41. Dylan

Chapter 41

Dylan

We’d hopped in Gage’s SUV and he drove us straight to the rink for my meeting. They weren’t invited but planned on staying in the lobby to hear what happened afterward. Either to offer condolences if I was kicked off the team or celebrations if I wasn’t.

We arrived at the rink too quickly, and I went upstairs, straightening my clothes as I walked. I’d changed into a nicer pair of pants and button-up shirt when we were at the airport in Seattle this morning. It had been nearly twenty-four hours of travel (with an overnight layover in Seattle) to get here just in the nick of time for this meeting.

But, unlike last time I met with everyone in this room, I felt calm. If there was anyone I was angry at, it was whoever lied about Rosie and threw her under the bus like that.

The team was going to do what they wanted—and I’d be upset, yes. I didn’t want to leave the Peaks, but the thought of playing with another team didn’t trigger a desire to rage skate myself into oblivion. It mostly made me sad.

Admins paused as I walked down the hallway passed them, and I nodded in hello as they caught my eye. I didn’t stop to talk to anyone, though. It was game time, and I wasn’t going down without a fight.

“We’ll be out here,” Bret said, patting me on the back.

I nodded, took a deep breath, and pushed the door to the conference room open.

It was the same people as before: Mike Jacoby, GM. Coach Perkins, whose grim expression didn’t give me any hope. Gretta, the no-nonsense team lawyer. Ms. Chrissy Lincoln, the team’s media specialist, wearing yet another librarian-esque cardigan. And my agent, Harry, in person this time.

I had a sense of deja vu as I walked to an empty chair and felt everyone’s stares on me. I pulled out my chair and sat.

“Well, Dylan.” Mike crossed one leg over his knee and sat back in the chair, like it was just the two of us on a beach, catching up. Not the pose of a man planning to rip my dream away from me, but I didn’t know him well enough to read his expressions. “Tell me about Winterhaven.”

“It was unexpected.”

“In what way?”

And so I told him.

I told him about getting hit in the face with a broom when I arrived at my new apartment. About the community service shenanigans and Rosie’s help in attempting to rebrand my social media. I told him about therapy and talking to Shiloh’s brother and moving back in with my parents. About the one small-town softball game I played in just to impress a girl and give her team the win she was longing for. And weaved through every story, I told him about Rosie. How she adopted the ugliest cat alive, and painted beautiful works of art, and how I couldn’t imagine my life without her.

When I finished my monologue, the room was silent. I’d stared at the Mike the entire time and had nearly forgotten other people were in the room until Harry cleared his throat and said, “We have three other teams interested in him, Mike. What are your plans with Dylan?”

A beat passed.

“Harry, you just killed the vibe,” Gretta complained as she threw her pen down.

“I’m here to advocate for my player,” he said.

“I’m here to advocate for him, too,” Coach Perkins responded firmly. My eyebrows raised as I looked at him. He had that defiant tilt to his chin he’d get when he was arguing with a ref about a call. “He’s my player on my team.”

Mike flipped through some notes on his tablet. “Can you please explain to me your girlfriend’s record?”

“I can explain that, if you’ll please look to the big screen,” Ms. Lincoln said. We all turned to see a picture of Rosie I’d never seen before. She was smiling wide, posed between her brother Haydn and his wife, Aurelia Halifax. “Rosie Forrester is the sister-in-law to famous country superstar, Aurelia Halifax.” She flipped to another image, this one of a court document. “Public records show she has three misdemeanors on her record: one for public intoxication and indecency, one for tagging, and one for disrupting traffic. There are some additional minor tickets as well.”

“I can explain all of those,” I said. “Her drink was spiked without her knowledge, and she mistook a seatless chair someone had put out to the curb as a toilet. She’s a brilliant artist, and her tagging was a mural—of my dad, actually, who’s the town sheriff. And she held up traffic to save a family of river otters.”

Ms. Lincoln eyed me for a beat, then flipped the picture again. This next one was a picture of my dad. “I called the local sheriff —your dad, apparently—and that’s exactly what he explained to me as well. Ms. Forrester has always completed her community service hours and paid her fines. He says she is a pillar in their community and beloved by everyone who knows her.”

