Page 127 of Ice Mechanic

Derek laughs. “This is a ruthless world and you made the right combination of choices to survive in it.” A chair creaks in the background and I can picture Derek leaning back as he often does when he’s trying to lecture someone. “Some people have influence with no skill. Some have skill with no influence. You’ve got both, McLanely. That’s a magical combination.”

“Thanks… I guess.”

“FreshButtFittisn’t the only company that’s itching to work with you. I’ll send over some contracts. Take your time deciding your next move.”

“Whatever it is, it won’t be with underwear,” I warn him.

He laughs.

I end the call after promising to get back to him on the contracts.

Max glances at me and then at the window, squinting into the sun filing past the windshield. “That your agent?”

“Yeah, Derek.”

“Mm.” A thoughtful, worried look crosses Max’s face. “What’d he say about the press conference?”

“It was good for my image. I’m getting more brand deals. The usual.”

“Mm.”

“Yeah.”

Max starts cracking his knuckles. It’s so loud that the driver jerks the car in shock.

“Sorry, sorry.”

“Sorry. That was me,” Max admits sheepishly.

“I thought something had fallen off the car. Everyone okay back there?” He peers at us through the rearview mirror.

I flash a thumbs-up. Through the window, I notice we’re almost there at the airport. Right on time too.

“Did Derek have any updates from the league?” Max asks casually.

“No, why?”

He shrugs. “If you hadn’t taken control of the narrative at the conference today, that question would have come up.”

He’s not wrong. I feel like that’s the number one question on everyone’s mind since the season started.

“Your fans are even starting to petition for your reinstatement,” Max adds.

“The league won’t be bullied by anyone, not even my fans. Nothing’s certain yet.”

Max nods. “Either way, a deal’s a deal. If you do get called back…”

“I’ll let you know.” The taxi rolls to a stop and I pull out a few hundred-dollar bills. “Don’t ship me off just yet, Max. We still have the play offs.” I climb out of the car and swing my backpack over my shoulder.

“You might not make it to the playoffs with us,” Max mumbles.

I freeze at the resigned tone of his voice.

He sees me watching and smiles. Waving a hand, he motions, “Go give April a hug. We’ll talk more when I get back with the team.”

I hurry inside of the airport, an unsettled feeling in my stomach. It’s not until I’m already boarding the airplane that I realize what it is—unease.

For the first time since I was suspended from the league and drafted to the Lucky Strikers, I’m not excited about returning to where I belong.

---