Page 2 of Hard to Handle

He never has.

“And that history is why I’m standing here asking what’s going on with you.”

“I didn’t snub that kid intentionally. You know that’s not me. I wouldn’t have—”

“I don’t know much these days other than it seems you have your head up your ass,” he says and folds his arms over his chest.

“There used to be a time you defended me. There used to be a time when you stood up for your clients. Seems to me you now love chasing after everybody in a jersey with potential to maintain that name of yours instead of taking care of those who you stand on top of to make that name of yours glow in neon.”

He winces, but he doesn’t bite with the anger I was hoping for. “I’ve got three sponsorships waiting to be yanked from you with one more fuck-up, Maddox. I have management calling, asking me why their captain—my client—is the problem and not the solution here. They want me to tell them what’s eating you and to figure it the fuck out because if you don’t, your upcoming contract negotiations won’t be pretty.”

“Ah, the threats. The bait and switch to lower my contract when any other team out there would kill to have me.” My words are straight bullshit, because I don’t want to play anywhere else. I want to be here, with the LumberJacks. I want to be on a team where hockey rules the management’s decisions instead of money like so many of the big teams.

And more than anything, I want to be known as the star who turned down those huge contracts to play for the Little Engine That Could Team and then helped win that team a Stanley Cup.

I have my reasons. But he’s never cared to ask what they are.

As if on cue, my phone alerts a text, and I don’t even bother to look. I don’t acknowledge its buzz. I already know the gist of what it’s going to say and fuck, the last thing I need right now is to see how I’ve disappointed one more person.

“If you don’t like the threats, then how about Hunter fucking Maddox shows back up, huh? He’s been missing for the past three or four months and this angry, spiteful asshole in front of me is someone I can’t quite figure out.”

“Can’t figure out or don’t care to so long as I’m bringing in the cash? There are guys out there doing far worse with a lot less threats and consequences.”

“But you’re Hunter Maddox. You’re the guy the National Hockey League hung its hat on to bring it back from the strike and subsequent lockout.”

“They sure as fuck did,” I counter, “so how about you remember that and start giving me the benefit of the doubt.”

“When you start jeopardizing my other clients with your acts of stupidity like a roid-raged asshole, I have no choice but to put them first.”

My hands clench and the unrelenting anger and hurt and confusion that’s toyed with my mind over the past few months, hell, the past season, fights just beneath the surface.

Obligations.

Guilt.

Responsibilities.

“Good to know where you stand. Is this conversation over? Is the let’s tell Hunter he’s an asshole lecture complete?” I ask, not giving a shit if it is or isn’t.

“Sure. It’s done. Let’s not make it a let’s tell Hunter if he pulls more shit like this again, I can’t be his agent lecture.”

His words hit my ears, their gravity, their everything. “You threatening me, Finn?”

He holds his hands up. “Just telling it like it is.”

It’s my turn to laugh. The sound is riddled with disbelief and a healthy dose of fuck you. “I’m one of the first clients you ever signed—one who took a chance on you when you were wet behind the ears and no one else would—and you threaten to drop me after all these years, just like that?”

“Something has to snap you out of this funk.” His eyes are clear, his voice serious, but he has no clue this funk feels like it’s permanent.

“Threats don’t do it for me.”

“Everyone has a line they have to draw in the sand, and one more stunt is mine.”

“Good to know.” I stare at my agent, the person I thought was my friend, and wonder when the fuck he became a greedy asshole who was only out for himself.

Then I wonder if I even care, because it’s hard to find any emotion these days other than anger.

And without another word, I leave.