We somehow scraped by with a victory tonight, the last game we needed to win to send us to the Frozen Four. I should be thrilled. Fucking ecstatic, seeing as I’m the one back in front of the team, leading them to victory.
Yet this win is more bittersweet than anything.
Obviously the competitive side of me—the piece of myself that has always wanted this—is thrilled to have made it this far. The entire team, myself included, has worked our asses off to achieve this, and I know we deserve it.
But we also brought home yet another victory without Oak and I hooking-up the night before. Which only makes me think what the two of us were doing was doomed from the start.
Too bad my heart doesn’t care about those kinds of details, which is the very reason it got itself all broken and shredded anyway.
I shower on autopilot, drifting and floating between my teammates laughing and jeering in celebration. As they should. Every single guy in here made tonight happen. Brought home this win. But there’s a fine line between celebrating and being a complete idiot because you’re on top of the world.
“I think the Kappas are planning a party tonight,” I hear McGowan mention to my left.
“Oh, hell yes,” Weston says, excitement evident in his voice.
“Just don’t get too rowdy tonight, guys,” I say. “We’ve still got a long way to go before bringing home that trophy. Starting with a morning skate tomorrow. Don’t be late.”
It’s ironic, having these kinds of things come out of my mouth now, especially considering where I was not even a year ago. But a lot can change in a short amount of time.
My attention automatically drifts toward Oakley at that thought, finding him undressing for his shower. He must feel my eyes on him, because his head lifts and he meets my gaze.
A small smile curves the corner of his lips, one barely noticeable to anyone but me, and I swear I can read every thought going through his head right now.
Good job tonight.
You played amazing.
I’m so fucking proud of you.
Or maybe those are the thoughts running through my own head.
The stupid slab of muscle in my chest crawls its way into my throat, forming a knot there. One nearly impossible to breathe around. It’s suffocating, the same way it is to be in his presence, but not be able to do the things I want to.
Like go to him. Talk to him. Fucking celebrate with him, because he’s the only one I want to share this moment with.
I know the ball’s in my court. He said all the things he needed to say the other night, and it’s up to me to forgive him and move forward. But his betrayal cut deep, leaving a gaping chasm behind. One I’m not sure how to bridge yet, no matter how much my heart might want to.
“De Haas,” Coach’s disembodied voice echoes through the locker room, and just like that, all chatter ceases to the point where you could hear a pin drop.
I let out a long-winded sigh, still holding eye contact with Oakley while calling back, “Yeah?”
“Finish up getting changed and meet me out in the hall.”
My brows furrow, wondering why the hell Coach would want to meet with me outside in the hallway rather than in his office. Then again, the last few times I’ve been called into Coach’s office have caused major issues in my life, so I should probably be thankful.
I break away from Oakley’s gaze and pull my shirt over my head. His eyes are still on me as I slip my shoes on, and they continue to sear my back until the moment I exit the locker room.
I miss the heat of his gaze the second it’s gone, and more than anything, I hate how pathetic that makes me.
Shoving thoughts of Oakley to the side, I turn the corner and find Coach down the hall with another gentleman dressed in a suit, who motions for me to come join them.
My blood races, invisible pins and needles pricking across my skin as I close the distance, wondering who the hell this other guy is. As I get closer, I can make out salt and pepper hair, putting him maybe into his fifties. He’s tall, probably about my height and is still fit. But I don’t think I’ve seen him before. Not that I can recall.
Is he the team lawyer? Someone from administration? A representative from the NCAA?
Have they suspended Oakley after all?
I might be fucking pissed about everything that went down, but the last thing I want is to put the team’s welfare in jeopardy during the most important part of the season. All I want out of the whole fucking thing is for it to be done and over with.
A thousand thoughts rush through my head, and none are good. By the time I reach the two men, I feel like I’ve walked into my own funeral.
“Coach,” I say warily. “You wanted to see me?”
He nods, the corners of his eyes creased in a rare smile. “I did. There’s someone who wants to meet you, and I thought this was the right time to make it happen.”
Ah, fuck. Here it comes.
The man steps forward, holding his hand out for me to shake, which I take, albeit a little reluctantly. His grip is firm and intimidating, which only makes my intestines twist and knot themselves more.
“Quinton, I’ve been following you for some time, and would like to formally introduce myself,” he says, glancing between me and Coach. “My name’s Louis Spaulding.”
I release his hand like it was a hot iron, my eyes widening slightly as recognition sets in.
“Like, the NHL agent, Louis Spaulding?”
Coach lets out a bark of laughter, and a grin appears on Louis’s face, popping a small dimple below the left corner of his mouth. “I happen to represent a couple other athletes in the baseball world, but yes. One and the same.”
Holy motherfucking shit.
“I…It’s nice to meet you, sir,” I say, slightly dumbstruck as I fumble for more words.
Coach laughs again, this time more of a bellow, and he claps me on the shoulder before speaking to Louis. “I think this is my cue to let the two of you speak in private. Besides, gotta make sure the guys aren’t throwing a kegger in the locker room after that win.” He looks down at me then. “You played one helluva game tonight, de Haas. Keep it up.”
