Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
He points at me. “Do not apologize to your team by offering to blow them.”
“But that sounds like a fun time.”
“Don’t test me, Oskar. I love having you as a client—”
“That’s because I make you lots of money.”
“No. It’s because I believe you have the talent to be one of the greats if you pull your head in and stop being so shameless.”
To save my career, I have to stop pretending to be that douchey guy that gets me attention. But the problem is, I’ve been pretending to be him for so long, it’s hard to tell where he ends and the real me begins.
Damon drops me home in his rental car and heads back to the airport.
The urge to run away is strong because I don’t want to go inside and own up to a lot of things I’ve done that has put my career on the line—purposefully hitting on Lane being one of them.
I need a change of attitude. I need to be the man both Lane and Damon think I am, but that isolated kid I was growing up, the one that’s hidden deep down inside, doesn’t want me to strip away those layers. Putting in work to get rid of an attitude I’m not even sure is a choice anymore and then still failing seems like a huge gamble to me.
Taking a deep breath, I force myself forward and push through the front door.
Lane is on the couch, his laptop open, and he doesn’t even glance up as he says, “Meeting with your agent go well?”
I freeze in my place, unable to come up with something to say.
I’m hurt team management is talking about giving up on me, but at the same time, I understand it. While there’s a double standard when it comes to the queer players and the straight ones and I think it’s unfair, I’ve known that’s always been the case. I’ve always known what expectations have been on me and what could happen if I don’t meet them. I played with that line because it got me attention. Attention for all the wrong reasons, maybe, but it was attention nonetheless.
“That good?” Lane asks.
I think of what Damon told me. That Lane is looking out for me. But as I try to see past his own confidence, all I see is annoyance. Not protectiveness.
I’m not going to put myself on the line like that. I’ve already shown my hand to Lane once. I’m not going to do it again.
“I can’t believe you tattled to my agent.” I charge into the kitchen so I have something to do. Only I don’t know what. My mouth is still dry, so I get some water to distract myself.
“It was the only way I could think to get you to see how serious your situation is. You won’t listen to me, so I thought maybe you’d listen to him.”
“Clearly you think I’m a lost cause, so why are you still here?” My voice is raised now, something I have no control over. Because if I break down what I actually want to do, it’s not yelling at Lane.
It’s to march over to him, fall into his arms, and ask him to protect me with everything he has. To care about me. To want to see the other side of me—the one he knows I have. And he has to know I have it because why else would he have called Damon? Why else would he have risked his job? I know I’m not worth it, but it almost makes me want to be.
Lane stares at me for a few moments and then says, “Because it’s my job.”
Ouch.
Why does it feel like he’s punched me?
He says it’s because it’s his job, but what I hear is “Because I only care about the team.”
See? Damon’s wrong. And for me to actually believe for a second Lane could care about me as a person, not just a hockey player … I’m an idiot. Embarrassment washes over me.
“I can’t do this anymore,” I say.
“Can’t do what?”
“Everyone’s waiting for me to fuck up. To put that final nail in my coffin and lose hockey forever. Why won’t you let me do it?”
Lane stands and turns to face me. “Because you don’t want that.”
“How do you know it’s not what I want? How do you know I’m not ready to give it all up so I can become a fuckboy full-time. I have enough money to last me a lifetime. I don’t need hockey.” Except, I really, really do.
It’s the rejection I don’t need.
“Screw this,” I say and throw my hands up. “I’m going out. Don’t follow me.”
I storm out of the house, determined to go do something stupid to blow this whole thing up.
Because when it comes to rationality, I don’t have any left.