Thank you, Dad.

She flipped to a new picture, this one of the softball team. They all wore the bright orange jerseys and smiled brightly for the camera. “The Icy Asps, named for a local Italian restaurant, has members ranging in age from eighteen to seventy-four. They have won the town championship four of the last eight years, with their biggest competitor being the Bookish Ballers, led by their town’s bookstore owner.” She flipped to the next picture, which showed Max smiling brightly. I’d never been so happy to see his nerdy face, his arm slung around Mrs. Mabel, the old English teacher, who was one of the Ballers most tenacious players.

Mike cut into her presentation with a slice of his hand. “ These are the professional baseball teams from the article?”

Ms. Lincoln nodded and flipped to another new image. A video this time. “This captures the moment Dylan was up to bat.”

There I was in my tight orange shirt (a decision that would haunt me forever).The angle of the camera showed how slow the pitch actually was. And when I hit it over the fence and we cleared the bases, I did that ridiculous victory shimmy to make Rosie laugh before I jogged around the bases to the cheers of Winterhaven.

The screen went dark and everyone looked at me like they were waiting for me to say something.

“I knew there was a chance that playing that game would be a breach of contract, but I did it anyway. And I don’t regret it.” I rested my elbows on the table and took each of them in. “I have a lot of regrets. I never should have been so angry at that reporter. Or taken my grief over Shiloh out on the team. I regret all the lost moments we could have had if I’d gone home with him to Winterhaven in the off-season. I regret believing hockey was the most important thing in my life at the expense of everything—and everyone—else. But that?” I pointed at the screen. “I haven’t had fun in a long time, and I needed it. You sent me home to Winterhaven to learn how to be a good person—a good teammate—again. And I think I did. And I’m ready to be back on the team— my team—and do better. Be better. Not just for Shiloh, but for everyone else. And for me, too.”

Mike stood, his expression stern. “You have caused us a lot of headache this year, Dylan. A lot.” His frown deepened. “But I don’t want to lose you from the team. I need you to commit that as long as you play for the Peaks you won’t ever wear a jersey as tight and ugly as that orange one again. It’s an embarrassment to the whole franchise.”

“Wait—what?” I blinked when his frown turned into a begrudging smile.

“We’re putting you back on the team. All jokes aside, no more sports, period. I don’t care if it’s grannies throwing a bean bag back and forth. You keep your distance.”

“Okay, yes, I promise,” I rushed the words out.

“And as for Rosie Forrester—”

I held my breath. This one was a deal breaker for me. I’d walk away from this whole team if they didn’t want me to be with her.

“I think she’ll keep you on your toes. I like that. A lot. But we’re going to need to put out a statement correcting the lies from that article. Ms. Lincoln, can you stay when we’re done here and work out a statement with Dylan?”

Ms. Lincoln nodded primly as I sagged against the chair. Coach Perkins pounded me on the back in congratulations, as did everyone else as they filed out, except for Ms. Lincoln.

Bret and Gage poked their heads into the room. “Everyone was smiling when they left, so …” Gage looked at me hopefully.

“I’m still on the team,” I said.

They whooped and pulled me into a bracing hug that took my feet off the ground. I laughed and pushed them both away from me. “I’m not out of the woods yet.” I looked at my phone, which was still absent of any messages from Rosie. “I need you to help me figure out how to get my girl back.”

“And write a statement,” Ms. Lincoln said. She eyed Bret warily as he motioned for her to hand him her tablet. She very slowly slid it to him, and he opened a new note.

“We can help with that.” Bret’s eyes gleamed with anticipation. “I have an idea. You mentioned she loves nineties rom coms, right?”

I nodded slowly.

“Okay.” He rubbed his hands together. “This is going to take courage, a lot of luck, the ability to ignore the problematic source material, and a willingness to humiliate yourself in front of thousands of people.”

“Oh, that’s all.” I kicked out a chair for him to sit in. “Tell me your plan.”