“Yes, sir—”
“And I’ll tell you this right now. The kind of talent I don’t need hogging up my ice is the kind who only sees the Rays as a springboard onto bigger and better teams.”
“Of course, sir—”
“First season is tough all the way around,” he admits. “We’re dealing with the trades, and building a team, and all the hiccups of running a new staff and facilities. It’s been a nightmare.”
“Yes, sir,” I say again.
“But we can’t get complacent,” he goes on. “I’m already looking to next season, and the season after that. Hell, I’m looking ten years into the future here. A few of the guys have already locked themselves in to four-and five-year contracts with no-trade clauses. They intend to stay here and help me build an NHL team worth playing on.”
I sit forward in my chair. “Sir—”
“So, what I want to know from you, Langley, is where do you see yourself in five years—”
“Sir,” I say again, and I realize too late I’m practically shouting at him.
He blinks at me, those dark eyes narrowing slightly.
“That’s what I want,” I say into the silence.
“What?”
“Everything you just said,” I reply with a wave of my hand. “I want everything, and I want it here in Jacksonville. I know I’m young, and I’ve still got a lot to learn, but I’ve also been in this game for fifteen years. It’s been my whole life since I was big enough to tie my own skates. To play on an NHL team…to be part of a team,” I clarify. “That’s what I want.”
Talbot sits back, surveying me.
I dive into the silence. “Are there guys out here showboating, content to get traded from team to team, only thinking about getting pucks in the net? Yeah, sure. And sometimes you need those guys on the team. But I’m not that guy.”
“What kind of guy are you?”
I let out a little breath, searching for the right words. “I’m the kind of guy who sticks,” I reply. “Sir, I’m sticking. You give me a chance, you give me some security, some hope of knowing my jersey is safe, and I will help you build a team that doesn’t just consistently make it to the playoffs, we bring home the Cup.”
He smirks at me. “Those are some big words, Langley. Big promises. You really think you can turn all that talk into action?”
I just shrug, flashing him a smirk of my own. “I’m twenty-two, remember? I’m unstoppable, sir.”
He barks out a laugh, pressing his hands flat against his desk as he stands. Taking it as my cue, I stand too, reaching for my crutches.
“You’re a good man, Langley,” he says, stepping around the desk. “You’re a team player. The coaching staff, the captains, the support staff, they all say the same thing: Ryan Langley is the kind of guy you want on your team. I want you in that Rays jersey. If I have my way, I’ll keep you in it. But I won’t freak you out by discussing the details now,” he adds with a laugh. “Give MK a call today. I sent him everything already.”
“Thank you, sir,” I say, feeling breathless. I take the hand he offers, shaking it again. But when I move to let go, he holds on, his grip tight as iron.
“Don’t let this shake your confidence,” he says, gesturing with his free hand down at my knee. “You’re still the prize, Langley. Rest and recover. The ice will still be there whether it’s two weeks from now or two months. Return to us whole.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good man.” He drops my hand and walks with me to his door. As he opens it, he cuffs my shoulder. “And hey, if that number doesn’t work for you, don’t hesitate to let me know.”
My senses are spinning as I try to imagine what number might be written on an NHL extension contract with my name on it. This all feels too good to be true.
“Fight for what you’re worth, Langley,” Talbot says in parting. “Always fight for what you’re worth.”
28
My heart is in my throat as I hear Charlie’s secretary on the other end of the line. “Ms. Owens, we’re ready to connect your call through to Ms. Owens. Would you like to connect?”
“Yes,” I say. “Thank you.”
“Connecting now,” she says in her Southern sing-song voice.
I let out a breath as I wait. The only other sound is the humming of the AC unit in my rental car. That sound is broken by the trill of a dial tone.