“No way one of my friends gave her my number.”
“Doesn’t have to be a friend. Have you had the number long?”
“Since high school.”
“There you go, then, it really could be anyone. Your number would be down in your college records, frat charter documents, you could even have had it publicly listed at one stage.”
“Ohhh yeah, I didn’t think of that. So I should get a new number?”
“Yeah, and I’d say sooner rather than later. When a number’s leaked, it’s usually not just to one news group.”
“Oh shit, she’s still on hold, one sec.”
I click unmute.
“Are you still there?”
“Yes, so are we good to set up a time?”
“I’d really love to chat, but I just need you to go through my agent to set up a time. Once she does, I’ll be there. Her name isCharity Emerson. Thanks so much for calling,” I say, then hang up before she can try to convince me to set up a time without going through Charity. Speaking of Charity, I should probably let her know that my number has gotten out. I shoot her off a quick text just as my phone rings again. Another unknown number. Is this the GM telling me I’m out, or another news place angling for a quote?
“Let it go to voicemail, then switch it to silent until you can sort that shit out,” Reid says, and I do.
“Urgh, I think I’ll just leave this in the locker room today and sort out a new number after training. Shit, no, I can’t, what if the GM tries to call me?”
“Why would they do that?”
“You know, if they cut me or are sending me down to the AHL, the GM will call to tell me and explain why.”
“You think you’re getting a call today?”
“Well . . . yeah, maybe. I mean, you said it yourself in there. I didn’t listen to his call, and sure, we got the goal, but I messed up. Maybe I’m not ready for the NHL.”
“You’re not getting a call. You fucked up and pissed me off when you pulled that trick play, but you’re on the roster, rook.”
My heart is in my throat, my stomach swarming with a million butterflies.
“Seriously? You’re sure?”
“Positive. Now go shove that thing away and get down to the ice, we’ve gotwork to do.”
“Sure thing. Thanks, Cap,” I reply and Reid kind of rolls his eyes, but I catch the slightest hint of a smile before he turns away.
Maybe my plan to Luka-love-bomb the captain is working after all. Fuck. I’m really on the team. They really want me. That means in less than a week I’ll be playing my first real NHL game. Holy shit. How is this really my life?
Chapter six
Reid
Ourfirstgameofthe year, and it’s an away game in Boston. It’s not exactly far from home, but it’s always harder starting the year on another team’s home rink. I try to hype up the guys in the locker room.
“We’ve got these boys. What better way to start the year than beating these guys in front of their hometown fans?”
“Wooo,” they cheer, excitement building as others call out words of encouragement too.
“Let’s go show these guys how it’s done,” I say, and they circle around, placing one hand in the middle on top of another.
“Win on three,” I call as the last of the guys stretch through the gaps to reach into the center. “One. Two. Three.”
