Page 8 of Wild Blades

The tiny drop of confidence I have left disappears.

Darting my eyes left and right, I take in the eight people assembled around the table. Some of them I recognize, some I don’t.

My painted-on bravado won’t cut it here today. I know I am royally fucked.

With only the sound of papers being shuffled, I choose the path of least resistance, nod my head, acknowledging Leon Hill first—sports agent, former Eagles’ winger, elite puck defender, and all-round good guy.

With a new woman on his arm every time I see him, the man’s a self-confessed ladies’ man, but he’s great at his job and represents quite a few of the Eagles’ players.

He’s not my agent, but I wish he were.

I need him for days like today.

But why is he here?

Given my current unpopularity, I’m a professional liability; a ticking time bomb about to explode. There is no way he would represent me. Which is a pity as Leon’s negotiated some sweetdeals for a few of my teammates in the past. Maybe he could do the same for me.

No brand will touch you with a shit stick, Wade. You can forget that. No one likes a bad boy.

I’m now kicking myself for not replacing Larry, my former agent who retired last month. He would have had my back today. However, without an agent I’m vulnerable.

And I’m still trying to decide between the ones who are currently courting me, but none seem to have my best interests at heart. And to be honest my options aren’t great because none of the good ones, like Leon, will touch me.

I eye Leon.If I get cut from the team today, would he represent me and could he sweet talk a move within the NHL?

Not that I want that, but I can’t move to a minor league team.

My ego won’t settle for anything less.

I would rather stick needles in my eyes than play for anyone else.

I’m a die-hard Eagle through and through; from fan to player, I will never play for another team. Cut me open and I will bleed Edmonton Eagles colors; yellow and blue.

No way, I won’t do it. I’m not moving.

I play in the best league in the world.

And I love this job. I can’t see myself doing anything else but playing for the team I’ve dreamed about since I was old enough to skate.

The reality of everyone sitting around the table gives me another slap in the face.

Wild Wade Collins, you fucked up last night.

Leon only gets called in for the strategic negotiation talks. And that’s how I know this meeting is serious.

The last remnants of my life are about to be obliterated, making my emotions barrel out of control.

Bile gurgles in the pit of my gut. I feel sick and sweaty.

I silently pray for someone to open a window to let some fresh air in.

Or for me to jump out of.

Nodding my head again, I say a polite, “Good morning,” to Leon that comes out a little shaky, then I greet everyone else who sits on one side of the boardroom table, making it clear that it’s ‘them against me’ today.

Can they see how shattered I feel inside? Do they know how much playing for the Eagles means to me?

It’s the only thing I have left that’s good in my life but have been struggling to hold on to. I’m barely hanging on by my fingertips. I know it, they know it, and so does everyone else. I’m a fool to think they can’t see my demise.

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