Page 21 of The Fake Play

I’m not much for that kind of thing. After growing up in that kind of environment I tend to like things simpler. Luxury condos were about as extravagant as I got, but Seb makes it work. It suits him.

The gate opens automatically when I arrive. I head up the winding driveway and park in front of the massive house. The place looks like something out of a magazine, with its manicured lawns and retro architecture. Seb has good taste.

As I get out of the car, he appears at the front door, waving me over. “Luke, glad you could make it.” He’s dressed casually in jeans and a faded tee shirt, a far cry from the polished image most people see of him in the media.

“Hey, man,” I say as I walk up to him, shaking his hand. “New flowers?”

“Nelly’s pick. Come on in.” He leads me inside, the interior just as impressive as the exterior. Wide open plan, with floor to ceiling windows that let in natural light and give a perfect view of the backyard pool terrace. “Let's grab a drink.”

We head into the bar where Seb pulls out a couple of beers from the fridge, handing one to me. I take a swig, feeling the cold liquid bubble down my throat as I lean against the counter. Asense of relief hits with the alcohol. “I appreciate you letting me come by on short notice.”

“I figured it was important. You never text, ‘I need to talk.’ So, talk.”

“How the hell did you do it? I mean, how did you go from being the son of a tech mogul to a hockey player? You had it all laid out for you. You could have done anything, but you chose this.”

He chuckles, setting his beer down on the counter. “This isn't really about me though, is it?”

“What do you mean?”

He crosses his arms, eyes narrowing slightly as he studies me. “The kid is getting under your skin, isn't he?” Seb has the kind of magic eyes that see right through you. I think you get those when you become a parent.

There was no point in denying it. “Maybe a little. He's good, Seb, fast, smart. He's what I was ten years ago, and it's hard not to see him and wonder how long I've got left.”

He nods, his expression thoughtful. “I get it. I experienced the same thing when I first came into the league and bumped heads with Bryan Addaway. But he was the veteran, and I was the new kid. We didn't exactly hit it off at first, but I wasn't going anywhere, and neither was he. You saw how that shook out last year.”

Yeah, Bryan was now out of a job. Deservedly so. I take another sip of my beer, letting his words sink in. “So what's the trick, then? How do you deal with being older than everyone else?”

“Not everyone, thank you very much. There’s Roman, Harry, Fabian.”

“You know what I mean.”

He pauses. “I knew I was on the older side to start a new athletic career, barring golf. And maybe it was crazy but I had to do it.”

“Why?”

“For me, it was all about the challenge. I got into hockey because I needed something that pushed me, something that made me feel alive. I could have gone into space, bought a super yacht, did all the typical billionaire things banging models and celebrities, but all of that bored the hell out of me. Hockey was different.”

“How so?”

A smile comes over him. “It’s hard.”

I huff a laugh and nod. “And that made you want to do it? Because it’s tough?”

“You can’t fake it with hockey. Either you’re good, or you're not. You can get better at it, but there has to be a certain amount of natural talent in there, too, or the ice will eat your ass.”

“True. And not in a fun way.”

He snorts. “There’s always something to learn and it’s always challenging. And I had to earn it, you know? Hockey is something I’ve had to actually work for, no one could just hand it to me on a silver platter.”

I lift a brow. “Space isn’t easy. Don’t you have to go through astronaut training?”

Seb laughs, shaking his head. “Not when you have the right amount of money. And the little bit of training you do go through is much easier than you think.”

“Huh. I’ve always wanted to go to space. I should look into that.”

“To each their own. But that's also the point. I wanted to do something that mattered tome, not just because it was expected.”

“I get that.” I immediately realize what’s expected of me is to fuck up again. “I don’t want to do the expected, either.”

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