Page 106 of The New Guy
“Mine won’t,” I say in a stony voice. “Your job is to get me what I want, right? And what I want is a Brooklyn contract before next season. With a no-trade clause. I want to stay here. I don’t care what the money is.”
“You say thatnow,” my father huffs. “But if we push Brooklyn for a contract, and they have a year to go, they’re smart enough to lowball you. Why are you so hot to stay in Brooklyn all of a sudden?”
“I like it here. That’s all you need to know.”
He sighs theatrically. “Hudson…”
“Dad—do you give your other players a hard time when they tell you what they want?”
“No, and I'm not giving you a hard time, either. I'm just making sure you’ve thought this through.”
“I think of nothing else. Tell the nice man in Colorado thanks, but no thanks.”
“Yeah, I did that already,” my father says. “—Because the less interested we sound, the better his offer will get.”
“Not that I’ll care,” I remind him.
“You might,” he insists. “That team owes this family something. I’d still like to take a pound of their flesh.”
I stop myself from making a very dirty, very queer joke. “Take it for one of your other players. I’m heading to a video meeting.”
“All right,” he says magnanimously. “Don’t let me keep you.”
I hang up and roll my eyes.
Colorado? They had their chance. Even if the homophobic head coach is gone, I still don’t want to give them the satisfaction.
* * *
Round two, against Carolina, is a roller coaster. We win the first game, but drop two in a row. Then I get a goal in the second period of game four, and we win that one.
But I wake up the next day with muscle soreness pretty much everywhere. And a tightness in my hip that’s reminiscent of my troubles earlier in the season.
I head to the rink pretty early and walk into the athletic trainers’ room.
Gavin blinks at me in surprise. “Hi, stranger. Rough morning?”
“Hi.” I give him a secretive smile. “Do I lookthatbad?”
“You look tired,” he whispers. “And don’t think I can’t tell you’re favoring your hip.”
I climb onto the table, and Gavin wastes no time manipulating my hip. “This hurt?”
“It’s tight, that’s for sure.”
“Is the pain sharp?” he clarifies.
I shake my head. “Just normal tightness.”
“All right. That might not be a big deal. Were you worried about bursitis?”
“Yup.”
He pats my hip. “Let me work on this for a few minutes. Then you’ll take an anti-inflammatory, and keep Henry in the loop.”
“Yessir.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” He drops his voice. “But moan it.”
