hazel. She changed my life.”

“You made quite a spectacle earlier.” Through his exhaustion, his eyes dance with amusement.

I wince. “Sorry.”

He shakes his head, smiling to himself. “It’s okay. I’m happy for you, Miller. It’s not every day that you find that.”