Chuckling, he grabbed the television remote from his coffee table and flipped the power on. Hey, I can’t fault you for cheering the team on, and if any of the other players had joined the conversation last night, I’m sure one of them would’ve-
His words stopped. What I thought for a moment was a simple catch of the tongue was something much more when I noticed the blood drain from his face, his hands clench, and his gaze lock onto the television.
Where a sports newscaster spoke and eight big, menacing words took up the screen beneath him.
ROCKY ROAD AHEAD FOR THE KNIGHTS AND WELLSLEY ?
Last night, Derrick Wellsley put on a show for the crowd as he scored both a goal and an assist during the Knights’ home win against Tampa. But is there friction between the man and his organization ? My eyes flickered back and forth between Derrick and the television, shocked at what I was hearing. At last night’s press conference, a reporter tried to get to the bottom of this rumor, and by the reactions of both Wellsley and the team’s publicist, we think there just might be legs to this story. Take a look for yourselves.
And then a clip from the press conference began to role, showing the exact thing the sportscaster had described. A pained Derrick sitting up in front of a crowd, shell-shocked and silent, not knowing how to respond when asked about a rumored trade.
Suddenly I had a thousand questions. Had he known about the rumors ? Was he fighting to stay ? Hoping to go ? Where had the reporter got their lead from ? How could they ask something like that after Derrick had won them the game ?
Then an uneasy question popped into my mind, because I had a feeling the answer was yes.
Was this whole debacle why he’d stuck close to me last night instead of his teammates ?
Derrick ? I asked, my voice quiet as the clip ended and they dove into another story. When he didn’t respond, I reached over and placed my hand gently on his thigh ; the touch snapping him out of it. Derrick… are you okay ?
His forehead creased as he ran a hand through his hair, the corners of his mouth sinking into a frown. Yeah. He paused, then shaking his head. No. I don’t know. It’s complicated.
Is what they’re saying true ? Are you being traded before the deadline ?
He gave me a brisk nod. Nothing’s set in stone, he replied, his voice low and eyes cast downward, but my name’s been tossed around for a trade since the end of last season.
I felt and heard the brokenness in his words. All season, through practices and games, he’d been playing-giving it all he had-for a team that didn’t want to keep him. I tried to grasp at something to say. Anything that would make this situation better or turn back the clock. I came up short, however, because how did you console a man who was possibly about to have his life upheaved ?
You couldn’t.
The expression on his face alone pulled at every string inside my chest. His eyes-that minutes ago were bright and teasing-were now hollow. Smile erased. Pain and frustration etched into every crevice of his skin.
Silence dragged on for a few moments before, finally, he took a deep breath. Then he exhaled, defeated. Any chance we can not talk about this and just enjoy breakfast ? I’ve got to be out of here in less than twenty to make it to the arena on time.
In other words, no talking about serious stuff. Message received.
Sure, I forced out, masking the part of me that wanted to help and instead pivoted the conversation to the upcoming Super Bowl.
At least he’d unknowingly reassured me that last night had been nothing more than him wanting to avoid hockey in all capacity. There were no second thoughts about the nature of our relationship on his end. This thing between us was casual.
And casual was how it’d stay.
The days ticked down, flying past in a whir of traveling, strategic practices, and hard-fought games.
When it came to playing-whether that be in a scrimmage or out in front of a crowd-I was zoned in. Focused on my teammates, my opponents, the path of the puck, and doing everything I could to propel the team to victory.
It was everything else in my life that fell victim to my distracted mind. On edge, the voice in the back of my head began growing louder and louder, repeatedly reminding me that my time in Boston was likely coming an end.
After that first story had run-a dark shadow over a great performance on my end-the gossip about a possible trade had picked up steam. Now there were whole ass websites dedicated to tracking the latest sports news leaks, and everybody was wondering what the outcome would be.
No one more so than me.
I tensed every time my phone pinged with a message and could feel the stress fill my body when my agent called to check in. Now, when I walked into the Knights’ complex, I felt like people had their eyes on me, watching and waiting for the perfect moment to tell me I’d been booted out. And with the speculation now out there, I’d started distancing myself from my teammates outside of the arena, except Nyberg, of course. It was just easier this way, because while most of them ignored the elephant in the room, understanding that nothing could be done to save me, it still stung whenever a look of pity or sympathy got tossed my way. Like the ink on the paper had already gone and dried.
I felt like some part of me was broken, or at the very least crumbling under the pressure of this specific spotlight. Which was why, before I climbed on the team’s morning flight back to Boston, I was strolling the streets of New York, following the directions my agent had texted me to a coffee shop around the corner from our hotel.
Answers. I needed answers. And while they wouldn’t be concrete, I needed some kind of footing to stand on knowing that the trade deadline was less than ten days away.
Stepping inside the coffee shop, I took a moment to shake the snow off me and arced my gaze in search of Ken. Easily finding him, I zigzagged through the growing line of customers and headed to the table he was seated at.
He stood as I approached, offering his hand to shake. Great game last night, man. It’s nice to see you giving it your all out there.
I mustered up a small smile. Thanks, I responded as we both sat down. And it’s good to finally be able to hash all this out face to face.
Nodding in agreement, he said, It’s definitely not something I like to do over the phone, so- I stiffened, bracing myself as he hopped right into things. -while we don’t have full confirmation, there’s a high likelihood you’re one of the Knights’ prime pieces as they consider offers leading up to the trade deadline.