Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 84114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
The easy thing to do now would be to run down the clock, but as much as I try to block out an agent being in the crowd, I can’t do it.
So I don’t get complacent. I continue to fight.
And while I don’t score again before the clock winds down, I feel accomplished and proud of my game. And the win.
“Fuck the curse!” Jacobs yells as we enter the locker room victorious, making us all laugh.
“There is no curse,” I say.
Coach claps his hands, getting everyone’s attention. “That’s how the first game against them should’ve gone. We’re proud of you boys. Now go shower, and Grant? Come see me in my office when you’re done.”
A few confused glances are thrown my way because after that game, I can’t be in trouble.
But like every other hockey player in this room, I’m superstitious as fuck, and I’m not going to jinx myself by mentioning the agent.
It takes a million years to shower and change. My fingers tremble as I fasten my belt and button up my shirt.
“Coming to McIntyre’s?” Jacobs asks beside me.
“Honestly? I half feel like I’m dying right now.” My muscles always have that achy feeling after a game or practice, but tonight they’re struggling for oxygen and just want to sleep. “But maybe Zach and I will come for a drink.”
“Good luck in there.” He nods toward Coach’s office.
“Thanks, man.”
I’m almost the last one to leave the locker room because my potential future is behind Coach’s door.
With a deep breath, I knock and let myself in.
I’m met by a grinning coach and a guy in his thirties who stands as soon as I enter.
Dark hair, bright eyes, an athletic physique.
He sends me a warm smile and holds out his hand. “Damon King.”
My hand stalls in his. “D-Damon King?” I squeak. Shit, I sound like Zach.
He chuckles. “Great game tonight.”
“T-thank you.”
This guy is not only with a big firm with lots of connections, he represents queer athletes. Big names. NHL, NFL, MLB … And he’s interested in … me?
“I’m not going to drag this out. I want to sign you.”
“Yes,” I blurt.
He laughs. “Well, that was easy.”
“You’re not the first agent to approach me, but on my wish list of potential agents, you were at the top. Because you’re you. And you represent LGBTQ players. I just didn’t think … like, I’m out, but I’m not exactly out, out, you know? I didn’t think you’d even know about me.”
His smile widens. “Interesting. Honestly, I had no idea you were queer. I’m here because of your skills, but rest assured I have extensive experience with out and proud players.”
“I know. And … umm … this is kinda surreal. Holy shit.”
Coach frowns. “Grant.”
“Sorry.”
Damon King waves me off. “I’ve heard worse.” He pulls out his card. “I want to set up a proper meeting. We’ll fly you out to New York over Christmas break and get some things signed away.”
I’m stunned.
He leaves the room, and I stare at my coach.
“You deserve this, Grant. Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” My eyes are still wide. I can’t move.
“Go celebrate.”
Right. Make feet go now.
When I make it out into the hall, Zach, Seth, and my parents are standing there.
“Who was that guy?” Seth asks, watching Damon King’s retreating back.
Zach steps forward. “Are you okay? You look … not like you.”
“That was an agent.” I shake my head. “No, not just any agent. That’s my dream agent. He wants to sign me.”
Everyone’s faces light up, and I’m hugged from all directions.
Except by my boyfriend who stands off to the side.
“Baby?”
He forces a smile. “I’m so happy for you.”
His hug is soft, but something feels … not right.
I pull back. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. At all. It’s amazing. It’s really happening for you.”
“Yeah.”
All my dreams are coming true, but I can already feel Zach pulling away.
30
Zach
“Have some more potatoes, sweetie,” Mom says, pointing to the bowl in front of me.
I’m not sure why she’s suggesting I take more when I haven’t finished the ones on my plate, but I don’t argue. “Thanks, Mom.”
Even though I don’t see it, I know she and Dad will be sharing a look. I pick at the corned beef on my plate and wait for them to get on with whatever interrogation they have planned this time.
Usually, their silent discussions about their odd son annoy me. Yet this time, I’m remarkably unmoved. The relief I feel at being at home and finally able to shut down my emotions overrides the rest.
“So …” Dad’s using his probing tone. He scoops more peas onto his plate, and I wonder if that was rehearsed too. “You mentioned inviting a boyfriend a few weeks back. Did he decide not to come?”
Ah, of course. Me and my incredibly large mouth. For the past two weeks I’ve been going back and forth on where I’m at with Foster. Around him, I’m happy, everything’s perfect, and I’m proud—so proud—of him for signing with an agent. It’s what prompted me to ask my parents if I could invite him here for Christmas this year.