All I can do is nod after him as he makes his way back down the hallway, my mind still struggling to keep up with the fact that I’m speaking to Louis freaking Spaulding. Who also happens to be one of the top agents in the industry.
And he…wants to talk…to me.
“He’s right. You played a damn good game tonight,” Louis confirms, pulling my attention back to him. “You’re quick and agile, with more untapped potential in that stick than I think you know what to do with. Something your boyfriend in there” —he nods over my shoulder toward the locker room— “wasn’t kidding about. Or your coach, for that matter.”
I swallow, a twinge of sadness hitting me. “I’m not…Oakley and I aren’t…” I trail off, not sure how to broach this subject without making it far too personal. So I just pivot instead. “I, uh…thank you. Again, sir.”
He lets out a chuckle. “You don’t need to thank me. It’s a matter of fact. Your talent will take you places in the NHL, especially with the right representation.”
Representation?
“I’m…not sure I’m following, sir.”
Or maybe I am, but with the lack of good happening in my life as of late, it’s a little hard to believe.
He waves me off. “Enough with the sir crap. Call me Louis. It’s what all my clients call me.” A quick pause. “That is, if you decide to sign with me.”
My heartbeat is in my ears as I stare at him, realizing…
“You’re being serious.”
Another chuckle leaves him. “As a heart attack. I’d be honored to represent you.”
My mouth might as well be on the floor as I gape at him, flabbergasted this is happening right now.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him, shaking my head in awe. “You’re gonna have to give me a minute to just…process this.”
Louis’s hand lands on my shoulder, giving a reassuring squeeze. “Take all the time you need, Quinton. I’m here to answer any questions you might have before making a decision.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Again with the sir.” He shakes his head. “Of course, you don’t need to decide on anything right now. Take the night, the week. Talk with your parents or Coach. Do whatever you need, and let me know what you decide.”
I’m about to tell him I don’t need any time when a burning sensation hits my back, making my spine go rigid and halting any words in the back of my throat. I don’t even have to turn around to know Oakley’s staring at me from outside the locker room door.
Which is only confirmed when Louis’s attention moves back over my shoulder, giving a brief nod before returning to me once more.
“You know, I used to represent the Reed brothers back in their NHL days.” He eyes me quizzically. “I wanted to represent the trifecta of Reed boys, but this last one wouldn’t sign with me. Says if I’m only taking on one NHL prospect this year, there’s someone far more deserving on his team who I should be looking at instead.”
And if I thought I was flabbergasted before, it’s got nothing on how floored I am right now. At a complete loss for words as what Louis just said registers in my brain.
Of course, Oakley has the pedigree that would make it easy for him to find another agent. But…having Louis is a piece of his legacy. One far bigger than becoming captain would ever mean to him.
So why the fuck would he be willing to give the chance up, only for me to take it instead?
“When did you have this conversation with him?”
Another quizzical look. “A couple months ago. I stopped by his parents’ just after the New Year to speak with him.”
My heart drops to my stomach, and without thinking, I turn to find Oakley. He’s still there, right outside the locker room door, like I knew he’d be. And though he’s far enough away that I can’t make out his features, I can tell he’s smiling.
I can’t explain it, I just fucking know it.
I spin back to Louis. “He wants you to sign me even though you’re like…Louis Spaulding. Even though you’re a piece of his family’s legacy. Even though you’re only taking on one hockey player.”
He nods, a small smile tilting the corner of his mouth. “It sure seems that way, doesn’t it?”
“And you had this conversation months ago?”
“He was crystal clear about it, and your coach reaffirmed it with me before you got out here.” Louis must tell I’m trying to grapple with my thoughts, because he offers another squeeze of my shoulder before releasing his grip. “You’ve got a lot to think about, so I’m going to leave you to it. But this offer is genuine, de Haas. I’d love nothing more than to represent you.”
I can think about it all I want, but one thing is certain. None of this makes any sense, no matter how many times I try to work through it in my head.
This is Oakley’s entire future we’re talking about here. A legacy he’s following, building into his own. It’s everything he’s spent his entire life working for, and he’s just gonna…what? Give it up so I can have a chance instead?
But then our conversation from the other night comes reeling back into my mind until I latch on three fucking words I’d never expected to come out of Oakley’s mouth. Ones that spilled from his lips so easily, I can’t believe they’d be anything but the truth.
Words…I know I feel too.
And that’s all it takes to understand why he’d give up having Louis as his agent so I could. He believes in me, maybe even more than I believe in myself.
Due to a single reason, so complicated, but so fucking simple at the same time.
Love.
Louis is already stepping away, back down the hall, and I blurt out an answer before I think any better of it.
“I’m in.”
He pauses, giving me a look. “You’re sure? The offer still stands if you need time. There’s no need to feel—”
“I don’t need time, I know this is what I want,” I tell him, a surge of confidence in me like I’ve never felt before. “But I think I have one condition.”
He grins, and it’s the kind that tells me he already knows what I’m going to say.
“I’m all ears.”
