Page 88 of Puck Your Feelings
Twenty-four years of this shit.
Twenty-four years of being an extension of him rather than my own person. "You helped train me when I was young. But I built my own career. I earned my spot on this team."
"And now you're throwing it away for what? A phase? Attention?"
Heat rises in my chest. "It's not a phase. I like—"
"You like the attention he brings," he cuts me off. "The internet fame, the media coverage, being 'brave' and 'authentic.' Once the novelty wears off, you'll realize what you've damaged."
I reach for the door handle, stomach churning. "I'm done with this conversation."
"Sit. Down." His voice drops to that dangerous register I know too well. "We're not finished."
My hand freezes on the handle.
"If you continue this... whatever it is... with thatpodcaster, there will be consequences."
The temperature in the car seems to drop ten degrees. "What consequences?"
"I've been in this league for thirty years, boy. I know everyone—GMs, coaches, sponsors, media executives." His eyes meet mine. "One word from me about his...professionalism, his motivations, his character... and his career is over."
I blink. Once. Twice. Seven times. "You're...threatening Becker?"
"I'm explaining reality. Teams won't touch someone controversial. Sponsors drop people for less. He'll be blacklisted."
"You wouldn't—"
"Wouldn't I?" He pulls out his phone, scrolling through text conversations with a practiced thumb. "Remember Mike Chen? Sports journalist who wrote that article criticizing my commentary three years ago?"
My stomach sinks. Chen had been rising fast in hockey journalism before suddenly disappearing from major outlets. "He's working for a high school newspaper now. Coach Patterson who publicly disagreed with my analysis?"
"He's no longer in the league..."
"Exactly. Blacklisted. I have power, Jayden. And Iwilluse it."
He continues scrolling, showing me more examples. A player who crossed him, mysteriously traded to the worst team in the league despite good performance. A media member who interviewed me without my father's approval, suddenly losing access to all major venues. The pattern is clear and consistent.
"I can make careers or break them. Including your little podcaster's."
The air in the car feels too thin. "That's not a choice—"
"Then make the right one. You have 24 hours." His voice is calm now, which somehow makes it worse. "End this insanity cleanly and quietly, and I'll make sure his podcast gets the sponsorships it deserves. I'll open doors for him. Or continue, and I'll make sure every door slams shut. What do you think he'll choose when he finds out?"
The implication hangs between us, heavy and grotesque.
"You're asking me to choose between him and his career."
"I'm asking you to be smart. This is a phase you'll get over. His career is permanent. You're protecting him by ending it now before he gets in too deep."
My throat tightens. "By lying to him?"
"By being realistic. You've known him what, two weeks? You'd destroy his future for two weeks?" He starts the car, the conversation clearly over. "Twenty-four hours. Decide."
***
THE MEMORY DISSOLVES, leaving me sitting alone in the dark cabin with a headache pounding behind my eyes.
What the fuck do I do?
