Page 53 of Offside Angel

“What are you talking about?” Zane leans in, probably in an effort to get his coach to lower his voice.

“I’m talking about you abandoning this team and moving halfway across the goddamn country,” his coach barks. “I’m talking about you talking to the scout from Detroit!”

20

ZANE

“I didn’t talk to any fucking?—”

The denial is halfway out of my mouth before I remember the guy from the other night.

Coach shakes his head. “I thought we were past this shit, Whitaker. I shouldn’t be blindsided by something like this.”

“I didn’t talk to any scout,” I snarl. “I’m not trying to leave the team.”

The “team” in question is standing in a loose circle around mine and Coach’s little show. I can only imagine what they’re thinking right now.

I can only imagine what Mira is thinking. Of course, today of all days, she’s sitting in the stands.

Coach Popov’s neck is red and veiny. He waves a warning finger at me. “I shouldn’t need to remind you that I have the footage. I saw you talking to him.”

I look Coach directly in his eyes. “I talked to the scout, but I?—”

“You have some fucking nerve,” he growls. “After everything this team has done for you.”

“—I didn’t ask to talk to him,” I continue. “He showed up on his own.”

Someone behind Coach laughs, but I can’t tell who it is. Instead, I glance over my shoulder to where Mira was sitting. She’s moved down the stands and is hovering right behind the bench, watching every second.

Coach jabs me in the chest again, forcing my attention back to him. “Scouts don’t fly halfway across the country to talk to players who aren’t interested. They wouldn’t be here unless someone thought you were looking to switch teams.”

“I’m not looking to trade! Why would I want to—” The doors open and I see Carson slip into the hallway.

And suddenly, it all makes sense.

It takes every ounce of self-control I have to stay standing here and not hunt the motherfucker down and beat him with my skates. “Someone set me up. They want it to look like I’m not committed to this team.”

It's the only explanation. No one else would waste their time trying to recruit me. Not unless they'd gotten direct word that I was looking to trade.

It would make sense why the scout looked so shocked I wasn't interested.

Coach is staring at me like he’s trying to burrow straight through my skull. Finally, he sighs. “I don’t know if I can trust you.”

His words hurt worse than he probably knows.

But Jace skates over, skidding to a stop next to me. “Coach, why would Z want to leave? Things are going well for him. He just got his kid in preschool.”

“That’s hard to do!” Reeves chimes in. “There are long waiting lists.”

Jace nods. “He’s settled here. Why would he be looking to leave?”

“I’m not looking to leave,” I repeat loudly enough for everyone to hear. “It’s a misunderstanding. That scout caught me after the game and wanted to chat, but I told him I wasn’t interested.”

“Who wouldn’t be interested?” Lars, our backup goalie, shrugs. “Sorry, man, but… Changing teams comes with a pay raise. It would be weirder if you weren’t interested.”

There’s a murmur of agreement before Davis slaps his stick against the ice. “This is bullshit. Don’t pretend you all didn’t read the articles talking about how much our boy was paid to come to the Angels. Who do you think is going to top that pay?”

I don’t love flaunting all of the zeroes that come along with my contract, but it’s a fair point. It would be a tough number for most teams to beat.

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