Page 111 of Play Along With Me
"Press conference tomorrow afternoon," Don replies. "Give you and your people time to review the contract details, though I think you'll find everything in order."
My people. He means Ryan and Mike, who've been working behind the scenes on this for weeks. They've kept me updated on negotiations but insisted on not sharing specifics until the offer was formally presented.
"I've reviewed it with your agents already," Cam assures me. "But take the time you need. We'd like you to sign before the announcement, of course."
"I'm ready to sign now, if that's okay," I hear myself say. I've waited my entire life for this moment; I'm not about to delay it a minute longer than necessary.
The three men exchange pleased glances. Don pulls out a multi-page contract from another folder while Cam produces an expensive-looking pen.
"The starting goaltender for the Boston Saints is one of the most visible positions in hockey," Cam says as I accept the pen. "We're not just signing you for your play on the ice, Jake. We've been impressed with how you've conducted yourself off it as well. You represent what this organization stands for."
I think about the past five months—the community appearances, the children's hospital visits, the endless media obligations. But also the private moments: late-night study of opposing shooters' tendencies, early-morning extra sessions with Kelly, the strict nutrition and recovery protocols I've maintained.
And through it all, Audrey has been there, learning the sport from scratch, adjusting to the brutal schedule, creating a home in the apartment that was supposed to be just a temporary landing spot.
I sign my name on the designated lines, the pen gliding smoothly over the paper. With each signature, the reality solidifies: I am now the starting goaltender for the Boston Saints, with a contract that will keep me here for at least three years.
When I finish, there are handshakes all around, photos for the press release, and a brief discussion of tomorrow's announcement logistics. Cam hands me a copy of the signed contract in a leather Boston Saints portfolio.
"Welcome to your new role, Jake," he says with genuine warmth. "You've earned this."
The drive home passes in a blur, my mind racing with everything that's just happened and everything that's about to change. I've dreamed of this moment since I was five years old, standing in front of my parents' dryer in miniature goalie pads while my father tossed rolled-up socks for me to save.
Decades of work, sacrifice, and single-minded focus, and now I've arrived at the destination that sometimes seemed impossible to reach.
I check my phone at a red light to find multiple congratulatory texts from Ryan and Mike (who obviously got immediate word once I signed), as well as one from Audrey.
Audrey: How'd it go??? Don't keep me in suspense, Hockey Jesus! (Also, pick up milk on your way home. Mr. Darcy has depleted our supply.)
I smile at the perfect Audrey-ness of it—the genuine excitement mixed with mundane domestic reality. She moved in three months ago, bringing her chaotic energy, extensive book collection, and judgmental cat into my once-minimalist apartment. The place has never felt more like home.
Mr. Darcy's "visits" had gradually extended until it became ridiculous for Audrey to keep hauling him back and forth, especially given how much time she spent at my place. The discussion about making it official had been surprisingly straightforward.
"Your apartment has better water pressure and is closer to the arena," she'd pointed out pragmatically. "Mine has aggressive college students in the unit above who I'm pretty sure are operating an illegal bowling alley. I guess I have Collin as a neighbor, but he never has eggs or ketchup, so logistically, your place makes more sense."
"Just logistically?" I'd asked.
"Well," she'd admitted with that small smile that always makes my heart rate spike, "there are also some emotional factors involving a certain goaltender I've grown unreasonably attached to. But I was trying to sound practical about it."
I pull into the parking garage beneath our building, still processing the monumental shift in my career while simultaneously remembering that I promised to get milk. The everyday and the extraordinary, coexisting in a way that's become the pattern of my life with Audrey in it.
When I unlock the apartment door, I'm expecting to find Audrey at her laptop, working on her novel (now nearing completion at chapter twenty-eight), with Mr. Darcy supervising from his favorite perch on the back of the couch.
Instead, I'm greeted by an explosion of black and gold decorations and a chorus of "SURPRISE!" that nearly makes me drop the leather portfolio containing my new contract.
The apartment is filled with people—Audrey front and center, flanked by my parents (who are supposed to be in Minnesota), Leila grinning beside them, Kevin Wooledge raising a beer in salute, my two agents, and even Collin, looking genuinely happy to be included. Behind them, several of my teammates—Horak, Culkin, Saunders, and Balcerzak—are gathered around a table laden with what appears to be a massive Chipotle spread.
"What the—" I stammer, taking in the "CONGRATULATIONS" banner hanging across the living room and the ridiculous number of black and gold balloons floating against the ceiling.
"You didn't think we'd let this day pass without a proper celebration, did you?" Audrey says, approaching to kiss me quickly before relieving me of my keys and the forgotten milk.
"But how did you—" I gesture vaguely at the assembled crowd.
"Ryan called me the minute you signed," she explains. "We've had this planned for days, just waiting for confirmation."
"All my favorite conspirators in one room," I laugh, still processing the surprise.
My mother rushes forward to envelop me in a hug that nearly cracks my ribs. "We are so proud of you, Jake! Starting goalie for an Original Six team! Your father hasn't stopped telling everyone in Minnesota."
