He deserves a hell of a lot more than that. All the guys do.
They lost their last game without me.
My body feels leaden. “You’re right. I’m just trying to figure out life, yeah? Let me just pack my stuff up.”
“Fine. I need to clean up for the new roommate anyway.”
“New? That didn’t take long.”
“Yeah. Bowers.”
I exhale. Bowers is a good guy. A good player.
“Come in the den. I want you to take a look at something.”
Okay, weird.
“Sure.”
We walk into the den and a blur grabs me by the collar of my coat, spins me around, and envelopes me in a bearhug. “What the—”
I take in the broad-shouldered guy with curly long blond hair. He’s a big dude. He must have been standing in the back, waiting on me to walk into the den.
“Z?” I exclaim in amazement. “Fuck me. Shouldn’t you be in Nashville?”
His grin takes up his whole face. “Yeah, it’s me, asshole. I took a personal day to fly here and talk to you.”
I sputter. “Dude. I’m flattered.”
He pats me, then shoves me in the recliner. “Good. Now that the niceties are done, it’s time to talk.”
Oh.
Boone has entered the den, and he and Reece sit on the couch. Serious expressions are on both their faces.
Z drags a chair from the kitchen and plops it down beside me.
“Uh, is this an intervention?” I ask, bemused that Z is here, but uneasy about having to explain my reasons for quitting the team. It’s terrible to admit when you’ve given up.
Boone nods. “I’ve never seen anyone who needed more intervening than you. Wait. Maybe me when I rushed Kappa.”
I chuckle uncertainly.
“Here. You might need this.” Z hands me a water and I take a long drag, then wipe my face.
He looks me over, his eyes grave. “It’s not really an intervention. Let’s just call it a chat to get a certain player’s head out of his ass.”
I wince. “You didn’t need to come all this way. I’m straight. I’m fine.” I’m not.
I fucking miss hockey.
Reece grimaces. “Eric. Look at yourself. You’ve lost weight. Your eyes are dead. Just explain why you quit and we’ll listen.”
I dip my head and clench my fists to find an anchor. It used to be Julia. She made everything brighter. But without her, things have only spiraled. “My life is about following my dad’s footsteps. Hockey was interfering in achieving that.”
Reece snorts. “Interfering? Fuck me. Hockey is your life.”
Z shushes him. “We need to listen to him. Look, Eric, I understand that these ideas come from your dad, but I know you. You love being on that ice.”
A lump rises in my throat. “Okay, sure. The best part of my life has been on the ice, but that’s coming to an end after this season. This is as far as I was going to go. Pro is a dream I didn’t achieve.”
Z smirks. “I always thought you were the best winger I ever played with.”
“Hey! Standing right here,” grouses Reece. “And, hello, I’m your brother.”
“Sorry, bro,” Z continues without taking his eyes off me. “I’ve always been confused why you never got a sniff from the league. So, when Reece called and told me what was going on, I asked our head of scouting. He said he had you rated high on their board a couple of years ago but was told by the Preds owner to put you on the do-not-draft-for-off-ice-reasons list.”
“What?” I ask as I rear back in shock. “But how?”
Z nods. “Yeah, crazy, right? So I called our owner and asked him. He told me he had a conversation with your dad at some fundraiser a few years back. Your dad said you would never play pro hockey and to not waste their time on you. Apparently, it got around, and now every team in the league has you on their do-not-draft list.”
I stand up and pace around the den. “This is bullshit. My dad wouldn’t block me from going pro.”
Reece glowers. “Wouldn’t he? He talked you into quitting the team.”
Z’s eyes search mine. “If you could be a free agent at the end of the college season and sign with any team, what would you want to do with your life?”
I shake my head. “What’s the point? I’m already off the team.”
Boone points at me. “Officially you’re taking time off for a mental health break. That’s what I’m telling people.” He grins. “Come on, you know Coach would have you back.”