Page 32 of The Home Grown
“Nah, it’s not, bud. Trust me. There’s absolutely no truth in any of them. They are all gossip, and the GM knows it. He’s not dumb—he knows that some people have no problem bad-mouthing others. Trust me.”
The door to the away dressing room creaks open and my heart lurches, but I exhale when I spot one of our equipment guys.
He grabs the last bag of gear before announcing that the coach is ready to board—but as instructed by Vicky, I hold back. I wait.
“Just relax,” Johnny says. “Tell him the truth and he’ll understand. You’re not going to miss out because ofher—I won’t let it happen.”
Johnny waits until the rest of the guys file out before turning to me and offering me his fist.
“You got this, right?”
My nerves turn my stomach into a twisted mess, and I swallow down a lump, trying to keep my head straight.
“Right,” I say, bumping Johnny’s fist with my own.
He nods once before leaving, and the eerie silence of the empty dressing room hits me at the same time as the magnitude of my situation does.
This could be it. This could be my career over.
The GM could saunter in now and tell me to clear out my cubby and leave my apartment key with Hutch. And what am I left with? An extended family that I won’t see every day, a hole—right in the middle of my heart—where the team, where the guys, sit. And for what?
Rochelle.
I skim over our ‘off-and-on’ mess, trying to understand why she’s doing this. She didn’t love me. And she sure as hell didn’t want me either. So, what is her motive?
I pull my phone out, intending to check back on the forum, but I only get as far as unlocking the screen when the dressing room door opens and Vicky strides in, her heels clicking against the floor.
A queasy feeling washes over me.
“The GM’s finishing a call,” she says, coming to a stop in front of me. “But listen Mike … for the record, I don’t believe a word of the stuff online. I’ve tried to have the last few posts taken down but?—”
She stops.
“But what? The GM does?”
Vicky shakes her head. “That’s not what I’m saying. I honestly don’t know what his thoughts are. He hasn’t said anything.”
“So, how did you know I’d need a suit?” I ask.
“Okay, I knew it was going to be soon, and I had a feeling it would be tonight. I saw an entry in his diary for a meeting at a local hotel, so I took a punt. I didn’t want you to know and stress about it, even more so if it wasn’t going to happen. I asked Hutch to grab your favourite suit and—” She pauses, shaking her head. “Forget about that for now … I won’t lie and tell you I’m not a little worried.”
I study her expression, trying to work out how worried we’re talking about. Because I have a feeling that even though Vicky knows little of the GM’s opinion on all this, she’s likely spoken to someone from Team GB. Between she and Jen, they know people. And they talk. I have a strong feeling that someone there has noticed my reputation. Skill isn’t the only thing they consider when giving someone a spot on the national team. The off-ice stuff matters too.
“I know what you’re going to say,” I mumble.
Vicky sighs. “I’m not trying to be a dick, but your reputation isn’t doing you any huge favours at the moment. Look at Rick Langdon—I hear he has a girlfriend. And Sean’s engaged. They’re both settled with pretty much next to no public drama. I mean, if you were?—”
“Don’t,” I say. “Don’t say ‘in a relationship’.”
A pang of something ripples through me. Sadness? Desperation? Regret?
“It’s about the image. Someone who’s got his shit together. Someone who’s going to show up, not be out partying looking to meet a different woman every night.”
There’s a creak from behind Vicky and both of us look towards the dressing room door as Mr Lopez, the GM strides in.
He shoves his phone into his pocket and casually makes his way across the room as if he’s got all the time in the world.
I feel sick.
