“Sawyer? What are you doing here?” my dad asks, wandering down the long hallway to his office, coffee in hand. “Logan’s not injured, is he?”
“No,” I say with a shake of my head. If we were closer, I might be offended that Logan’s well-being is more of a concern than my own.
“Good. Good.” He unlocks his office door. “Did you forget something in here?”
“I actually came to talk to you,” I say, barely hiding my exasperation. It’s pretty telling that, if Alex was still in the picture, I’d probably be standing on his doorstep instead. Negotiating with my father has rarely been something I’ve had to do. As a kid, as much of a force as my mother was, she was often the one who “dealt” with us—her or whatever nanny was employed at the time. My dad wasn’t absentee, but he certainly wasn’t attentive, even when he was in a room with us.
“You’ve done really well with Logan,” he says, ushering me in.
A glow of pride bursts in my chest. To be recognized as effective is exactly what I wanted out of this job. My insecurities were so high when I said yes, that taking this role was about pushing my own boundaries, proving something to myself. It’s an unexpected bonus that I also proved something to other people—a lot of other people.
“I’m sorry the team isn’t in a position to offer you a raise,” he says.
It’s laughable that he thinks Ineedor even want a raise. The whole extended Tucker family has access to the Tucker Family Trust. The trust is so huge and so profitable that it has itsown rules. Some of which are great, like funding houses, cars, and other material things for personal use. Other rules, like the one that says trust money can’t be used as the foundation forpersonalbusiness ventures, are definitely constraining. No matter what, ever since I turned eighteen, I’ll never be poor enough to beg mydadfor a raise, especially for a job he asked me to take.
“Is Logan being traded?”
“Rumors are flying, are they?” My dad chuckles. “It’s a possibility. Dalton’s come up with quite a plan. At first, I hated it. Trade the star player? He’s one of the few reasons our merchandising department is turning a profit. Anything with Bishop on it or his number goes out the door as soon as we get it in. You must have noticed around the country? He’s a big draw for the crowds. Kid knows how to put on a show.”
“Dalton, who has no interest in ice hockey, is the one who’s come up with a trade plan?” I can’t keep the disbelief out of my voice.
“Since he became the liaison for the Advisory Council, he’s put in the time, got to know the game. I have to give him credit.”
I’m giving him zero credit because my gut tells me he’s just found a new, different way to interfere in my life and my choices.
“Does Alex know?” I ask.
“King Alexander’s first priority has always been his wife.”
“You’re trading Logan, is that what you’re saying?”
“It’s a team decision. All of us. Am I starting to see why it might make sense? Yes. We’re on the bubble to make the playoffs, and we have one of the top scoring players in the whole league. It’s absurd. Embarrassing, actually.”
Logan has never seemed embarrassed to play for the Bellerive Bullets. Frustrated and annoyed at times, especially when we watch game tape, and even I can see the unforced errors. Part ofme has wondered if some of the issues are coaching related, but Logan’s never complained, so I haven’t raised it.
“If the team manages to make the playoffs, I’ll probably push to keep him another year. See if we can turn around the rest of the team. Maybe get you training them all.” He gives me a nod like I’ve expressed interest in that job—which I haven’t. “If we don’t make the playoffs, I can’t see how we keep him.”
“You’re punishing him for being good?”
“If we got him a good trade, he might be in cup contention in one to two years. He’s a franchise player. The kind of player teams can build around or bring in if they already have the depth and room in the cap.”
“There must be other trades you can make to build a better team around him.”
“You don’t want what’s best for him?” My father squints at me as though he’s trying to make those words fit what he knows about me.
When he puts it like that, he makes me feel like I shouldn’t be here. Maybe I shouldn’t. I’m not sure I’m here because I want what’s best for Logan. Maybe I want what’s best forme. The idea that Logan might be gone from my life makes my heart constrict.
“You coming to the game tonight?” My father asks, going behind his desk and taking a seat.
“Yeah,” I say, but my mind is still busy turning over the notion of Logan leaving, which is causing my breathing to become shallower.
“You should sit in the box. I don’t know what’s with you sitting behind the bench now.”
Publicity. The WHL fans love the way Logan and I interact. Truthfully,Ilove the way we interact because sometimes it’s like he’s playing just to impress me. A rush to my head and my heart. Thegreatestforeplay.
“If you want an ear to the ground on the trade talk, the team box is where you need to be.”
“Dalton will be in there?”
