When we all have our drinks in hand, Alex stands up and looks at me. “You’ve been an inspiration to this team, Ryker. I may be the captain, but your veteran experience and wisdom is what pulled everyone together last month. I have no clue where we’re headed in the playoffs—”

“We’re going all the fucking way, baby,” Garrett chimes in.

“—but I know our best chance of success is because we have the hottest goalie in the league right now, who also happens to be a legend already by way of his past record. We’re going to hurt without you next year, man, but I have to say…I think you have a hell of a woman to compensate.”

“Hear! Hear!” Zack says. We all raise our bottles, tapping the long necks against each other.

I take a sip, feel it’s a little hard to swallow past the lump in my throat. This decision made, I can now start to mourn the loss of my career and then be able to put all of my attention on feeling euphoric because I’m getting the girl.

Chapter 26

Gray

As I drive into my neighborhood, I start to decompress slightly, but today has been so stressful I hope Ryker brings two bottles of wine and multiple orgasms with him. My shoulders are stiff with tension and my brain is overwhelmed with everything that happened today, so I’m not sure I’ll be able to do much more than just lie there and let him do nasty things to me.

To say the meeting with Claude Amedee did not go well is an understatement. From the moment he walked into my office, I could feel the animosity vibrating off of him. Frank felt it too, because he shot me a wary look as we all sat down at the round table that sat four comfortably. I found it was more conducive to honesty if we sat around an intimate table rather than having a general manager desk sitting between us.

Frank sat to my left and Claude sat opposite me, which gave him direct access to level a condescending glare my way. And deep within his eyes, I think I saw something close to hatred of me flicker. It made my stomach recoil as if it was filled with slimy grease.

I decided not to pull any punches or attempt to sugarcoat things with this man. I didn’t bother trying to offer affirmation when I could, because I could tell it would bounce right off him. So I went in for the kill, sharp and fast.

“Claude…I know you abhor my statistical models and everything I represent, but I also know one thing you can’t argue with is your plus-minus rating.”

He narrows his eyes at me because he knows all about plus-minus ratings. The league has used this particular sports statistic since the 1960s to measure player impact. It’s pretty simple. Your score is increased by one for every time you’re on the ice when a goal is scored, and decreased by one if you’re on the ice when your team gives up a goal.

Claude’s is at a minus twenty-one, which is among the lowest in the entire league. It’s the absolute lowest on our team.

“We attempted to shop you for a trade but had no bites. As such, we’re releasing you from the team and you’ll be an unrestricted free agent next season. Frank will go over the terms of your contract buyout with you and your agent at your convenience.”

I kept it short and simple.

His reaction was volatile.

Exploding out of his chair, he slammed his palms down on the table as he leaned across it and screamed at me, “You fucking cunt. You’re going to regret crossing paths with me.”

Frank and I may not get along very well, but I have to give him credit. He was on Claude like stink on shit. He had him in a headlock, wrenched him away from the table, and shoved him hard toward the door. With his fists curled tight, Claude looked like he might charge Frank, but then the door opened and in stepped two of the arena’s security guards.

Bless Frank Lessier and his foresight.

Frank nodded at Claude and said, “You can go quietly with these gentlemen or they’ll drag you out kicking and screaming. I frankly don’t care which you choose.”

Claude looked at Frank, then turned his gaze on me. I had to stiffen my spine hard not to shrink back from the hatred in his gaze, and I knew exactly what Ryker meant when he said that Claude was unbalanced.

The security guards took a step forward, but Claude held up a hand, silently requesting they hold still. I thought that meant he was going to leave in a calm and professional manner. Instead, he hacked up a mouthful of spit from the back of his throat—hell maybe the bottom of his lung the way it sounded—and proceeded to expel the huge glob right on the floor.

“Fuck you, bitch,” he said before turning around and shouldering his way past the guards.

Frank jerked his head toward the door. “Follow him all the way off the arena’s property. I don’t want him loitering.”

When they left and my door closed, my body practically sagged in my chair from relief that was over. When I looked down at my hands as they rested on the table, they were shaking hard.

Frank walked back to the table, sat down heavily beside me, and said, “That scared the shit out of me when he jumped up like that.”

I looked at my assistant general manager. The man who I have butted heads with all season. His face red, a light sweat on his brow.

And I busted out laughing.

Frank followed suit and we laughed like two nervous idiots hopped up on meth or something. It was manic laughter, and I even admitted to him that it scared the shit out of me too. We finally both calmed down, and before he left Frank said something that would at least go in the positive column for my day.

He said, “You handled that very well, Gray. Better than any man could have ever done. Makes me proud to be on your team.”