“Mostly lately.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “And thanks for coming here to take a time-out. Honestly, I think it’s best for your reputation and for your career that you just step back and breathe for a week. I’ll get your new contract negotiated for the Renegades and…”
My shoulders slump and a sigh escapes my lips.
Travis cocks his head to the side. “What?”
“It’s very…”
“Humbling?” he offers.
“Embarrassing,” I respond. “How many people get let go for fighting…in a game where fighting is a prerequisite?”
“It’s not about the fight, it’s about the way it went down with the Blades.” He crosses his arms, sizing me up. “You’re going to have to make good with your old teammates if I can wrangle this placement back to the Renegades, you know. When I think back to how you left them, the phrase ‘out in a blaze of glory’ comes to mind.”
I hang my head. “Yeah, I’ve thought about that. And it’s a bridge I’m going to cross when the time comes.”
“The owners want you back, but the coach is on the fence.” Before I can say a word, Travis holds a hand in the air to stop me.“I’m going to have it all figured out soon. All going well, you’ll be playing in the last few games of the season. With your old team.”
I’m pretty lucky to have someone like Travis on my side. Some of the players I’ve gotten to know over the years have had agents and managers around them who are only in it for the money and the little bit of fame they sometimes get for being associated with the right player who is on the rise. But Travis genuinely cares about all of his clients. I know he keeps his roster small on purpose so he can keep things on a more intimate level with his people, as he says.
For instance, how many agents would have taken me out of the city and away from the AHL farm team that had just fired me (thanks, Jersey City Blades), and insisted I come to his hometown to rest—meaning to hide and lick my wounds.
“You’re the best, Travis, thank you.”
“Let’s just make sure to keep your head in the game while you’re here.” He whips out his phone and pulls up some notes he’s made, handing the device to me. “There’s a new winter sports arena that’s about five miles outside of town, and I’ve spoken with them about you.”
“Cool, man.” I scroll through his notes, clicking on the website attached. “Will I be able to practice there?”
“Well, when you’re not pretending to be a Hitch driver, yes.” He laughs, then nods to a coffee shop as his stomach grumbles. “Before we check you into the bed-and-breakfast, let’s hop in here and grab a bite, cool?”
I glance down at where my girl is sitting on the sidewalk beside us. “Is Posh allowed?”
“There’s a patio,” Travis says, cracking up as he points to it. “You grab a table, and I’ll get us something.”
As I take a seat on the outdoor patio of the cafe, right in the heart of town, I’m immediately struck by the lively energy thatsurrounds me. Positioned along the busy main street, the little haven offers a front-row view of the daily hustle and bustle.
The patio itself exudes Southern charm with its cozy setup; wrought-iron tables and chairs, painted in cheerful hues, invite patrons to relax and soak in the ambiance. Cushions adorned with floral patterns provide a comfortable place to rest, while wooden barrels repurposed into tables add a rustic touch to the scene. Overhead, string lights crisscross, their bulbs catching the sunlight and shimmering as they sway in the breeze.
Despite the constant flow of people passing by on the sidewalk, the patio feels like a tranquil oasis. Potted plants and blooming flowers line the edges, offering a splash of greenery and a sense of peace amidst the urban chaos. It’s a welcome respite from the noise and commotion of the street.
Waiting for Travis to return, I scan the other tables. There are some folks sitting nearby, eyeing me. My eyes meet the dude sitting there, and he gives me a curt nod of the head, mouthing the word, “Respect.” Weird, yes, but again, I’m used to it. At least he doesn’t fall in the category of wanting to fight me. Not that I can even understand why anyone would want to fight me, but I guess they see a big guy who plays hockey and they think it’s cool or maybe they have something to prove.
And fighting. Not that it’s something I want to do, but I use it for the ice. But it’s also the reason I’m in the predicament I’m in now…because what started on the ice, got taken off the ice. And then some.
Sitting and looking around the quaint scene, my thoughts wander back to that spitfire of a sister. Riley. The look on her face when she realized I was Travis’s client and not the person who was supposed to pick her up. That very look is going to keep this man very happy for a long time.
“Here.” Travis slides a cup of something hot in front of me along with a croissant, settling into the chair across the tablewith the same order. He points to Posh, who looks lifeless at my feet. “Is she okay?”
“Oh yeah, she’s not dead. Just dramatic.”
Travis sits back and laughs. “I’m sorry, but it’s just funny to see you doting over such a small dog.”
“She’s the only woman in my life for a reason.” And a very good one at that.
“Yeah.” Travis nods his head in understanding. We’ve known each other for a few years now. He was one of my inner circle who sat by and witnessed Hurricane Greta and her destruction, or rather her attempt at it. “That woman came in as a hurricane but was downgraded to what, a tropical storm, fairly quickly.”
“She did her damage.” As she still does. Lessons to all of you budding athletes out there: if you date a sports reporter, think about the consequences. “And according to the story in the paper this morning, she’s still trying to take her digs.”
“I saw that one. ‘December fired from the Blades before May.’” Travis winks. “Terrible attempt on her part at a play on words. Don’t let her get to you.”
