Page 10 of Cheap Shot
I scoff, knowing damn well no one on the Wolverines is going to give a shit about how I’m really doing. All Spencer and Craig want is the pretty paper from the doctor saying they’ve cleared me to lace up my skates again. As long as they have that, they won’t mind throwing me or anyone else right back into the thick of things. Hell, they only wait for the doctor to sign off on it for liability reasons. No one wants to get sued, although I believe there’s something in my contract that says I can’t sue them for any reason, but I digress.
“Spencer and Craig only need the doctor’s all clear. It wouldn’t be the first time they put me back into the rotation before I should’ve been.”
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that, Hendrix. But you are no longer the Wolverines’ problem. You’ve been traded. Well, more like purchased, but you didn’t hear that from me.”
I hold my breath, waiting for him to tell me where I will spend the duration of my hockey career. I’m only twenty-six, but my body has other ideas. I’ve been pushing my body to the limit for years, and now it’s time for me to pay the piper. Remy and I both know it, but I refuse to speak it into existence.
“Are you going to tell me who purchased me?”
The words taste like bile in my throat, but I swallow them down. I spent the last eight seasons giving the Wolverines my all. I re-signed with them with a pay cut because the franchise wasn’t doing well, giving them my loyalty when I could have had my choice of teams to play for. And now that I need my team to fall back on, they sell me off to the highest bidder?
“Wait, is that even legal? I thought my contract was up at the end of the season? How can they make more money off me when I’m not even a part of the team?”
“Selling a person is completely illegal, but purchasing the remaining months on your contract is another thing entirely.” Remy chuckles before getting to the point. “There’s a tiny loophole in your contract that the Wolverines have exploited. They can keep you on the team roster until the first day of the season. I originally asked for the clause to be built into your contract to ensure they didn’t drop you while we were in contract negotiations. However, they used it as a tool to evaluate the potential of you recovering completely in time for the season, while also giving you more time to convince Cooper to come to the dark side.”
“Fucking assholes,” I scoff, wanting to be surprised, but I’m not.
The only thing the Wolverines care about is their bottom line and winning championships. They will do anything and everything to make those things happen, no matter what the cost.
“Yes, tell me about it. Needless to say, they made a shit ton of money, but didn’t get what they wanted in the end.”
I wait impatiently for him to give me a hint of what team I’ll be on, but he says nothing. Remy has always had a flair for the dramatic when he’s delivering news, but you’d think he would have a sense of urgency about it.
Getting me a new contract with the Wolverines or another team is mutually beneficial for both of us—me having a team to continue my career and him getting a big fat payout from whatever monetary terms he can negotiate for me. Unlike most agents, he only takes a modest 3 percent from anything I make, although I’d pay him more if he’d let me. Remy has earned every penny from me and deserves a bonus for putting up with my bullshit regularly.
“Either tell me now, or I’m hanging up. Some of us have things to do,” I growl, losing my patience with Remy and his games.
“You should just call me back when you get home. Not in the car and not in a public place.” I open my mouth to interject, but he cuts me off. “Before you freak out and demand answers, I don’t think it’s a good idea right now. You’re in the middle of therapy and need to focus on your exercises. You are going to have a million questions for me, and I expect there to be a lot of yelling.”
“The yelling is definitely going to happen after you’ve kept me on the phone all this time for no goddamn reason.” I take in a deep breath, attempting to calm myself down enough to continue this conversation. “Besides, I'm not in therapy anymore.”
“I know patience isn’t a virtue you have gained, but call me in a few hours. Go home, take a shower, and have some dinner. I should have all the kinks ironed out by the time you call. I doubt you’ll have any major complaints, especially with the obscene amount of money they plan on paying you to potentially ride the bench next season.”
“I’ll be ready to play. I can’t spend a season rotting on the bench, Remy.”
“Cole, you may not have a choice.” Remy sighs loudly into the phone. “You had a pretty severe concussion, your fourth one this season alone, and a complete tear of your rotator cuff and surrounding ligaments. You also had an open instead of an arthroscopic surgery to repair said shoulder. That shit takes time to heal. No one wants you to re-injure yourself after such invasive surgery. The head trainer will determine when you’re ready to get into the lineup.”
I want to rebut his comments, but I know deep down he’s right. The doctor told me that coming back from a shoulder injury this severe would take time and potentially longer than the usually predicted six months to a year. The use and movement of my arm are as important as my ability to skate. I can’t rush this, and judging by the pain I felt doing a simple stretch a few minutes ago, it’s only going to get worse before it gets better. Most of the recovery for these injuries depends on my body and me putting in the needed work to get better.
I can complain about it all I want, but if I rush this rehab and injure my shoulder again, it could mean the end of my career and any chance at the Stanley Cup. But the unknown about my position on the team is not something I’m used to having to deal with. I didn’t go to college like Cooper tried to force me to do. I have nothing to fall back on, and at twenty-six, that’s terrifying. Hockey is all I know, all I’m good at. And it’s the only way I know how to take care of myself without any help from anyone.
“You are so much like—never mind, forget I said anything. Just call me later. Right now, I want you to focus on getting home safely. We will talk about the rest later.”
By now, the entire league knows about my injury in the conference finals. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Wolverines management hasn’t already put out a press release about the monumental deal they made by signing my career away. It feels like I lost everything the night I was injured, and I can’t help but wonder where that leaves me. From what it sounds like, Remy negotiated me a pretty sweet deal somewhere. But how many years is the contract for? And how will those years be spent? I don’t want to ride the bench until I’m forced to retire. I would love nothing more than to find a place on this new team. A place on the ice with my teammates in pursuit of a championship that isn’t tainted by some wish to have access to one or both of my brothers.
But everything is so up in the air right now, I can’t help but wonder if things would be different if I had scored the game-winning goal in that shootout against the Timberwolves. Would management still have wanted to trade me for an ungodly amount of money? Knowing them, probably, but I would’ve loved the chance to have a choice. Instead, I’ve been sold to a team I don’t know, and some trainer holds all the power on whether I ever step foot on the ice again.
“That’s a lot easier said than done, Remy.”
“True. But you don’t have any other choice, Hendrix. I have other people to annoy,” Remy says before hanging up the phone.
I shove my phone into my pocket and head for my car, before spinning on my heels and heading back into the therapy office. I may have lost my chance at a date with Michele, but that doesn’t mean I can’t find an available appointment on her schedule and give it another shot. It's not much, but at least I can spend a few more minutes not focusing on the fact that this one simple trade deal has the potential of ruining the rest of my life
ChapterFour
Michele
“Iowe you big time,” Stacey grumbles from the same spot I left her before the sun came up this morning, Imhotep curled in her lap, sleeping soundly.
