Page 161 of Face Off
Completely and totally perfect.
FORTY-SIX
MAVERICK
Coach
Can you give me a few minutes after practice?
I want to talk to you about something.
Me
I swear I didn’t leave trash on the ice. That was Ethan, and I already made him pick it up.
Coach
It’s not above that.
It’s about a possible trade.
Me
Oh. Sure. See you soon.
Brody Saunders is a blunt guy.He’s never sugarcoated anything, and the fact that he didn’t mention specifics in his message other than a possible trade has me nervous as fuck.
“Hey.” I drop into the chair across from him in his office and try to smile. “How’s Olivia?”
“She’s good.” He turns around the photo of his nine-year-old daughter. “Her princess birthday party was a success. Thanks for her gift, by the way. She loved the stencils and sketchbook you sent.”
“Don’t mention it. My friend’s kid is in a big art phase, and I thought Livvie might like all that creative stuff too.”
“She does. I can’t keep up with all the supplies she asks me to buy.” Coach laughs and leans back. “That girl has me wrapped around her damn finger.”
“You wouldn’t have it any other way, would you?”
“God, no.” He pauses and looks at me. “Look, I’m going to cut to the chase about why I asked you to come by. I got a call from Toronto this morning about a trade, and I’m considering taking it.”
With three days to go before the trade deadline, I’m not surprised. Teams are always trying to wheel and deal all the way down to the wire, and our win streak and comeback season makes our players more desirable.
“Who is it?” I ask.
I’m not sure he’s going to tell me—that kind of information typically stays in the boardroom, not with the captains. But I’m really fucking intrigued.
“Justin Harper,” he says, and my mouth drops open.
He’s the best winger in the league, a two-time Stanley Cup winner at only twenty-five. I’ve admired him from the second he was drafted, and we’ve been casual acquaintances since playing on the same All-Star team three years ago.
“Do it,” I say. “I don’t care who it is. That’s a big fucking move. We get him, we go to the postseason and win it all.”
Coach pauses. “They want Emmy.”
I stare at him, and he starts to turn blurry. Everything around me is fuzzy, and there’s a ringing in my ears. My throat closes up, and I try to gulp down a breath.
“Emmy?” I repeat.
“Yeah.” Coach scrubs a hand over his face and groans.
