Page 7 of Broken Promises

declan

“I really don’t knowwhat you were expecting,” Finn says, hands on his hips as he looks down at me like a disappointed mother.

“I’m twenty-seven, not forty!” I argue, throwing my hands up and leaping off the chair I’ve been occupying outside of our coach’s office.

“You’re a twenty-seven-year-old playboy that drinks too much and crashed three cars this year while he was under contract with a team that is notoriously strict with their image.”

“I win them games! Who cares if I like to have fun and appreciate women?” I huff and cross my arms over my chest.

“And the cars?” he asks, his judgmental face still firmly in place.

“Only one of those was my fault, and you know it.” I somehow managed to be rear ended twice in the same month. The third accident was me thinking I knew how to drift. Which I guess I did. Once. Into a tree. At least it was in a closed parking lot, so no one was hurt. A fact everyone seems to ignore when they bring it up.

Finn sighs and pushes his hand through his shoulder-length hair. We’ve been on the same NHL team since we were bothdrafted at eighteen. He’s become my closest friend here by default, and I think he might be reaching his limit with me.

“Monroe,” Coach barks. I wince before following him into his office. My agent, Diego, is sitting in one of the two chairs in front of his desk. Shit. This isn’t good.

“You wanted to see me, Coach?” I ask as I take the open seat in front of his desk. I nod at Diego, who doesn’t look happy with me.

“We’re not renewing your contract, son,” Coach says, skipping right to the point as usual.

“What?” I shout, leaping from my seat. “I’m the top scorer on the team!”

Coach nods calmly. “Management has decided you’re not worth the risk to their image anymore. You’re one of the oldest players on the team. You probably have two or three years left at most.”

“Why does everyone keep acting like twenty-seven is old?” I say, pulling at my hair. I know it’s practically nursing home worthy in hockey years, but I’ve been playing just as good now as I did at eighteen. Better, actually.

“I tried to get them to change their minds, but it’s final. Clear out your locker by the end of the week,” Coach says, rapping his knuckles on his desk. “It’s been an honor to coach you, kid. But take my advice and get your shit together if you want to keep playing. I’ll let you two talk.” He leaves me in his office with Diego.

“Sit down, Declan.”

I plop back in my seat dramatically. “What the fuck am I going to do now?”

“I have two offers,” Diego says, not sounding overly excited about either of them.

I sigh and a nod for him to keep going.

“Texas —”

“They suck,” I groan, interrupting him.

“Or Boston,” he continues like I haven’t spoken. I perk up at that.

“Boston?” I’d love to go home.

“There’s a catch.”

“Of course there’s a fucking catch. What is it?”

“You need to clean up your image. No more partying. No being photographed with a different woman every night. They want zero bullshit in the press from you.”

“Fine. What else?” I say.

“You need to prove it before they’ll let you sign.”

“How the fuck do I do that? I’m the top scorer on this team and fourth in the league! Teams should be rushing to sign me,” I say. I don’t mean to sound as cocky as I do, but it’s true. My stats speak for themselves. “I swear if you say it’s my age, Diego,” I point at him.

“It’s part of it, but not all. You messed up, Declan. You slept with the daughter of the owner of the team you play for and expected no repercussions.”

---