Page 1 of Famous Last Words
CHAPTER 1
ROBBIE
Afight in ice hockey isn’t uncommon. Hell, it’s why so many people love the game. But as I sit here, in a dimly lit boardroom in the NHL headquarters, forced to watch myself projected up on the screen as I throw my stick and shuck my gloves before launching myself at Ben Harris, I can’t help but wince because, unfortunately, I know what happens next.
Thankfully, before I land the first blow that will effectively cause Ben’s jaw to be wired shut for the next six-to-eight weeks, the playback is paused, and an unnerving silence settles heavily around the room.
I shift in my seat, feeling the weight of all eleven sets of eyes laser-focused on me.
To my right is my agent-slash-unofficial-manager-slash-only real friend left in the world.
To my left is the general manager of the only team in the league willing to give me another shot.
In front of me are the aforementioned eleven officials dressedin impeccable suits, with the collective power to take everything away.
Andy, my agent, rises from his chair, and begins addressing the disciplinary board with the conviction of a defense attorney in the middle of a murder trial. Did I kill anyone? No. But you’d be forgiven for thinking that I had with the way this is playing out like an episode ofLaw and Order.
“Gentlemen, I’ll be the first to admit that the footage is more than disturbing. But, my client,” Andy points at me, “has used this time since the…incident…to reflect on his actions and think about what he can do moving forward to better manage his emotions and improve himself, to prevent anything like this from happening again.”
I watch Andy as he walks around the room, and I must admit, even I’m impressed. I suppose this is why I pay him the big bucks.
“Robbie has committed to regular counseling sessions to help him manage hisanger.” His eyes cut to me with a knowing look, right as my hands ball into fists beneath the table at the mention of anger management, because this is some straight-up bullshit; I’m the least angry person I know. Cocky and self-assured? Without a doubt. But angry? No way. Unfortunately for me, the paused image of the crazed lunatic about to land a left hook to his own teammate’s jaw up on the screen begs to differ.
“He’s donated close to a quarter of a million dollars to various organizations that help educate at-risk youths of the importance of drug and alcohol abstinence.”
At the mention of drugs, my jaw clenches so hard my teeth hurt.
“He’s even written a formal apology to Benjamin Harris.”
Vitriol burns the back of my throat because, you know what? Fuck Ben Harris. My written apology was fake as fuck. If I had my time again, I’d have broken his damn nose too.
“My client is understandably upset over the actions that led to that night; however, now is the time to move forward.” Andycontinues, pointing to the man sitting stoically to my left. “New York has written a very strict yet fair offer for my client, with terms I’ve never seen in my twelve-year career, but terms my client is willing to adhere to if it means he can continue doing what he is most passionate about, what he has done for almost six years without incident. Play professional hockey.” Andy glances at me, the contrite look in his eyes Oscar-worthy. “Please, I implore you, do not let one moment of recklessness in an otherwise untainted and remarkable career take away Robbie Mason’s livelihood.”
Andy moves back to his chair, sitting down next to me with another cursory glance in my direction. And normally I can tell what he’s thinking, but it’s that impassive look in his eyes that only increases my anxiety. My left knee bounces uncontrollably as I look out at the men surrounding the table. I wish I could say I was confident, but I’m not. This is literally make or break.
“Mr. Mason.”
I turn my head, spearing the man sitting at the end of the table, the one who holds my future in the palm of his hand—David Ferris, retired player and now Head of the Department of Player Safety.
He doesn’t even acknowledge me, choosing instead to stare down at whatever is on the papers in front of him. “Your actions leading up to the incident that occurred on the evening of Thursday, September twenty-third, single handedly brought the game of ice hockey into disrepute.”
David lifts his steely gaze, eyes full of disdain as they meet mine. I make sure to keep my chin held high, ready to take whatever it is he has to throw at me if it means I might be able to play again.
He continues. “Never in my career have I witnessed anything as sickening as what I witnessed from the footage of that night.”
Andy suddenly pipes up, spluttering, “Oh, come on, David, that’s ridic?—”
David holds his hand up, silencing my agent. “Mr. Hoffman, you’ve had your chance to speak.”
Andy huffs, muttering something under his breath, and all I can do is swallow around the painful lump at the back of my throat because, holy shit, this is it. Suddenly, a future without the one thing I’ve ever been any good at flashes through my mind, and my stomach rolls at the realization of just how close I am to losing everything that’s ever mattered to me.
“In my years playing hockey, and in the time spent since, here in Player Safety, I’ve seen men do much less and be expelled from the league, their careers over likethat.” He snaps his fingers for effect.
I nod once.
David sighs. “The only reason we’re here today, having this conversation, is because not only are you the best defensive player this game has seen in decades, but thanks to your loyal…fan base… you’re also the league’s most profitable player.”
Andy flashes me a smug smirk which I ignore, because no,Andy, that doesn’t make me feel any better. In fact, it makes me feel worse. Basically, what David Ferris is saying right now is that the only reason I haven’t been shown the door is because of the money they make off the millions of women who’ve dedicated their lives to posting thirst trap videos of me on the internet. It all started a couple years back when footage of me innocently warming up on the ice, stretching my hip flexors, set to the soundtrack of Ginuwine’s “Pony,”went viral. I mean, sure, I helped bring the game to a new demographic, but at what cost?
