Page 118 of The Import Slot
As soon as I’ve signed a few jerseys and random bits of paper, I excuse myself from the store, heading toward the double doors to the stairwell.
I tap the glass at the top and give the office manager a wave, and she buzzes me in, where I make a beeline straight for Jen’s desk.
“Preston.” A voice sounds, and I stop in my tracks. The GM is sitting at his desk, and he waves me in.
“Sir,” I say, and he gestures for me to sit down.
“How’s your presentation coming along?” he asks.
I think of what Jen has been telling me,‘tell them what you’re going to tell them, tell them, then tell them what you’ve told them’. We’ve spent hours reviewing and formatting the plan, and we just need to polish off the last few bits before it’s ready to present.
“Good, Sir. Almost ready, just a few—” He holds a hand up to stop me.
“Ryan. Tell me this. What do you want to do?”
I think about the content of my presentation again and start reeling off my plans.
“No, I mean, long term. Because if you’ve got all these big plans to implement more sessions, etcetera, etcetera, what will happen to it all come April?”
The season here ends in April, even if your team makes the playoffs. I was mind-blown at first to see that they hold the playoffs over a single weekend, but that’s how it is.
“Actually, before we go any further. Have you spoken to your agent recently?” Mr Lopez adds.
“No, I haven’t. Should I?”
“Look, speak to your agent, and we’ll talk again. I know they get pissy over this sort of stuff.”
I leave his office and head down the corridor, spying that the media room is empty, so I step inside and call Ronnie. It rings and rings, and she doesn’t answer, so I leave her a message, asking her to call me back.
Then I try Liam on a video call.
“’Sup bud?” he answers quickly.
We’ve both got caps on, albeit different team logos, and he’s on the balcony of his place in Toronto, and it looks fucking freezing. We chat back and forth for a bit before I bring up Christmas.
“Jen said she got my number off your phone. I guess you’re serious now then? If she’s got your passcode.”
“Yeah, nothing to hide, bud. Are you excited to see me then? Or is this just about Vicky?”
He lets out a sigh. “Of course, I’m excited to see you. But I want to see her too.”
I can see the desperation in his eyes, but I try to distract him by telling him about my conversation with the GM.
“Ronnie tried to call me earlier, but I missed it. Only like twenty minutes ago.” Just as he says it, my phone tells me another call is coming through, so I give Liam a quick goodbye and answer.
“Ryan. It’s Ronnie.”
“Hey. The GM seems to think we need a chat,” I say.
“Well, yeah. Look, it’s still very early days, but the Jets are keen to have you back; there’s talk about a four-year contract. How are you feeling about that?” She details the contract value and some other bits she tagged on. “It’s still in the pipeline, but I think it’ll be a sure thing. They loved you before, and they love how things are going for you. Mr Lopez has clarified that they want to keep you if you’re willing, but I’ve told him it’s doubtful.”
“Four years?”
“Yeah, all being well, it’s good news.”
I hesitate in my reply, and Ronnie calls me out straight away.
“Ryan. You know the amount of hassle I went through to get you there for a season. This has been more trouble.”
