Page 120 of Iced Out

I might be fucking pissed about everything that went down, but the last thing I want is to put the team’s welfare in jeopardy during the most important part of the season. All I want out of the whole fucking thing is for it to be done and over with.

A thousand thoughts rush through my head, and none are good. By the time I reach the two men, I feel like I’ve walked into my own funeral.

“Coach,” I say warily. “You wanted to see me?”

He nods, the corners of his eyes creased in a rare smile. “I did. There’s someone who wants to meet you, and I thought this was the right time to make it happen.”

Ah, fuck. Here it comes.

The man steps forward, holding his hand out for me to shake, which I take, albeit a little reluctantly. His grip is firm and intimidating, which only makes my intestines twist and knot themselves more.

“Quinton, I’ve been following you for some time, and would like to formally introduce myself,” he says, glancing between me and Coach. “My name’s Louis Spaulding.”

I release his hand like it was a hot iron, my eyes widening slightly as recognition sets in.

“Like, the NHL agent, Louis Spaulding?”

Coach lets out a bark of laughter, and a grin appears on Louis’s face, popping a small dimple below the left corner of his mouth. “I happen to represent a couple other athletes in the baseball world, but yes. One and the same.”

Holy motherfucking shit.

“I…It’s nice to meet you, sir,” I say, slightly dumbstruck as I fumble for more words.

Coach laughs again, this time more of a bellow, and he claps me on the shoulder before speaking to Louis. “I think this is my cue to let the two of you speak in private. Besides, gotta make sure the guys aren’t throwing a kegger in the locker room after that win.” He looks down at me then. “You played one helluva game tonight, de Haas. Keep it up.”

All I can do is nod after him as he makes his way back down the hallway, my mind still struggling to keep up with the fact that I’m speaking to Louis freaking Spaulding. Who also happens to be one of the top agents in the industry.

And he…wants to talk…to me.

“He’s right. You played a damn good game tonight,” Louis confirms, pulling my attention back to him. “You’re quick and agile, with more untapped potential in that stick than I think you know what to do with. Something your boyfriend in there” —he nods over my shoulder toward the locker room— “wasn’t kidding about. Or your coach, for that matter.”

I swallow, a twinge of sadness hitting me. “I’m not…Oakley and I aren’t…” I trail off, not sure how to broach this subject without making it far too personal. So I just pivot instead. “I, uh…thank you. Again, sir.”

He lets out a chuckle. “You don’t need to thank me. It’s a matter of fact. Your talent will take you places in the NHL, especially with the right representation.”

Representation?

“I’m…not sure I’m following, sir.”

Or maybe I am, but with the lack of good happening in my life as of late, it’s a little hard to believe.

He waves me off. “Enough with thesircrap. Call me Louis. It’s what all my clients call me.” A quick pause. “That is, if you decide to sign with me.”

My heartbeat is in my ears as I stare at him, realizing…

“You’re being serious.”

Another chuckle leaves him. “As a heart attack. I’d be honored to represent you.”

My mouth might as well be on the floor as I gape at him, flabbergasted this is happening right now.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him, shaking my head in awe. “You’re gonna have to give me a minute to just…process this.”

Louis’s hand lands on my shoulder, giving a reassuring squeeze. “Take all the time you need, Quinton. I’m here to answer any questions you might have before making a decision.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Again with thesir.” He shakes his head. “Of course, you don’t need to decide on anything right now. Take the night, the week. Talk with your parents or Coach. Do whatever you need, and let me know what you decide.”

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