“Because their starter just went down with a groin tear, and they don’t have a backup anywhere close to your caliber in their system. Their owner is impatient, and they need someone who can step up right away to carry the load.” Carson leans forward, clasping his hands on the desk. “You’d be their number one. Effective immediately.”
My mouth goes dry. This is it. This is what I’ve worked my entire life for: a chance to be a starting NHL goalie.
“But—uh—what about when Hansen comes back next season?”
Carson studies me from behind his horn-rimmed glasses. “Well, obviously, there are no guarantees, but from what I gathered, they don’t expect Hansen to come back. He’s nearlythirty-six, and his injury is significant, so there’s a good chance he’ll retire. Their number two goalie was injured earlier this season, and he’s still rehabbing.” He pauses, his gaze cool. “This is the kind of opportunity that doesn’t come along often, Tanner.”
It’s the dream. This thing I’ve been chasing since I was six years old is being offered up to me on a silver platter. So why do I feel like I’m going to be sick?
Carson pauses, letting his words sink in.
“I want to be clear,” Carson says, leaning forward. “This isn’t standard procedure, and everything I’m telling you needs to be kept strictly confidential. As you know, players don’t usually get advance notice when there’s a trade being discussed. But I’m working to build a different culture here, together with the Evertons. We don’t believe in treating players like assets on a balance sheet. We want everyone who wears a Sasquatch jersey to be fully committed to being here. That means we need to be up-front with you about any opportunities.”
“Oh. Right. Okay,” I stammer. I don’t know what I was expecting when I walked in here, but it definitely wasn’t this. “Um, I guess I’m not sure what you want from me right now?” I can’t tell if Carson is telling me about this to give me a heads-up that I might get traded or if he wants something else.
He looks me dead in the eye. “I’m asking you for your thoughts, Tanner. What do you want?”
I open my mouth to respond, but I can’t make words come out.
Logic, the cold, hard Tanner Sinclair logic I’ve used to make all my decisions for years, is screaming at me inside my head.Tell him you want it! Take it! Say yes!
“I, um—I’m not sure what to do here,” I say stupidly, because whowouldn’ttake an opportunity like this?
Carson’s eyes soften, and he nods. “I know this probably wasn’t what you were expecting, only a few months after gettingto Seattle. But you should know that we don’t want to trade you, Tanner. You’re incredibly talented, and you work hard. I see that, and so does Coach Shaw. But we believe that learning behind Louis is the best thing for your development. When you’re ready, you’ll be the face of this franchise, but once Tremblay's back, he's our starter. That’s not changing anytime soon.”
He gestures to the paper in front of him. “Minnesota is offering you the net right now, no waiting, no mentorship. So you have a decision to make.”
“Oh,” I murmur, my head spinning.
It’s a starting job in a hockey market. It solves my impostor syndrome; it’s proof that I’m good enough. Plus, I wouldn’t have to worry about the fact that I’m sleeping with the guy whose job I’m trying to take.
But then my mind flashes back to the firelight reflecting in Louis’s dark eyes. The sound of his laughter. And how he looked at me as we walked along the beach—like he was seeing all of me.You’re not a guest here1 he’d said.Not with me.
For four days, I wasn’t just a hockey player. I was Tanner. And I was happy.
“I…” My voice shakes. I clear my throat, desperate for control. “I don’t want to leave Seattle.”
Carson’s face relaxes a bit. “I’m glad to hear that.”
“But,” I interrupt, the word sharp.
The image of Louis in the car flashes through my mind.Just boring contract stuff.But what if it wasn’t? What if his agent heard something about this? What if he’s happy I might leave because it keeps his position as the starter safe? Were the past four days just a fling for him? Was I just an experiment? A way for him to figure out whether his attraction to men is curiosity or something more?
What if I choose to stay here and I’ve read him all wrong?
“I need time to decide,” I say abruptly.
Carson glances at the clock on the wall. “I understand. But the deadline’s tight, Tanner. Minnesota’s desperate, so they need to move fast.”
“I just need a few hours,” I plead.
Carson studies me for a long moment before nodding.
“Okay. Get back to me by noon tomorrow. And remember, you might not get to your goal as fast as you want by staying here, but youwillget there. We want you here, Tanner. You belong on this team.”
My stomach twists. It’s like Carson Wells looked into my head and pulled out the exact right phrase to use to make this decision even harder:You belong on this team.
“Thanks, Carson.”
