Page 5 of Snow, Ice, and Spice
He lets out a heavy sigh and nods. I shrink into my seat. What the hell was I thinking, hopping in bed with the wife of Assistant Coach Marquez?
“No one bought your story that you injured it while training,” he says. “Plus, it was all over TikTok. And Instagram.”
“Oh…” A hot flush creeps up my neck and face.
“For as much as you post on your social media accounts, you don’t notice when you’re trending, do you?”
I shrug and clear my throat. “I’ve turned off notifications. I’ve got a lot of followers. Hard to keep up with all the comments,” I say quickly.
Javier lets out a sharp exhale. “I’m gonna be straight with you, Theo. You’re a great player. Really damn good, actually. You’re in the top twenty-five forwards in the league, no question. But even that’s not good enough for you to get away with this bullshit in your personal life.”
“‘Bullshit in my personal life?’“
“Yeah. You’re a hell of a left winger, but off the ice, you’re either staying out all night getting wasted or you’re hitting on reporters in the middle of an interview or you’re sleeping with the significant others of coaches.”
“You say it like it’s a bad thing.” My try at a joke falls flat judging by the deadpan look on my agent’s face.
“That thing with Estella happened one time,” I say defensively.
Javier closes his eyes, like he’s trying to be patient with me. “That’s one time too many, Theo.”
“She told me they were separated.” As soon as I say it, I regret it. Javier shakes his head at me, like he’s annoyed. I suddenly feel like a misbehaving teenager who’s whining while being told off by my teacher.
“Clearly things between them were more complicated than she presented. You should have been more careful,” Javier says in a you-can’t-be-that-stupid tone.
“I didn’t think Coach Marquez was with the Bashers anymore. I thought he took that job in Toronto after…what happened.” I clear my throat. “I figured since he left I could just go back to the team and pretend nothing ever happened.”
Christ, I sound so pathetic and desperate, but that’s exactly how I feel right now. I’m about to lose my hockey career because I couldn’t keep it in my pants.
“He did, but it’s not that simple,” Javier says.
My shoulders slump as I deflate even more. Everything he’s saying is true. I acted like a horny dumbass that night Estella and I ran into each other at that club a couple of weeks ago and she started flirting with me. When she mentioned that she and Assistant Coach Marquez were separated, that was all I needed. I was down to fuck.
I fight back a cringe as I think back on that night. I should have been thinking with my head, and not my cock.
“I don’t care what you do in your private life, Theo. I never have. And honestly, if you had been more discreet, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation,” Javier says. “But the fact is that your private life isn’t very private because it almost always ends up trending on social media.”
He pauses for a second, like he’s trying to choose his next words carefully.
“When I heard back from Coach Porter, I put some feelers out to the rest of the league. But it was a no-go. No one I spoke with wants you on their roster,” he says. “They think your reckless life choices make you more trouble than you’re worth. And to be blunt, they don’t want to take the risk that you might fuck their wives.” Javier’s tone is somewhere between annoyed and pitying. “If you were a superstar, you could get away with this kind of stuff. But you’re not—not anymore. I know that’s messed up, but that’s the truth.”
I go quiet as I process everything he’s said. As harsh as it is to hear him lay it all out like this, he’s right.
Pretty much ever since my college hockey years, all I’ve cared about was hockey and having fun. I played hard and trained hard to be the best I could be on the ice, but off the ice, I was all about partying and hooking up. I never really thought about taking things more seriously or the consequences of my behavior. I never had to. I was a hot shot for the first few years of my career, so no one cared that I was so reckless.
But now that I’m pushing thirty and well out of my hot shot years, I can’t get away with that crap anymore.
I tug a hand through my hair, dizzy as I process the fact that I’ve been blacklisted by the NHL because I was too stupid to realize that I can’t act like a party boy manwhore forever. And I’ve got no one to blame but myself.
“This isn’t necessarily the end, Theo,” Javier says after a moment.
“Really? Because it sure as hell feels like it,” I mutter.
“I understand that this is devastating news. I really do. And look, I don’t want to get your hopes up, but I don’t want you to think your career is DOA. At least not yet. Spend these next few months rehabbing your knee and cleaning up your image. No more drunken nights out. Lay low. I don’t want to see you pop up on social media unless someone films you helping old people cross the street or saving orphans from a burning building. And no more hookups—especially not with the wives of NHL coaches.”
He gives me a scolding look that I can’t blame him for.
“If you can rehab your knee and stop acting like a horny frat boy—if you can show a more responsible and professional image, you’ll have a shot at a comeback.”
