Page 118 of Brick Wall
“I’m worth the wait,” I say. “You know it and I know it. All I’m asking for is one year. Like you’ve said, it’s your choice.”
Ms. Corley’s mouth opens. Then it closes. When it opens again, her words are clear and firm.
“You do realize we could just trade you. Or cut you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I answer. “But you won’t. Because you know a good thing when it comes your way. Even if you have to wait just a little longer to get it.”
CHAPTER 48
JT
Green and goldstreamers hang from the rafters of Coach’s deck. There’s a matching cake and tons of balloons.
“When a Wolf gets called up to the NHL, his pack sends him out in style,” Pete Santos punctuates his words with his signature howl, and I swear it brings a tear to my eye. Or at least to Mickey’s, because he’s blubbering beside me.
“Saying goodbye is never easy,” Pete continues, “but no wolf ever walks alone. And Will Franconetti is no exception. He’s a Bruiser now, but he’ll always be a wolf.”
The whole damn team howls in earnest and my sweet Calla doesn’t even stir. At only six weeks old, she’s used to her crazy uncles already.
Now that the toast is over, the chaos reigns. Ollie’s setting up a slip n’ slide and Deano’s setting up fireworks. Don’t worry. Calla’s got tiny little noise-canceling earmuffs with the BU Wolves logo on them, courtesy of Will’s mom.
Right now, though, Van’s manning the grill and I’m content to shoot the shit with my guys one last time before Will moves to Boston and Booker heads to Santa Fe.
I’m grateful as hell that the Sasquatch didn’t call my bluff,though Diana likes to remind me that she can trade me before I ever don a uniform.
And I like to remind her that I’m okay with that.
I’ve got next season here at Bainbridge, and who knows what will happen after that. But I’ll be close enough for all Calla’s milestones and I’ll sleep in bed next to Maggie nearly every night.
A guy can’t ask for more than that.
“You are such a baby hog.”
I look up to see a tall redhead shooting me a disapproving glare.
“I think it’s fair,” I shrug. “Considering she’s my baby. Made of my loins.”
“Ew, gross,” Birdie says, frowning. “Now you sound like my brother.”
I laugh because she’s right. Mickey and I have spent so much time together that some of his crazy phrases have snuck into my vocabulary.
I had my mouth on Maggie the other night, and as she came on my tongue, the only thought running through my head was, “Holy Fuckballs.”
“Would you like to hold my baby?” I ask Birdie, knowing she’s about two seconds from scooping Calla up.
“Yes, please,” she beams, taking a seat next to me and holding Calla close. “Is this going to be my life in a few months?” she asks. “I get to ogle half naked men on the lawn and snuggle this princess? Because that sounds like a pretty good gig.”
“You might actually have to attend some classes, too,” Pete tells her, “It’s kind of a drag, honestly. Classes ruin the whole college vibe.”
He’s joking, but Van isn’t. “Preach!” he hollers, pumping his fist in the air while still managing to flip burgers with his non-dominant hand.
“Those burgers ready yet, Van?” Ollie asks, holding his hand out. “Damn. Who’s the smokeshow?” he asks, smiling in Birdie’s direction.
“Fudge you. She’s my sister,” Mickey says, holding up matching middle fingers.
Ollie does a double take. “She’s your—seriously?”
“Yes,” Mickey grumbles. “Look. We’re twins.”
