Page 11 of The Trade Deadline
“I’d rather not,” Lars said. “Obviously, I’ll have to talk to them eventually, but…”
But I haven’t figured out what I’m going to say. How can I explain leaving the team that drafted me? How do I avoid sounding bitter about it? How am I supposed to stomach saving face for that dickhead Mackey?
“That’s fine. No rush. It’d be great to get your face out there in a Blue Crabs jersey, but we’ll let the rumor mill do its work generating interest before we do an official reveal.” Monroe hesitated before casually adding, “Robert told me why he wanted you gone.”
Lars bristled, suddenly more awake. “That fucker,” he growled under his breath.
Monroe held up both hands. “I wanted to be up front with you. I couldn’t understand why I was getting one of the league’s best for such a good deal. I’m an idiot like that, looking a gift horse in the mouth, but I worried there was an injury or drinking problem or something they were trying to hide. Mackey and I go way back. My dad used to work with him in Toronto, so I figured if I asked, he’d tell me the truth.” A pause. “And he did.”
“It won’t be a problem,” Lars said automatically. “I got careless, but I really can keep my personal business out of?—”
“You’re right,” Monroe interrupted. “It won’t be a problem, because I don’t care. Granted, I’d prefer it not to be with a member of my staff, but your sexuality is a non-issue here. And I don’t mean in that bullshit ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ kinda way. You wanna be public, then be public and you have our support. You don’t want it to be public, then don’t. I’m not here to micromanage anything my players do, and Coach Thompkins doesn’t care what his players do off the ice so long as they perform on it.”
Embarrassing as it was, Lars’s jaw had dropped and he was openly gaping at Charlie Monroe. The words, the carte blanche to be himself in any capacity he wanted, didn’t compute. Even Team Sweden, who’d loved him for his play and for being his father’s son, had made it clear that he had to keep in line. Drunken flirting and they could look the other way; being openly gay wasnotan option.
“I don’t…” He swallowed and tried again. “Are any of the other players…?”
“Some current and former players are out among the team, but I don’t think any of them have made any public declaration or anything like that. They know they can, but the league and the public aren’t always as…supportive as they should be.”
Don’t I know it,he thought.
“Well, thank you.” Lars didn’t know what else to say.
“You’re welcome. Wanted to clear the air, make sure we understood each other.”
“I appreciate that,” he said, and he meant it. As humiliating as he thought it’d be to have the incident in Portland known to his new boss, he was glad to know where they stood. More importantly, he was glad he didn’t have to tiptoe around everyone here. “I don’t know what I’ll say about the trade. I don’t want people to know the details, but I feel like I have to make an excuse or lie, and I don’t want to do that either.”
“My advice?” Monroe leaned forward across his desk. “Don’t lie. Say you needed a change of pace, which I think you’ll find is true. You weren’t in a rut by any means, but sometimes a player of your caliber needs a challenge. You won for Portland, and now you can help us win.”
That might work. Frame it as his competitive nature wanting a challenge. And the Blue Crabs were definitely a challenge. They hadn’t won a Cup in some forty-odd years, their one and only win coming within a decade of the team’s founding. They’d come close a few times (maybe…he’d have to double check the team’s history to be sure), but the team had seen some rough times, to put it mildly.
They’d been trash, if he was being honest.
“I’ll do my best to help the team,” Lars said. Because he was feeling charitable to Monroe right now, he added, “But I don’t see a Cup coming this season.”
Monroe stifled a snort. “I’m not expecting miracles, Lars. Making the playoffs would be enough of a change of pace for us. But this might be a discussion to pin until January, maybe late November at the earliest.”
Was Charlie Monroe even real? Lars didn’t think it was possible for a GM to be so laid back, so nonchalant about the team’s chances.
“So you don’t want us to win the Stanley Cup?”
“Make no mistake, I want that damn Cup. I want it each and every year, but I didn’t get where I am by being anything but a realist. This team’s been in a rebuild phase for too long with nothing to show for it. Not bad enough to get high draft picks, not good enough to make the playoffs. I’m telling you this because you seem like the kind of player who can handle it, but there’s pressure on you here. You specifically. I can get some real traction going for us if you do well here, draw in some more talent to help bolster the roster. So you get out there, you score some goals, you win us some games. But I don’t want you to think it’s Stanley Cup or bust. You’re not a failure if you don’t get it this year or next. Keep that in mind.”
“Yes, sir.” He wasn’t sure about the rest of it, but Lars liked knowing there was a spotlight on him. He did his best work when he knew his team trusted and depended on him.
“I know you’re probably beat, but I’d love to give you a tour of the facility.”
Already in a better mood than he’d been in for over a month, Lars gave in. “Sure.”
* * *
Again, Lars was underwhelmed by what he saw. There was nothingbad, it just lacked in small ways. No barista making coffee and protein shakes to order. No ping pong table in the player lounge. No fancy murals of the team winning the Cup.
Well, that last one wasn’t really fair. And he could do something to inspire a change on that front.
They ended at the gym where about a half dozen guys were in the middle of working out. Some were on treadmills, zoned out to the world, while the others were huddled around the squat rack and talking loudly. When they noticed Monroe approaching, their chatter died down.
When they recognized Lars, their jaws dropped.
