Page 179 of Ice Mechanic

I give the fidget spinner another tap, annoyed but unable to argue back when it’s the truth.

“The thing is, Chance, your story isexactlythe kind that people prefer. No one cares about a talented hockey player who exceeds at everything. But they do love an underdog. That’sexactly what you are. You fell to the bottom and then rose to the top in such a spectacular fashion that the world took notice. More people know younowthan in your best days pre-suspension.”

“I wasn’t happy with that suspension, Derek. And I’m not proud of having to lie to get it back.”

He scoffs and faces ahead. “For someone who’s not proud, I don’t see you complaining about getting exactly what you want out of it. Anyway, the league is a stepping stone, a tool in the hands of an expert artist, if you will.” He taps his palm. “Withyourinfluence and my know-how, we’ll be the Michael Jordan of the league.”

“Michael Jordan?”

“I’m thinking your own skates. Your own sneakers. Your own arena.”

“Derek, take a breath. Who said I wanted all that?”

“Whether you want it or not, it’s coming.”

I stare at my agent as he taps furiously on his phone. A thought filters through my mind. The day April got sent to the hospital, I’d been on set for a photoshoot and Derek had my phone. The device had been turned off at the time, so when April accused me of ignoring her message, I hadn’t once suspected Derek.

But now…

“Do I still need to date April in this grand future of yours?” I ask cautiously.

“Of course not!” Derek rambles, still distracted by his phone. “The small-town, humble-pie thing worked for a season, but now you’d be better off with someone who matches your prestige. I’m thinking of someone more… aspirational.”

“And April isn’t aspirational?”

“April’s too Plain Jane, Girl Next Door. She was great when you wanted sympathy. People related to her and so they relatedto you. But for this next stage,” he keeps tapping, “it won’t work. I’ll get in contact with some B-list actresses who do intense humanitarian efforts. You still want to portray yourself as a good person. That’s important.”

As he speaks, the truth becomes clearer and clearer. The fidget spinner comes to an abrupt stop.

“Derek,” I say gravely.

“Hm,” he speaks without looking up.

“Did you delete April’s texts the night of the photoshoot?”

Derek’s eyes don’t stray from his phone, but I see his jaw tightening. His grip on the cell gets much tighter.

“Why would you ask that?” he says uncertainly.

In that moment, I feel a distinct sense of sadness. For all his uncouth habits and lavish lifestyle, Derek is the one who saw something in me before anyone else did.

He scouted me in college and promised he’d get me into the league. He kept that promise and has been keeping all his promises since then, helping me go after bigger and bigger contracts and larger brand deals.

Thanks to Derek, I even got a chance to play with legends in an All-Star tournament, a pro-athlete’s dream.

Too late, I’m realizing that Derek promised me we’d make history together, but he never actually promised that I’d be proud of that history.

“Derek?”

“Hm?”

“You’re fired.”

His eyebrows hike to the top of his forehead.

“Stop the car,” I growl.

The driver rolls the car to a stop.

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