Page 28 of Bountiful
“Twelve?” I yelped, offended. “I’m worthsixtypercent less two yearsfromnow?”
“Good job with the math, big brother. But that isnotwhat that means,” she said firmly. “It’s their job to be strategic, okay? Hugh is a smart man, and he has to be nimble with his salary cap. It makes him nimble to get you to sign a two-year. And if you take the three-year, then he just saved himself some coin. But it’s your choice, D. I want you to thinkitover.”
“You think there’s no chance we can get him to three years atfifteen?”
My sister’s sudden silence said it all. Not to mention that my last contract had been forfouryears. Getting oldsucked.
“I obviously pressed for fifteen,” she said eventually. “But this is the best they’re going to dorightnow.”
Ouch. When my sister said she’d “pressed” the general manager, it meant she’d already twisted the guy’s arm so hard it hurt. Nobody was a tougher negotiatorthanBess.
“You don’t have to decide anything today,” she said, her voice soft. “Take some time, think about your goals. And Davey—you know better than to take this personally, right? The new owner is doing everything he can to return the franchise to profitability, and theteamhas—”
“A crap-ton of talented forwards,” I finished. “I get it.” I really did, too. There had been many frustrating years when I’d wished for more depth on our bench. Now we finally had it, and I shouldn’t whine too loudly if my paycheck wassuffering.
What a dick, right? With either contract, I would make more money than most people made in alifetime.
“Things aregood, honey. You’re mostly healthy, and you’re entering your eleventh year of major-league play. Your coach appreciates you and your teammatesdo,too.”
Mostly healthy. My recent shoulder injury was going to weigh on my general manager’s mind. He was probably worried about a recurrence. Fuck, I hated having aweakness.
“You’re a lucky man, Davey,” mysistersaid.
“I know,” I said, eyeing the door of the coffee shop, wondering if Leo was ready to go. Grumpy now, I wasn’t interested in spending a couple of my rich-guy bucks on a cup of coffee and a cookie. “I’ll think itover,Bess.”
“Don’tbrood.”
“I won’t,” I said, laughing. “Promise.”
“Did you make it to your PT appointmenttoday?”
“Of course I did. You don’t havetonag.”
She made a clicking noise with her tongue. “Fine. Go enjoy yourvacation.”
“You could join us, you know,” I pointed out. “If you get a free weekend, grab a flight from Detroit to Burlington. There’s one every day. I checked. And wehaveroom.”
“I would if I could. But there are fires to put out and dealstomake.”
Summer was her busy season, which was half the reason we never saw each other. Summer was my only time off. “Take care ofyourself.”
“Love you, too. Later!”Click.
I pictured my sister in her Michigan office, her headset on. She’d undoubtedly clicked off my call and directly onto another one. Always busy, that one. She was three years younger than I. And even if the prospect of someday retiring from hockey gave me the cold sweats, the one benefit would be spending more time with my only familymember.
Leo came out of the coffee shop eating a cookie. “Hey!” he said with a smile. “You need one of these. I’m notsharing.”
“I’m not intosweets.”
“You say that, but you haven’t tasted this. It’s oatmeal raisin.” He took a sip from the cup in his other hand. “And the coffee iskiller.”
“You ready?” I said, too grumpy about Bess’s news to care aboutcoffee.
Leo stopped a few feet from the car. “You’re seriously not going inthere?”
I shookmyhead.
He frowned. “I think youshould.”
