Seb gives a little wave. “Hi. I’m Sebastian Henry.”
Oh, fuck.
Chapter 4
Seb
Dad is pissed when I make it back to the suite he’s commandeered as an office.
“Where’ve you been?” he barks.
“Around,” I mutter. After kissing Audrey goodbye, I hopped into the shower—again—and returned to face my fate.
Luke smirks at me. Joe, on the couch with his phone, looks up and smirks, too. Fucker. I bet Luke told him.
“Where’s Mike?”
“He went for a nap,” Dad says. “Anderson’s been calling. Wants to talk hypotheticals.”
My stomach sinks. Michael Anderson is the GM of an east coast team. I don’t remember which one. I don’t have everyone’s front office memorized. Last I heard, he was with New York. He played with Grandpa back in the day. If he’s calling… that means a trade is imminent.
“What team?”
“Boston,” Dad says with a pinched look on his face.
My stomach swoops like I’ve missed a step. Yes! This is the universe cheering me on.
“I’ll do it. I’ll go,” I say immediately.
“You could get more with Ottawa,” he says.
I shake my head. “Whatever they’re offering, I’ll take it.”
Audrey lives in Boston. That’s where her dad is.
My heart stops. Could I do this? Can I play for her father?
Yes. Absolutely, yes. If it means I get to have her—yes. I don’t care how difficult he makes my life, I’ll jump through whatever hoops necessary to prove I’m the right guy for his daughter. I want her. I need her. However I can have her, I want her in my life.
Dad shakes his head, clearly not happy. “Trade and sign. They’re only offering six years.”
We wanted an eight year contract. Minnesota was never going to go for it. They’re deep in a rebuilding phase, so we knew it was coming. They let me know unofficially that I might be getting some news this weekend. If not, I’d be traded as soon as they could finalize everything.
“AAV?” The average annual value is how we judge if a contract’s salary is fair or not.
“Good. Among the best in the league.”
“Then let’s do it.”
Dad frowns. “You sure about this?”
“Never been more sure in my life.”
“Okay, I’ll get it teed up with Jerry,” he says. That’s my agent. Officially, my agent can’t bring me a contract until the team offers it, but especially in the backrooms of hockey dealings, everyone knows everyone. And my dad’s name carries weight. “They want it finalized before the draft. There are picks at play.”
Of course there are.
“Great. Do you need me for anything else?”
