Page 3 of Cross Check Christmas
Coach Knight's there, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else, his assistant coaches line one wall like a firing squad, and the team managers hover near Chase's massive mahogany desk.
"Take a seat, Ellis." Malcolm gestures to the empty chair.
I plop down, spinning the chair once because why not? "If this is about that last hit, I swear he skated right into me. Like a moth to a flame. A really big, angry moth."
The leather squeaks every time I move, which is approximately every three seconds because sitting still isn'texactly my strong suit. I feel like a kid sent to the principal's office. The executive boardroom of the Blizzard Dome is way too fancy for my taste—all gleaming wood and pretentious art of old hockey legends judging me from the walls.
My agent, Derek, paces the office, occasionally stopping to adjust his glasses like they personally offended him.
"Look," Chase leans forward, hands clasped. "We need to address the elephant in the room."
"You mean the fact that someone approved that hideous painting?" I point to the abstract monstrosity hanging behind his desk. "Because I've been meaning to mention?—"
One of the assistant coaches snickers.
Derek stops pacing. "Hendrix, read the room. It's about your contract situation."
Oh. That.
My contract has been under negotiation since the Spring. Derek hasn’t been satisfied with the team’s offers so far and has been throwing around numbers like confetti. I've known the guy since juniors, but lately, his dollar-sign eyes are giving me whiplash.
"Mr. Ellis," Malcolm starts, his bright yellow tie way too cheery this early in the morning, "we've reached an impasse."
I lean forward, "I just want to play hockey. Nothing else matters to me."
Derek whirls around. "Hendrix, please. We've discussed this. Your value?—"
"Is more than just monetary," I finish. "I know, I know. But have you seen our line chemistry? You can't put a price tag on that."
"Actually," Malcolm slides a paper across his desk, "we can. And have."
I glance at the numbers and whistle. It's not terrible, but according to Derek, it's not what I'm worth either. Personally, Ithink it's enough to keep me in hockey sticks and protein shakes for the rest of my life, but what do I know?
"The fact remains," Derek says for what feels like the millionth time since March, "Hendrix's value to this team far exceeds the current offer."
Malcolm's face turns an interesting shade of red. "The team's offer is more than generous."
"For a fourth-line grinder maybe," Derek cuts in. "Not for someone who led the league in hits last season. He comes from hockey royalty. He’s the son of Rainer Ellis, for Pete’s sake!”
Great. Now he’s name-dropping my famous dad as if they don’t already know. Not to mention my brother. I slouch further into my chair. Numbers make my head hurt. That's why I hired Derek—to handle all this contract stuff while I focus on what really matters: introducing people to the boards.
"We appreciate Hendrix’s… contributions, but we have to consider the salary cap implications."
"Contributions?" Derek scoffs. "He's the heart of the first-line trio!"
I raise my hand. "I wouldn’t exactly say that…"
"Not now, Hendrix." Derek cuts me off without breaking stride. "The numbers we're discussing aren't even close to market value for a player of his caliber."
I glance at Coach Knight, who's doing that thing where he rubs his mustache like he's trying to start a fire with it.
"Look," Malcolm steeples his fingers on his mahogany desk. "Perhaps it would be best if Hendrix took some time away from the ice… while we sort this out.”
"Away from- Are you serious?" I look around the room, waiting for someone to crack a smile. "This is a joke, right? The season's just getting good! We're on a winning streak!"
"Which is exactly why we need to protect our assets," Derek jumps in.
"It's standard procedure," one of the managers pipes up. "With the Christmas Trade Freeze coming up…”
