Page 4 of Love You Already

I look utterly ridiculous in my full gear surrounded by these guys in suits. From the expressions on their faces, I don't think they care all that much about it, though. Thad looks resigned, as if he has bad news for me. Meanwhile the two strangers in the room act as if I'm the one who called this dumb as fuck meeting. Their gazes bore into me, assessing me like I'm a lab rat under their microscope.

Dan rubs a hand along his closely trimmed beard. The mix of gray and black gives him a wise appearance. It mixes well with his demeanor. I can't say I've ever truly gotten along great with the man. On the flip side, we've never had a horrible falling out either.

I'm not sure how much longer that second fact will remain.

“Will someone just say it already?” I blurt when the pressure gets to be too much. “Where the hell am I going?”

Thad chuckles as he points at the man beside him. “This is Matthew King, owner of the Houston Coyotes.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Lachlan.”

I shake his extended hand. “Yes, sir. Pleasure as well.” My gaze shifts to the man beside him, as if to question who he is and why he's here.

Mr. King slaps the other man on the back. “This here is my son, Ethan. He's going to be taking over the team soon, and I wanted him to be around for some of the deal making.”

Ethan King steps forward to shake my hand next. “Nice to meet the legend behind the name.”

I grin, though it's forced. They can bullshit all they want. I know why I'm here. There's never a reason to pull a player mid-game unless it's a family emergency or a trade. Considering my only family died three years ago, I'm positive about the reason I'm here.

“We're not going to try to blow smoke up your ass tonight, Lachlan. Matthew is here to trade for you. The deal is done. You're officially a Houston Coyote as of twenty minutes ago,” Dan says in his no nonsense way. The urge to ask why is nearly overwhelming.

What didn't I do right? Why trade me during one of the best seasons we've ever had? What will it take to keep me?

I don't ask any of that. Not when I know it won't get me anywhere. Their minds are made up. I'm a commodity to them. A number on a jersey that will bring in revenue they didn't have before.

New team. New place to live. New rules to learn.

“When is the next Houston game?” I ask. It's the most important question really because if I need to rush home to pack a bag to fly out tonight, I'm going to lose it. However, if I'm blessed enough to have a day or two to adjust, I'll put on my big boy pants and get it in order.

Ethan crosses his arms over his chest in a defensive move. It's like he can hear my thoughts and he's preparing for my reaction.

It's his father who answers me in the end. “You've got four days before your next game. Then you'll be on the starting lineup for the foreseeable future. If things go well enough; we'd like to offer you a contract to keep you around.”

“Sure,” I scoff lightly.

“Let's get him on the ice before anything else. I'm sure Lachlan would like to go change now that he's done for the night.” Thad jumps in like a good little agent to take over the conversation.

I give all four men a chin dip to say goodbye as I turn to shuffle to the locker room. The echo of the game down the hall has me grinding my molars so hard, I know my dentist is going to lose his shit. He's already furious over having to replace and adjust many teeth these last few years.

It's not my fault some guys get pushy. I'm here to play a game, not fight. But I'll be damned if I let someone lay hands on me and I not return the favor.

Ten minutes after getting the news of being traded, I'm leaving the arena with my duffle bag, enough anger to fuel multiple fistfights, and the need for a drink. I decide the last is probably my best option. I call for a car to come take me to a bar on the strip.

“I think given tonight's events, you'll want something a little more lowkey, right?” the driver asks.

“Yeah.” He probably thinks I'm an asshole. I don't have it in me to care, though. Not after having to be pulled from the game. To be pulled from my team, my life.

It all changes from here. And who the hell knows what it's going to be like? Nine years. That's how long it's been since I was the newbie on the team. Now I'm closer to thirty than twenty, and I'm being forced to start from scratch.

“Here we are.” I turn once the driver comes to a stop. The sight before me almost has a grin forming.

While we're still on the main strip, we've pulled up to what appears to be a hole in the wall bar. The worn wooden frame along the door and windows depicts something that's been here for ages. Neon cowboy boots and a horseshoe only add to the rustic feel.

“Thanks,” is all I give the driver as I pay him and give him instructions to stay near the area until I need him to take me back to the hotel to grab my things. I've still got a room until tomorrow morning no matter what, and I'm hopeful I can get shitfaced enough to be just clear enough to make it back there in one piece.

Four days before my next game. I intend to spend two of them drunk as hell. The third is for recovery. And then the fourth will be when I need to face the music.

Sure, I'll need to meet the team somewhere in there, but I'm not thinking of that now.

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