Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Garcia exhales a rough laugh as he starts laying bills on the table. “Yeah. Sure. But like I said, I’m good for it. I promise.”
Stone fist-pumps the air with a victorious roar, while Justin points a finger at the screen, shouting, “Boom, Garcia. You just fucked yourself, asshole.”
I curse beneath my breath, not realizing I’m shaking until Steph squeezes my hand as asks, “You okay?”
I nod, but before I can speak, Garcia adds, “Here’s our assistant GM’s card. Just call, ask for Jim Hartley, and tell him you’ve got info on one of his players. You can say you’re coming forward because you love the Badgers and don’t want them to have a shit season because of some druggie on their roster. Tell him you’ve been selling to LiBassi for weeks, but he’s really been hitting it hard since camp started. You could even say you’re worried about him overdosing or something and that’s part of it.”
“Because I’m a dealer, but not a monster,” Dan says with a laugh.
“Yeah,” Garcia says, joining in.
Dan lifts a hand in the air between them. “Cool, bro, I got you. Good doing business with you. I’ll get it done, and we’ll meet back here for the second payment next week.”
Garcia clasps the guy’s hand like they’re old friends. “Sweet. Sounds good. Appreciate the help, man. Catch you later.”
“What in the gluten-free, deep-fried fuck is wrong with this dipshit?” Justin mutters, shaking his head. “I hate this guy.”
“I do, too,” Steph seethes beside me. “And I try really, really hard not to hate people for personal, professional, and karmic reasons. But this guy…”
“He can get all the way fucked,” Stone says.
“With a rusty crow bar,” I agree as Garcia, apparently satisfied with the amount of life-wrecking he’s put in motion for the evening, heads for the exit. “With no lube.”
“Not even a dollop of lube,” Steph adds.
As soon as the door closes behind him, Dan turns to one of the hidden cameras and shoot us a triumphant thumbs up.
That’s when the reality of it all finally hits, I guess, because suddenly the apartment erupts in cheers and laughter.
“Yass! In the bag, baby,” Cruise shouts, surging off the couch with his arms in the air. Stone leaps to his feet, too, grabbing Cruise in a bear hug as they jump around like they just won the Stanley Cup. I turn to Steph, hugging her tight and spinning around until she’s giggling so hard that I start laughing, too.
Laughing and kissing her and then apologizing for making her dizzy as I set her down to high five Cruise and Stone…
Finally, Cruise holds his hands up in the air, quieting the celebration. “All right. Let’s talk next steps. So, I say Stone and I take this to Coach first thing tomorrow morning. There’s a staff meeting tomorrow at ten. We can get there at say…nine? And get to Lauder first? Just to be safe?”
“Lauder? Not management?” Steph asks.
“Lauder first,” Stone confirms. “He doesn’t have Hartley’s baggage or history with the whole addiction thing. He’ll be more likely to look at the footage with an open mind. And honestly, I say he’s been wanting a reason to pick you over Garcia anyway, Tank. He’s just been waiting until he had enough ammunition to push back on Hartley.”
“Yeah? What makes you say that?” I ask, thinking of Lauder’s cryptic comment after practice.
“Vibes, man,” Cruise says. “And Lauder’s a hard ass, not a dumbass. He knows talent when he sees it, and you’ve been outplaying that shit weasel all week.” He shrugs. “But politics are politics. Lucky for us this…” He holds up his now closed laptop like it’s the Holy Grail, “trumps politics.”
“What about Hartley?” Steph asks. “Won’t he be pissed when he finds out?”
“Let him be,” Stone says dismissively. “Once Lauder sees this, it won’t matter what Hartley wants. There’s no way any of them can justify making Garcia starter now.”
“I’d honestly be shocked if he still has a job at all,” Cruise says. “He just violated his morality clause in like…ten different ways. I’m guessing he’ll be gone by Monday, and they’ll be pulling a goaltender from the feeder league to play second string.”
The gravity of it hits me all at once.
This is it. It’s really over. Gracia is gone and my position is secure.
Looks like this comeback is going to happen, after all.
“Fuck,” I say, with a huff of laughter. “I can’t remember the last time I was this relieved.”
The tension breaks, and suddenly we’re all sagging back onto the couch as Stone flicks on the evening news, and Justin calls to check in with his wife. Eventually, Stone opens more beers, I finish my meal—suddenly starving—and the conversation shifts to lighter topics: Cruise’s baby’s new tooth, Stone’s ongoing quest to find the best brunch in Portland, next week’s preseason schedule.