Page 33 of Play Along With Me
I am here.
My phone buzzes again just as I'm about to shower. Collin's name flashes on the screen. I hesitate before answering—I'm not in the mood for his particular brand of energy right now—but he's the reason I met Ryan and Mike in the first place.
"Hello?"
"Marshall! My man!" Collin's voice booms through the speaker. "Told you those guys would hook you up! Just saw the press release—Boston Saints backup goalie Jake Marshall!"
News travels fast in hockey circles. The team must have put out the announcement while I was in meetings.
"Yeah, it's official," I confirm, unable to keep the satisfaction from my voice. "Signed the contract this afternoon."
"Fucking rights, buddy! I knew Ryan and Mike would see what I saw in you. When are we celebrating? I've got some people you need to meet now that you're in The Show."
Of course Collin is already thinking about how my call-up benefits his network. But in fairness, his connection did help get me here.
"I've got team stuff the next few days," I say, not entirely lying. There are meetings, practices, media obligations—the usual onboarding process for a new player. "But maybe we could grab a beer later this week? I owe you for the introduction."
"Hell yeah you do," Collin laughs, but there's no malice in it. "Thursday night? I'm having a few people over. Low key. Just guys in the industry who could be good contacts for you."
This is typical Collin—every social gathering is also a networking opportunity. But he did come through for me with Ryan and Mike, so the least I can do is show up and thank him properly.
"Thursday works," I agree. "Text me the details. And Collin—seriously, thanks. The Ryan and Mike connection was legit."
"I only associate with the best, Marshall," he says, and I can practically hear him preening through the phone. "Knew you had the goods. Just needed the right people to see it."
After we hang up, I step into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the tension of the day. It's been a whirlwind, but a good one. The kind of day I've been working toward my entire life.
As I towel off, my phone pings with a text from Collin:
Thursday, 8PM. Apartment 4A. Bring beer. The expensive kind now that you're making NHL money!??
4A - Hilarious
I smile despite myself. Collin may be a bit much sometimes, but his enthusiasm is genuine, and his connections proved valuable. Thursday it is. A chance to properly thank the guy who, intentionally or not, helped open the door to my NHL career.
For now, though, I need sleep. Tomorrow is my first full day as an NHL goaltender, and I intend to prove to everyone—coaches, teammates, management—that I belong here. That thisisn't just a temporary stop, but the beginning of a long NHL career.
I set my alarm, climb into the hotel's ridiculously comfortable bed, and close my eyes, letting the reality of the day settle over me like a warm blanket.
I am in the NHL.
Chapter 7
"So let me get this straight," Leila says, perched on my kitchen counter with a glass of wine. "You pretended your cat had diabetes to avoid having drinks with a hockey executive who wasn't even asking you out?"
I groan, burying my face in my hands. "Don't forget the part where I made a knock-knock joke to a professional athlete I'd only talked to twice."
"Honestly, the diabetes lie is more concerning than the knock-knock joke," Leila observes, swirling her wine thoughtfully. "Though both suggest you might need actual therapy, not just our Wednesday wine sessions."
"Thank you for that clinical assessment, Dr. Leila. Your medical degree from the University of Making Audrey Feel Worse is really paying off."
Leila has been my best friend since college, where we bonded over our shared love of overpriced coffee and our tendency to fall for emotionally unavailable men. Ten years later, she's a successful marketing executive with an actual adult apartment featuring furniture that wasn't found on the curb, while I'm still bartending and writing the same three chapters of my novel over and over again.
But she still shows up at my door with wine and Thai food when I text her "CODE RED: EMBARRASSED MYSELF IN FRONT OF MULTIPLE MEN SIMULTANEOUSLY."
"The hockey player was cute though?" she asks, clearly focusing on what she considers the important details.
"Not relevant," I insist, though the image of Jake in his perfectly fitted suit flashes in my mind. "He's friends with Collin, and now professionally connected to the guy who leaves me generous tips at work. I've created the Bermuda Triangle of awkward situations."
