I sit down at my stall and drop my head, sweat beading across my neck. My phone rattles across the locker, setting my nerves even more on edge. That contract’s going to be the death of my career before I even get a chance to look at it.
I can’t stop myself. I grab the phone.
New text from Rick:
Rick
Sent you the contract. The Blue Ox management had an update to Section 7. It’s important. Read it after the game.
After the game, Brody. Now’s not the time.
Not a chance.
I open the attachment. The PDF loads slowly. Legal language, clauses, payment schedules. I scroll to Section 7, and my stomach drops like I’ve just hit a patch of bad ice.
Section 7: Morality and Conduct Clause
Both parties agree to maintain the appearance of a genuine romantic relationship through all wedding events. Upon completion of the Wedding (Event #4), both parties will execute a staged public breakup at the Wedding Reception (Event #5), with Party B (Chloe Dawson) initiating the breakup and Party A (Brody Kane) positioned as “at fault,” followed by a mandatory thirty-day no-contact period. Any premature breakup, exposure of the contractual nature of the relationship, or other deviation from this termination plan will result in forfeiture of all benefits: Party A loses NHL contract renewal, and Party B forfeits all payment and owes financial penalties.
Furthermore, in the event that Player’s relationship with Ms. Dawson is proven to be fraudulent, staged, or undertaken primarily for publicity purposes, the following penalties shall apply immediately:
(a) Contract termination without severance
(b) Repayment of signing bonus in full ($547,000)
(c) Forfeiture of all future salary obligations
(d) Two-year non-compete clause preventing Player from signing with any NHL team
I read that all again. Then a third time.
This isn’t just losing the contract. This is losing myentirecareer.
If anyone proves the relationship is fake—Derek, a reporter, anyone—I’m done with professional hockey. For two years minimum. Two years is an eternity in sports. Players retire,teams rebuild, opportunities disappear. I’d be thirty when I could come back. Ancient in hockey years.
“You good, Kane?” Tyler has grabbed up his helmet. His hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat. “You look like you’re gonna blow chunks.”
“I’m fine.” I lock my phone, force the smile. Completely fine. “Let’s get back out there.”
The second period is worse.
I’m cataloging every way this could blow up. What if Chloe sees the contract and panics? Or a reporter asks too many questions at the meet-and-greet party.
I miss an assignment. Their winger—Martinez, a rookie with a wicked slap shot—is standing alone in the high slot, exactly where I should have picked him up. The pass comes across, clean and hard. He one-times it.
Goal.
The red light behind Wyatt explodes in rotation, sirens wailing. The goal horn blares—that deep, resonating sound that means failure. The visiting team celebrates, gloves and sticks raised, while our home crowd groans in disappointment.
Coach calls a timeout. Glares at me across the ice. The team huddles around him at the bench, but his eyes are lasered on me the entire time he’s talking strategy. Then, as I get up?—
“Kane, you’re done. Anderson, take his spot.”
I’ve beenbenched.
Seriously?
Conrad catches my eye from the ice during a stoppage.We’re talking after this.
