Page 58 of Shots on Net

“I’m glad to hear that. Now,” he taps a long finger against the notebook, “I’ve had quite a few conversations with Anthony concerning your future in the NHL. I didn’t want to pressure you, knowing that you’ve got family obligations to consider, but both of us think you’ve got a fair chance. I take it this means you’ve decided to pursue a career playing hockey?”

“Yeah,” my voice comes out squeaky and several octaves higher than usual. Clearing my throat, I try again. “Yeah, I want to play in the NHL. Or the AHL, or wherever will have me.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Anthony has been watching you—this season, in particular—and has been haranguing me about finding you an agent,” Coach says, rubbing a temple with a finger. I fight a grin. “So, because of that, I’ve already prepared a short list and have begun sending a few feelers out.”

“You…you have?”

“Yes. Just tentatively, seeing as I was still under the impression you were going to be moving on to your family’s company after school.”

“Yeah…sorry, I should have come talked to you sooner, probably. But I kept forgetting what I wanted to say, so Zeke helped me make that list, and…here I am,” I finish lamely.

“Here you are,” he repeats. “So, let’s chat. Most kids—such as your friend Max—will find representation when they are much younger. I believe he’s been represented by the same agent since he was sixteen. We’re coming into the game a little late, but I think I’ve got some good options for you.”

Reaching behind himself, Coach Mackenzie grabs a leather folder and thumbs through it. When he finds what he’s looking for he fixes me with a considering stare. He doesn’t hand me the paper, but I can see a neat, handwritten list. There are a dozen names, at least. The band of worry constricting my chest loosens.

“I’ve got some good options,” he repeats, “but my recommendation would be the last on the list.”

He hands it to me. I read through it, quickly. “I have no idea who any of these people are.”

“No. May I give you my opinion?”

“Fuck, yes. Just tell me what to do,” I say, a tad desperately. I hold the list of names back out to him, but he doesn’t take it.

“Last name,” he says, and I look at the tidy line of writing. “Joel Street. He represents Anthony, who has spoken to him about you. Mr. Street has also been in contact with me. He’s interested, if you are.”

“Tony’s agent? Hell yes, sign me up.” I relax further. Maybe this will be easier than I thought.

“His phone number is written down there. Feel free to reach out to him, or, if you’d prefer, I can set up a meeting with the three of us.”

“The three of us,” I say, quickly. Coach smiles, kindly, and nods. “If you…if you don’t mind. If you’re not too busy.”

“I don’t mind and I’m not too busy,” he says, brusquely. “I’ll speak with him today and set up a meeting. I have your class schedule. Are there any other time constraints I need to work around?”

“Oh, uhm, no. Whenever. Can Tony come, too?” Coach’s eyes visibly warm. The best way to soften him up is to talk about Tony.

“No, most likely not. He’s on an extended road trip right now, as I’m sure you know. And I imagine Mr. Street is going to want to meet with you as soon as possible. You could get picked up by a team at any time. Which brings us to the next item on your list, here.”

“My parents,” I cringe, flopping back in my seat and looking away from him. My eyes snag on the photo of Coach with his AHL team and stay there.

“Would you like me to speak with them?”

Sighing, I look back over at him. “No, I’d better. Well…I don’t know, maybe? What would you… I don’t know, Coach. Maybe we should meet with this Joel Street guy first, and go from there. I have to go home for a few days on spring break, so maybe I can talk to them then.”

“Excellent plan. The other thing you have written down is about school,” he notes, running his fingers idly over the pages on my notebook.

“Right.”

“I imagine the answer to that will depend on your visit with your parents,” he says, gently.

“Right.”

“Keep your phone on you, and I’ll reach out with details as soon as I have a confirmed meeting time with Mr. Street, okay?”

I stand and Coach hands me my notebook along with the shortlist of agents he made for me. I shove both haphazardly into my backpack and see him wince. Slinging it over my shoulder, I run my fingers over the strap. “Thanks.”

“No need to thank me, that’s my job.” He rises to standing and makes his way back behind his desk to sit down. I turn to go, but halt in the doorway, turning back to see him watching me.

“Are you happy?” I ask him, and his eyebrows climb up his forehead. “You asked me when I first came in. You always ask how I am, but I just realized I never ask how you are.”

---