Page 4 of The Girlfriend Card
Ah.I could read between the lines. If I wanted Mr. Capuano to think I had a girlfriend, then I’d better start acting like I had one with Killer, too.
Cautiously, I said, “It’s not a lie. I really do have a girlfriend.”
Killer threw his head back and laughed. “Bull. No, you don’t.”
Was it a lie? Depends on how you look at it. I’ve got a bullpenof girlfriends, just none that I’m really, y’know, committed to in a traditional sense. (Don’t feel bad for them; they all know the score. I’m not a scumbag.)
“Sure I do,” I said, doubling down.
“Quick! What’s her name?” Killer asked, rapidly snapping his fingers.
Pressured, I blurted out the first name that popped into my head. “Jane.”
The corner of Killer’s mouth curled into a wry smile. “Jane, yeah? And what’s Jane’s last name? Doe?”
“That’s not cool, bro. Jane’s insecure about her name.”
“Don’t ever call me ‘bro’ again,bro.”
“Sorry, Coach.”
He studied me, his eyes narrowing. “I don’t believe you, by the way. And if you’re going to convince Mr. Capuano, you’re going to have to be a lot more convincing than that. Because I suspect he’ll want to have a conversation with you over the phone.”
“Believe it or not, it’s the truth,” I lied.
“Yeah? So if you have a girlfriend, then why were you riding that bull with some hot blonde bouncing in your lap?”
“She was, er, a friend.”
I gnashed my teeth. Any which way you looked at my story, I was fucked.
I leaned forward to quietly share a secret. “Okay, honestly, Killer? I don’t know that chick. I was already on the bull when she hopped on and jumped in my lap. I didn’t evendoanything with her.”
“I’d sure hope not, because Jane would be devastated,” Killer said. His wink told me he didn’t wantanymore off-the-record information.
Realizing I was committed to this fraud now, I nodded. “Yeah … yeah, exactly.”
“So just to be clear, when I speak to Mr. Capuano later, I’m going to tell him what you told me today: that you’ve got a girlfriend and you’re dedicated to taking your summer training seriously. That’s what you want, right?”
Why did it feel like I was signing my death warrant?
Killer sensed my hesitation. “A word of advice. If that’s the story you go with, you’d better start living your life as if all that’s true. Fake it ’til you make it, Dak—because the best way of telling a convincing lie is to believe it yourself. Stop partying and start your summer training immediately. Hell, you might even get yourself a girlfriend. Because Mr. Capuano isn’t the kind of man you want to get caught lying to.”
Shit.
That didn’t sound good.
But what choice did I have? Ihadto stay in the NHL—I didn’t have any other life skills. All I’ve been my whole life is a hockey player. Take that away, and my life would basically be over. Hell, I think I’d rather get whacked by Mr. Capuano than work arealjob …
“So is that what I’m going to tell Mr. Capuano?” Killer asked, my fate seemingly hanging in the balance. “Is that your story?”
I didn’t feel good about it, no. But all I had to do was keep my activities on the DL for a few months until, hopefully, this whole thing blew over.
“That’s my story,” I said, nodding with conviction. “Tell him.”
What’s the worst that could happen?
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