I blinked, letting the words settle, waiting for the punchline that never came.
“What?” I laughed, but it was dry and hollow. “You can’t be serious. I’ve played through worse. Hell, I am worse.”
“You’re right,” Gideon replied. “You are worse. And that’s the problem.”
I paced to the window, staring out at downtown Detroit’s gray skyline. The city looked back with the same tired indifference I’d been living with for years.
“You’re not a bad guy,” Paige added, her voice lower now, less sharp. “But you’re not fit to wear the crest right now.”
I turned, ready to fight, ready to claw back some dignity. “So that’s it? Ten years of blood, broken bones, and loyalty down the drain because I had a couple drinks too many?”
Gideon stood, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket. “No. That’s not it.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“There’s a job.”
I barked a laugh. “What kind of job? Mascot? Rink janitor?”
“Crestwood Academy,” Paige cut in. “Girls’ team. Brand new. After the Team USA vs. Team Canada exhibition game this summer, the board’s going all-in. They want a program that develops real prospects.”
“They want you,” Gideon added. “If you can keep your head on straight.”
“Me?” I asked, stunned. “You’re serious?”
Paige’s look turned sharper. “Don’t flatter yourself. They wanted someone with a name. You were just the cheapest one available.”
That stung. Probably why she said it.
I sat down slowly, the weight of it all settling in.
“A college team?” I muttered.
“Not just any college,” Gideon replied. “Crestwood is where the next generation of female players is coming from. If this works, they’ll build a full pipeline to the league. We’re backing it.”
“They’re talented,” Paige added. “Hungry. And they need someone who knows what it’s like to fight every day.”
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. “They know what I’ve done? The fights? The suspensions?”
Gideon nodded once. “They know everything. And they still said yes — because sometimes broken things can build stronger ones.”
I stared at the floor, throat thick, the silence pressing in.
“And if I say no?” I finally asked.
“Then this is it,” Paige said softly. “Your last jersey already got folded. Your last game already happened.”
I swallowed hard.
Crestwood.
Coaching girls.
Not exactly the redemption arc I’d envisioned.
But it was something. A thread. A maybe.
A future.
