Page 7 of The Trade Deadline
Thompkins nodded towards the doors that led to the offices a floor above, not to the player meeting rooms and locker rooms Ryan was used to. “Got a minute? Charlie wants a word with you.”
Shit. Charlie Monroe was the General Manager of the Baltimore Blue Crabs. If Ryan had been nervous about a one-on-one with Coach, it was nothing to how much he dreaded a talk with the GM.
“Sure.”
The two-minute walk was excruciating. Ryan filled it with useless chatter because that was the easiest way to avoid actual thinking. He asked Coach about his summer, how the wife and kids were doing, if he’d gotten any new suits for this year, if he was looking forward to starting the season with a homestand instead of travel. Every question was focused on Thompkins, his jokes aimed to make him smile or laugh and hopefully leave the impression that Ryan was a Good Guy, definitely worth keeping on the team and in the lineup.
Ryan really,reallywanted to stay with Baltimore.
Not because of Baltimore itself, per se. He liked the city well enough, even if it didn’t snow much in the winter and was too humid in the summer. It was his longest stint with a single team, though, and he wanted to stay. He’d been drafted by the Austin Rangers, played a year with their AHL team before being unceremoniously moved from team to team as they tried to clear up cap space for star players or a more robust defensive line. He’d landed in Baltimore two and a half seasons ago, and his contract was up at the end of this season. He was really hoping to make a case to stay.
If they were meeting with him now, though, maybe he should’ve been making that case already.
They stepped into the office and Ryan was immediately assaulted with the Maryland-ness of it: a long window with a clear view of the harbor, a Maryland flag in the corner, a retro Crabs jersey made to look like Old Bay, and of course more Blue Crabs memorabilia than should feasibly fit in such a confined space. There was so much going on, his eyes couldn’t help from jumping from one thing to the next, never settling long before something else caught his attention.
“RJ!” Monroe greeted him warmly, snapping Ryan out of sensory overload. He stood up from his desk and came to shake his hand, motioning for both him and Thompkins to take a seat while he leaned against the front of his desk and crossed his arms. “How was your summer?”
“Good.” A pause. Normally, he’d butter Monroe up the way he’d tried with Thompkins, but he was starting to worry it was too late. Was he about to hear he needed to pack his bags and start looking for a new apartment? Anxiety made him shift his focus elsewhere. “I actually spent a month doing some clinics up in Vancouver to work on my face-offs.”
Monroe beamed at him. “Atta boy. You’re my best face-off guy. Keep it up.”
“I’ll try, sir.”
Monroe nodded, then his brow furrowed and he grew serious. “So I don’t know if you’ve heard the news yet” —Ryan’s heart sank— “but we’ve been in talks to get Lars Nilsson. We just signed him this morning, actually. Real exciting stuff.”
“Oh.” That was…literally the last way he’d expected Monroe to finish that sentence. Nilsson was a great center, definitely star caliber. Getting him on the Blue Crabs would be great for the team. And while Ryan had his own personal baggage associated with Lars Nilsson, no one knew about it except him and Lars, so he had absolutely no clue why Monroe and Thompkins had singled him out for a meeting. “That’s great.”
“It is great,” Thompkins agreed. Ryan turned his attention to him, wondering when this would start to make sense. “The thing is…he’s pretty adamant about keeping the number 14.”
Oh.Oh. Wasthatwhat this was about?
Ryan had a 14 on the corner of his team branded t-shirt, his last name RUSSELL on the collar. If Nilsson wanted to be 14 here, that would mean Ryan had to give it up.
“So…you want to give me a new number and give mine to Nilsson?”
Ryan hadn’t gotten to choose his own number since he entered the NHL and had worn a different one for each club he’d played for. He’d been assigned 14 when he got here and wasn’t particularly attached to the number so much as the jersey it was on.
“Would you mind?” Monroe asked with a pinched expression. Ryan wasn’t super clear on the protocol here, but he got the impression he could actually say no and they’d let him keep the number.
…aaand possibly alienate his GM, his coach, and his new teammate/former hookup in the process. All for a number he didn’t care about.
I kinda care about the principle of it. If it were someone else, would they be asking? Do they assume I'll say yes?
He pushed the thoughts aside. It didn’t matter, because hewasgoing to say yes.
“It’s fine,” Ryan said with an almost genuine smile.
“We’ll get you squared away with a new number ASAP,” Thompkins promised.
I don’t get to pick?He almost said it out loud but bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself. What number would he even pick? He’d have to think about it, and that was about as embarrassing as them picking for him.
After he’d been drafted and they hadn’t given him the option, he’d pretty quickly learned his place. He wasn’t the type of player who had room to be attached to a number. He was lucky they made a show of asking him, and he should be relieved they were talking about people joining the team instead of him inevitably leaving it. Small win in the grand scheme of things, right?
“Awesome,” Ryan said half-heartedly. “Hey, when do you think La— Nilsson will be arriving?”
Thompkins looked to Monroe, who shrugged.
“He’s on the way,” Thompkins said. “I expect he’ll show up within the week, but since we haven’t spoken yet, I don’t know when he plans on officially coming in for training and promos.”
