Page 3 of Trade Deadline

You could say I’ve always had a bit of a reckless streak. When I was a kid, I would always be the one pushing the boundaries, seeing how close to breaking the rules I could get without being reprimanded. Then, before I left college, I fully embraced the perks of being a hockey player and the attention that came with it. The thrill of being wanted became a drug I craved, constantly feeding my ego—essentially feeding a monster. And now it could be what potentially causes my career to crash if I’m not careful.

All I’ve ever wanted since I was a kid was to play hockey in the NHL.

To play the best sport in the world on the biggest stage.

I can’t let someone take that away from me, even if that person isme.

With a sigh, I kick the sheets off and get in the shower. I don’t need to be at the rink for practice until eight thirty, but there’s no way I’ll be able to go back to sleep now.

My jaw ticks as frustration creeps in as I stand under the warm spray. It’s bullshit. I’m just a guy living his dream and making the most of the opportunities that are presented to me.

Once I’ve showered and shaved, I slip on my matching team sweatpants and hoodie and head out with a thermos of coffee in hand, descending two flights of stairs to knock on the door to my brother’s apartment.

Elliot is my twin brother and the newest goaltender for the Chicago Thunder. He came here in the summer when his contract was up with Vancouver, and we’re finally getting to play on the same team together.

The door swings open to reveal a fresh-faced Elliot, his hair slicked back from his shower. We’re not identical twins, as Elliot was blessed with my mom’s genes. Strawberry-blond hair, green eyes, and light freckles sprinkled across his nose. We often joke that he has a face for magazine covers rather than guarding the net.

He looks at his watch, then back at me, confusion lining his forehead.

“I’m early, I know.” I drawl.

“Just checking I hadn’t overslept, and this was some weird dream.” He chuckles, stepping aside so I can enter.

I rub my face with my hand as I lean against the back of the couch. His apartment has the same layout as mine. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the lake. Open floor-plan kitchen and living room, although his is still a little chaotic. Boxes are piled up waiting to be unpacked from his move nearly four months ago, claiming he’ll do it another day.

“Hayden is on his way,” I announce, figuring I should let him know as we share the same agent.

Elliot’s brows furrow. “Why? What did you do?”

I roll my eyes, “How do you know it’s something I did?”

“Isn’t it?”

“Hayden called me this morning. You know those girls I hooked up with the other night?”

“The awesome foursome you had?”

I nod. “Well, turns out they’ve framed me big time. They’ve shared some photos online, and they’ve written some post on the bunny blog, a play-by-play about that night.”

His jaw drops and his eyes widen as the word “no” comes out in a shocked gasp.

“I wish I was joking,” I grunt. “Hayden said I’ve gotta keep my head down, at least until the trade deadline passes. I’m guessing he’s worried that Coach might cut me because of it.”

“You’re gonna do what he says, right?” Elliot chews on the side of his thumb, his eyes filled with worry. “Like, you can’t be traded. I just got here! We have our whole dream to live out, like we’ve planned since we were kids.”

Knowing he can feel the inner turmoil that’s running wild through my mind right now, I place my hands on his shoulders in reassurance.

“I promise you, I’ll do whatever he tells me. I’m just pissed that this happened, you know?” I shrug, shoving my hands into the pockets of my sweats. “I was just having fun. I didn’t want to cause any trouble.”

Ever since I was drafted, I’ve been sucked into the vortex of people wanting a piece of me. Guys, girls, the media. I relished it. I felt in control for once, that everything was happening on my terms, and I craved the attention they gave me.

But maybe I became too greedy, and this is my reckoning.

* * *

When I enterthe locker room twenty minutes later, everything seems normal. The rookies are shooting the shit on the far side of the room, throwing wads of tape at one another, while the rest of the guys are either listening to music or deep in conversation as they get ready.

Everythingisnormal.

---