Page 64 of Love of the Game
I blinked after her and exhaled. Then looked at the poster again. Coaching kids? Huh.
That was still in my mind when I headed back to the Lions practice rink to watch a camp session, and it was still in my mind when the GM of the Lions stepped up to the glass next to me.
When I looked over, I did a double-take, because this man hardly ever came down to ice level to watch the team. He had a perch on a balcony above our heads.
“Jonny,” he said.
“Mr. Roth,” I answered, as a prickling itched up from my feet. This was important. This day, this moment. I finally felt the game moving at speed, the puck was on the ice, and the plays unfolded before me.
“Wanted to talk to you. You mind coming upstairs?”
In my pocket, my phone vibrated, and I knew without checking—knew with my soul—that it was my agent texting me. “Sure,” I said.
When we reached Roth’s office, I sat in his guest chair, and he took a seat across from me. “Jonny,” he said, “you’ve been a great asset to the Otters. Your leadership, your mentorship, the way you hold that team together. Coach Macintosh speaks highly of you.”
I nodded, because I knew what was coming. Like my Papa had said, like Drake had said, everything would be fine. “Thank you, sir.”
“I know you still have a couple months of rehab ahead of you, but I wanted to talk to you about this coming season.” He fiddled with a pen he had on his desk. “There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just say it. We’re not re-signing you to the Otters. You’ll finish your rehab, and then you’ll be a free agent.”
I nodded again, then smiled. “I understand.”
His brows furrowed, as if he was confused by reaction. Isuppose he expected anger or disappointment, not—calmness.
“It makes sense,” I said. “From your perspective. I’m old, and I count toward the veteran limit. Less players you have to bench, more room for younger guys.”
He made a pained noise. “Thirty isn’told.”
That was true from his perspective, especially since he was in his later fifties. “It’s closer to the end of a hockey career than twenty-five.”
“Point is, you’ll have plenty of options once you’re recovered from your injury.”
I gave a shrug. “I don’t plan to leave the area, but you’re correct.”
At that, he nodded. “Williams has quite the future here.”
“Good.” I paused as my phone vibrated with another text. “If that’s everything? I think my agent is trying to contact me.”
Mr. Roth gave me a nod, rose, and held out his hand. When we shook, he said, “You’re a smart man, Jon. You’ll land on your feet.”
“Thanks. Oh, can I suggest Bruno Doran as Otters Captain? The room respects him, and he’s got a good head on his shoulders.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
On my way down to the rink, I checked my phone, and yup, there was my agent with several texts and a voice mail, all of which said, more or less,Call me.
So I found a conference room that looked out onto the player’s parking lot, and called him back. “Hey Jack.”
“Jonny, look, I don’t want this to blindside you during your recovery, but?—”
“The Otters aren’t re-signing me?”
“Ah, shit. Roth called you first?”
“I’m at the training center. I had ice-time and rehab this morning, then stuck around to watch Lions camp. Roth found me. Took me to his office to tell me the news.”
“You don’t sound upset.”Hesounded upset, though.
“That’s because I’m not.” I ticked off all the reasons they wouldn’t re-sign me. “Plus who knows how I’m going to play once I finish all this?”
