I lean into the car to speak to the driver. “I’ll be a sec.”
At some point, I’ll drive myself, but for now, I’m taking full advantage of the free transportation. The road system here is confusing—one-way streets, old narrow roads, roads throughmountains, foggy coastal routes—even the GPS on my phone doesn’t know where the fuck it is.
“Advisory Council?” I ask, drawing my head out of the car to face him.
“Government. We govern the country along with King Alexander. Played a big part in getting the team here at all.”
That’s probably the least impressive thing he could have said when I think forcing the team here is a dunce move.
“Dalton Worthington.” He holds out his hand, breathing heavy.
I take his hand and give it a firm shake. Politics bore me, but given how small the island is, I already know this guy’s opinion matters more than I’d want.
“Logan Bishop,” I say.
“The hotshot player at the center of this franchise, of course I know you.”
“What can I do for you?” I ask.
“Just wanted to introduce myself.” He gives me a practiced politician grin, and I’m already wary. “It’s good to have friends in high places.”
I’m not sure if he’s implying that my friendship matters to him, or that his friendship should matter to me. Not that I care. I can count my genuine friends on three fingers, and I sure as shit am not adding a fourth one, especially not a politician.
“Your physiotherapist is Sawyer Tucker, right?” he asks.
“Trainer, yeah.” There’s something about his question that rubs me the wrong way, so I don’t tell him that she might not have the job for long.
“Jonathan Tucker and I don’t share the same vision for the team, and there are several people on the Advisory Council who agree with my perspective.”
“Meaning?”
“I’ve heard you’d rather be playing elsewhere.”
I don’t admit it, but I don’t see the point in denying it either. I’m a big fish under their team salary cap, and my worth always draws opinions. Besides, before we were transferred from California to here, I didn’t exactly hide my disgust at the league for agreeing to the location.
“I’m here now,” I say, letting him interpret what that could mean. Hell, I’m not even sure.
“Thought I’d offer you a glimmer of hope.” He smiles again, and I almost grimace at how charming he’stryingto be. “The Michigan Moose have expressed interest in you.”
It’s the one team I’d give my left and right nut to be part of. Back playing with Chayton would be a fucking dream.
“Interest isn’t a contract, and it’s very fucking far from a deal,” I say, feigning boredom. He’s obviously done his research, and he’s aware of the sweet snack he’s dangled. But if there’s one thing I’ve gotten really good at through all my media training, it’s safeguarding my true feelings about anything.
Big deals like mine are complicated—for the team I’m leaving and the one I’d be joining. It’s part of the reason I wasn’t able to jump ship before we got to this island. The Bellerive Bullets would have to agree to trade me, and the deal would have to be extra tasty for them to take a bite. I’m the franchise player. Every draft prospect has been built around me since I joined the organization three years ago, and the only reason my team would trade me is if I stopped performing.
The risks around underperforming are no joke, and I haven’t quite decided whether I’ve got that in me or not. To play like shit on purpose goes against every fiber of my being. It risks my salary at the next team, the endorsement deals I already have in place, but ithascrossed my mind—too many times. I’m young enough that I could recover fromonebad season.
“A mutual back scratch?” Dalton suggests, eyebrows raised.
“Sounds a bit too intimate to me,” I say. “Guess we’ll see how the season plays out.” At this stage, making deals I’m not sure I can follow through on isn’t wise. I have to get on the ice and feel it out—this place, my team in this place, my role on the team. Maybe I won’t have to fake anything at all. When I can’t get out of my head, I play like garbage, anyway.
“Consider this your warning then,” Dalton says, the smile slipping, “that the end of this season might not be exactly what you expect.”
“I’m just here to do my job,” I say with a shrug. “I leave all the hockey politics to other people. As long as I’m on the ice, I’m happy. I don’t fucking care where that is.”
That’s notexactlytrue, but it’s as close to true as he’ll get. The teammates I’ve played with, the coach I’ve had, the place I’m playing, have all mattered at various points in my short career. He thinks he knows me based on whatever research he’s done, whatever people he’s spoken to, but at my core, itishockey that I love—which isn’t a place or a teammate or a coach. Icouldlove this place as much as anywhere else as long as the hockey is good.
It annoys me that this glossy politician in front of me is the first to make the words I’ve heard from others land with some oomph.
