Page 31 of On the Power Play

Jack pressed his blades into the ice, pulling to a stop. “Should I?—”

“Go ahead and get changed.”

Shit. Jack’s stomach churned like it was filled with rocks. That was it, then. They’d decided to bench him or pull out of his contract. There were enough contingencies built in, it wouldn’t be difficult.

Jack tromped to the dressing room and peeled off his gear. He showered as fast as he could to minimize the dread and avoid running into his teammates as they finished practice. He cleared out his locker, which didn’t hold much anyway, and trekked to the upper levels of the Saddledome. The rubber on the soles of his shoes squeaked against the polished floors.

Jack was ushered into a meeting room that smelled of new paint and a vanilla scented candle. There was a mini fridge and bar along the far wall and an oval table in the center surrounded by high backed chairs.

The team's General Manager, Alex Renard, and the Head of Marketing, Lisa Carter, who he’d met upon his initial signing were already seated, their expressions unreadable. "Jack, take a seat," Alex began, his tone cordial. Jack was already on edge, and the clinical greeting didn’t help.

"Wasn’t expecting to be back here so soon." Jack pulled out a chair and sat.

“Sorry we had to interrupt practice, but I’ve got a flight to catch tonight.” Alex tapped his phone screen as if to emphasize how little time he had to deal with the situation. He glanced up. “Why are you carrying your game gear?”

Jack frowned. “I wanted to thank you for the opportunity to—” he started, but Lisa cut him off with a wave of her hand.

"Jack, we appreciate that, but we wanted to have a quick discussion about the buzz you've been generating. Our ticket sales for Saturday’s game went through the roof this morning. Seems like your little escapade with Delia Melise has caught everyone's attention."

Jack blinked. This was about his dinner with Delia? He could think of a hundred other reasons for ticket sales to fluctuate. Good weather or the fact that they were playing the Oilers being his top picks. “You’re sure it’s not because it’s Edmonton?”

Lisa clicked around on her laptop, then turned the screen to face him. “These were our ticket sales for our last rivalry game. About ten percent higher than normal season sales. And this—” She clicked again. “Is our gross ticket sales as of thirty seconds ago compared with where we sat last night at seven.”

“Holy. Hell.” Jack ran a hand through his damp hair. The sky-high bar on the chart dwarfed the one next to it. How was that possible?

"The fans are rallying, the media is buzzing, and obviously, that’s been a boon for the franchise. But we're wondering . . .” Alex paused, eyeing Jack with a mix of curiosity and calculation. "Is this going to be an ongoing thing? Just so we can plan accordingly."

Jack's mind raced. He’d walked into this room expecting to face a dissolution of his contract and instead found out that his hour of sitting across from Delia eating Birria tacos had nearly doubled the ticket sales for the Blizzard that weekend.

Exactly like Tony had told him it would.

Jack cleared his throat. "Uh, I’m not sure. The whole thing is pretty fresh.”

Lisa's laugh was light, but her eyes locked onto his like a bird of prey. "Well, we’re fans of whatever this turns into, and while we're not in the business of managing your personal life, we did want to make it clear that this kind of press is exactly what we want to encourage. It's good for the team, and what's good for the team is good for all of us, right?"

Jack nodded. “Right.” He spun the pen sitting in front of him on the table a half turn. “Delia lives in Toronto, though, and?—”

“In situations like this we’re happy to make accommodations. Just keep us in the loop, and we can make adjustments as needed. I’ll talk with your coaches.” Alex pushed out his chair and slipped his phone in his pocket.

Accommodations? What kind of accommodations?

Lisa slipped a card across the polished wood. “It would be best if you contacted me directly, and if this becomes more than something fresh, if Delia has a publicist, I’d love to be introduced.” She stood and motioned for him to exit as Alex gathered his personal items into a leather messenger bag.

Jack stalked back into the hall feeling like his head had just been plunged in a bucket of ice water. He wasn't being fired. Not even close. He was . . . getting accommodations? Encouragement? Special treatment?

How the hell had a few pictures made this kind of impact? It didn't seem possible, though nothing in his life over the past month had seemed possible. If someone would've told him that by March he'd be playing in the NHL, getting phone calls from famous pop stars, and selling out the Saddledome, he would've laughed in their face. The whole thing sounded like something he would’ve written on his vision board in grade three.

Jack walked to his truck in a daze, barely noticing the crowd that had gathered by the entrance to the lot. Do you have more plans to see Delia? The implications were obvious. He'd put butts in seats after his first appearance with the Blizzard, but those numbers were next level.

He threw his gear in the back, realizing he should’ve returned it all to his locker, then slumped into the front seat. He drew a deep breath and rested his forehead on the steering wheel.

After a few moments, he pulled out his phone. What's good for the team is good for all of us, right? If he'd felt like a money grubber looking over the contract last night, it was nothing compared to dialing Tony's number now.

"Let me guess, management is thrilled with you right now." Tony sounded smug, and Jack didn't have one gram of leverage.

"Yeah, you could say that." Jack started the truck, but didn't pull out of his spot.

Tony chuckled. "I've got to be honest, I expected this call a lot sooner than ten o'clock. Though I guess it's only eight in Calgary, eh?"

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