“Damn,” he says with a laugh. “To be twenty-two again. Prime of fucking life. You feel unstoppable. Isn’t there a Miley Cyrus song about being twenty-two?”
“Umm, I think it might be Taylor Swift,” I reply, hiding my smirk behind my water glass. I know it’s Taylor Swift. I keep it quiet around the guys, but I’m a total Swiftie. You try growing up in the same house as my sister and all her friends and not like Taylor Swift.
“Right, well twenty-two is an exciting age, Langley. A young guy like you, with the right combo of talent, looks, and drive, you can pretty much write your own ticket.”
The truth is that I’ve never really felt young. You don’t get to feel young when you partially raise your sister while your mom pulls double shifts at the hospital to pay for your hockey. You don’t feel young when you leave the house at fifteen to compete in the Junior League. You don’t feel young when you become the breadwinner at eighteen, negotiating multi-million-dollar contract deals while most kids your age are saving up to buy their first car.
But Talbot doesn’t want to hear my thoughts on growing up too fast. So, I just nod, taking another sip of my water.
“And look, I’m a rational guy. Maybe all you want is to earn some time on the ice, get some pucks in that net, and you’ll be looking to trade up. Any team would be lucky to have you. Is that what you want? Do you want to see how high your rocket can climb?”
I’m flustered as I set my glass down. “I—”
“Because I’ll be honest with you, Langley. If what you want is to make it to the playoffs every year and earn a fighting chance at the Stanley Cup, the Rays might not be the best fit for you. This is a different team in a different stage of life. We’re in the building stage. I intend to build something that will last. That takes time, and it takes cultivating the right kind of talent.”
“Yes, sir—”
“And I’ll tell you this right now. The kind of talent I don’t need hogging up my ice is the kind who only sees the Rays as a springboard onto bigger and better teams.”
“Of course, sir—”
“First season is tough all the way around,” he admits. “We’re dealing with the trades, and building a team, and all the hiccups of running a new staff and facilities. It’s been a nightmare.”
“Yes, sir,” I say again.
“But we can’t get complacent,” he goes on. “I’m already looking to next season, and the season after that. Hell, I’m looking ten years into the future here. A few of the guys have already locked themselves in to four-and five-year contracts with no-trade clauses. They intend to stay here and help me build an NHL team worth playing on.”
I sit forward in my chair. “Sir—”
“So, what I want to know from you, Langley, is where do you see yourself in five years—”
“Sir,” I say again, and I realize too late I’m practically shouting at him.
He blinks at me, those dark eyes narrowing slightly.
“That’s what I want,” I say into the silence.
“What?”
“Everything you just said,” I reply with a wave of my hand. “I want everything, and I want it here in Jacksonville. I know I’m young, and I’ve still got a lot to learn, but I’ve also been in this game for fifteen years. It’s been my whole life since I was big enough to tie my own skates. To play on an NHL team…to be part of a team,” I clarify. “That’s what I want.”
Talbot sits back, surveying me.
I dive into the silence. “Are there guys out here showboating, content to get traded from team to team, only thinking about getting pucks in the net? Yeah, sure. And sometimes you need those guys on the team. But I’m not that guy.”
“What kind of guy are you?”
I let out a little breath, searching for the right words. “I’m the kind of guy who sticks,” I reply. “Sir, I’m sticking. You give me a chance, you give me some security, some hope of knowing my jersey is safe, and I will help you build a team that doesn’t just consistently make it to the playoffs, we bring home the Cup.”
He smirks at me. “Those are some big words, Langley. Big promises. You really think you can turn all that talk into action?”
I just shrug, flashing him a smirk of my own. “I’m twenty-two, remember? I’m unstoppable, sir.”
He barks out a laugh, pressing his hands flat against his desk as he stands. Taking it as my cue, I stand too, reaching for my crutches.
“You’re a good man, Langley,” he says, stepping around the desk. “You’re a team player. The coaching staff, the captains, the support staff, they all say the same thing: Ryan Langley is the kind of guy you want on your team. I want you in that Rays jersey. If I have my way, I’ll keep you in it. But I won’t freak you out by discussing the details now,” he adds with a laugh. “Give MK a call today. I sent him everything already.”
“Thank you, sir,” I say, feeling breathless. I take the hand he offers, shaking it again. But when I move to let go, he holds on, his grip tight as iron.
“Don’t let this shake your confidence,” he says, gesturing with his free hand down at my knee. “You’re still the prize, Langley. Rest and recover. The ice will still be there whether it’s two weeks from now or two months. Return to us whole.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good man.” He drops my hand and walks with me to his door. As he opens it, he cuffs my shoulder. “And hey, if that number doesn’t work for you, don’t hesitate to let me know.”
My senses are spinning as I try to imagine what number might be written on an NHL extension contract with my name on it. This all feels too good to be true.
“Fight for what you’re worth, Langley,” Talbot says in parting. “Always fight for what you’re worth.”
28
My heart is in my throat as I hear Charlie’s secretary on the other end of the line. “Ms. Owens, we’re ready to connect your call through to Ms. Owens. Would you like to connect?”
“Yes,” I say. “Thank you.”
“Connecting now,” she says in her Southern sing-song voice.
I let out a breath as I wait. The only other sound is the humming of the AC unit in my rental car. That sound is broken by the trill of a dial tone.
It dials once. Twice. Three times.
Then the click as we connect.
“Tess, darling?” comes Bea’s smooth, alto voice. “Tess, are you there?”
I’m flooded with emotion at hearing the clear note of concern in her tone. “Yes—Bea, it’s me. I’m here.”
“Oh, Tess,” she cries. “You’ve had us all scared half to death. Your apartment looked like it was ransacked. I was ready to call the police until Troy said he finally heard from your lawyer that you were alright.”
“Bea, I’m so sorry—”
“Where are you, darling? Let me come to you. Wherever you are, it’s not home. Let me bring you home,” she pleads.
I shake my head, knowing she can’t see it. “I can’t,” I say. “I have no home there anymore.”
“That’s nonsense. Tess, you listen to me now. All of this has been blown so completely out of proportion. I simply cannot believe that Dale chose to handle this situation as he did. I swear to you, when they told me about that god-awful HR meeting, I saw red.”
I blink back my tears. “So, you didn’t know? You didn’t approve them putting me on administrative leave?”
“Are you kidding me?” she cries. “What is this, a Nathaniel Hawthorne novel? We don’t punish our best and brightest junior partners for dancing at a wedding, Tess. It’s ridiculous.”
I breathe a sigh of relief, even as my gut churns. All this means is that Troy lied. Again. He lied to everyone, convincing us all that Bea was the mastermind, wielding the company’s morality clause like a cudgel to break and silence me.
“You know who should be put on administrative leave is Dale,” she adds with an irritated huff. “I simply can’t believe that after ten years with this company, he thought this was the best way to handle what was so clearly a private family matter.”
I go still, heart racing as I put together the pieces. “Bea, wait…who do you think is responsible for putting me on administrative leave?”
“Dale,” she cries. “I swear, that man is a menace. I’d fire him if I could get the other partners to all agree.”