3. Axl

three

Axl

It’s a frigid morning, and my brand-new financed Dodge Ram crawls to a stop in the shadowy parking lot at the Mapleton, Vermont, arena two hours before practice is scheduled.

I’ve got work to do if I want to get moved up to the NHL.

This is how I get ahead.

I’ve always done it this way.

If everyone else practices at eight, I begin at six.

If everyone else goes out to celebrate right after a game win, I go back to the rink and start over, prepping for the next game. I never let my game slide.

Killing the engine, I jump out of the truck and briskly walk to the front entrance, where the janitor has left the door unlocked for me. Small towns are nice like that. That’s one good thing about playing for this brand-new AHL team—that hardly anybody knows exists yet, but that’s beside the point—it’s in a small town, and it’s been an easy adjustment. The salary is hardly anything to brag about. The optimist in me calls this mid-five-figure salary, one which leaves lots of room for upward growth. It’s only my first year out of college, and I’m lucky I get to play at all.

Most of the lights are dim, but it’s bright enough I don’t get the creeps walking through this place when it’s empty. These early mornings alone on the ice rejuvenate my spirit, reminding me why I push myself so hard. There’s nothing that I’m running from, but I have one of those personalities where I like to win, and I’m not afraid to work hard.

When I pass through Victory Hall, I notice that the light across from the locker room is on. It’s a boardroom we hardly ever use, because we have our best meetings in the locker room. Poking my head in, my eyes sweep the room quickly, already reaching for the light switch to shut it off when I startle. “Excuse me, Coach.” I take a step back, while I also bob my head toward our team owner, billionaire Bill Baker, who is sitting across from Coach. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.” I flash my palms up while I continue to back out.

“Not interrupting.” Coach stands up, sliding his chair back at the same time. “You’re the person we’ve been wanting to see.”

“Me?” I ask, jerking my thumb to my chest, not recalling any appointments, especially ones while the whole world sleeps.

“Yes.” Coach waves me into the room. “Please, come in and shut the door.”

Why do I feel like I’m entering a bad scene in a horror movie?

Flashing a look over my shoulder, I swallow and grab the doorknob, pulling it behind me until the normally unnoticeable click echoes, filling the whole room.

“Have a seat.” Coach motions to the twelve remaining unfilled seats at the table as he plops back down into his own seat. Suddenly this meeting makes so much sense.

I’m getting fired.

That’s one of the caveats to the AHL. They can move guys up or down, or in and out at any time. This is about my backtalking to the ref last night after I had been told I was on my final warning.

I’m clearly on my way out.

I step toward a chair and lower myself down in the pulsating silence all while rolling my hands into tight fists under the table.

I can’t believe I blew it.

Coach rubs the stubble on his usually clean-shaven face as he looks above my head, focusing on something behind me. “This is hard for me to say.” Then he lowers his gaze directly on me, hooking his light-blue eyes right on mine. “You’re not very likable.”

My gaze shifts side to side, as I absorb that like a bullet and wait for the part where I’m fired. It’s fine if I’m fired but I don’t need to sit here and be insulted for ten minutes first. Just say it! “I don’t care about being liked. I care about winning.”

“To clarify, all the guys on the team have your back and say you’re an amazing team player, but your public image is trash, and we aren’t filling seats.”

A lump balloons in my throat. Swallowing, I smooth it for a mere moment before it returns. Forcing air around the lump, I reply, “I know I messed up, but I promise I’m working on it.”

Bill speaks up for the first time, leaning in with his eyes firing a light as if he’s got the most exciting idea ever. “We’re going to help you become popular.”

“You are?” I flatten my fists and wipe my sweating palms on my warmup pants.

“We can’t stand to lose you. You’re an amazing center, and you have the potential to take this team to the top. So, we need to figure out how to help you stick around, and we’ve devised a plan to do just that. But you must trust us completely.”

“I’m not offering you my first-born child, if that’s what you’re thinking,” I joke, trying to lighten the mood, but the sarcasm is lost as their brows furrow in confusion.

“Picture this.” Bill flashes jazz hands up in the air, and his eyes light up even more. “Center Axl Erikson is dating celebrity actress . . . who we haven’t named yet—”

“I don’t date.” He’s gone too far. I’ll do just about anything for this team, but dating to get publicity is not one of them. I don’t have time for dating. It’s pointless. I have no use for it. Women are evil. That’s been my mantra since senior year of high school when my first girlfriend, Susie Marie Jenson, ripped my heart out and stomped all over it by cheating on me with some nerd. We’d dated for most of high school, and I was convinced we’d always be together. I just couldn’t fathom how I missed something so huge as her having another boyfriend. I squeeze my fist tightly. Nope. Been there. Not going to date again. I’ll stick to hockey.

“You aren’t actually going to date,” Coach cuts back in. “We’ll find some actress to play the part of your girlfriend, and you’ll pose for some photos. Fans will show up here just to get a glimpse of her, and we’ll leak a few stories to the press, all to get you in a better light—”

“Absolutely not.” I roll my eyes in disgust. “I’ll work harder, and I’ll do your stupid modeling photo shoots for charity, but I’m not going to play some charade.”

“What’s the big deal?” Coach shrugs his shoulders, holding them up in pause, as if daring me. “It’ll only be business. You won’t have to like her or hang out with her. Just a few appearances.”

“I don’t date,” I growl, resisting the flashback to how pathetic I had been after Susie broke up with me. I don’t ever want to be that vulnerable again.

“Well, good.” Coach rises from his chair again, a mischievous smile centering on his face. “Then we won’t have to worry about you cheating on your new fake girlfriend.”

“I won’t cheat on anyone, because there is no one to cheat on.” I stand, glad I’m six inches taller than Coach.

“This wasn’t an ask. I’m sorry if you are confused, but this is the plan if you want to remain on the team. We have to pay the bills somehow.”

“That is dumb.” Before I run my mouth more, doing the exact thing I told him I wouldn’t do, I close my mouth and gather all my saliva to the back of my throat, swallowing hard. Not talking back is hard.

“Your honesty is what got you in this mess. I’d be careful if I were you.” Chuckling, Coach meanders to the door, opening it while standing back to show me my way out. He thinks this meeting is over, but he’s delusional.

“Who am I dating?” I blurt out, but then correct my words. “I mean, who is this woman?”

“We’re making some calls today and hope to have someone hired by Friday.” Bill rises to his feet; his smile is so large you’d think he was practicing for clown college, and he pats me on the back. “This is going to be great.”

I suck back a whole lungful of air and dig my teeth into my bottom lip, resisting the urge to form a rebuttal. They haven’t even found anyone to play along with this dumb idea, and they won’t. Not by Friday. Not ever. They’ll get frustrated and give up. I’ll pretend to go along with their dumb idea until it fails miserably, and then they’ll realize how absurd this is and leave me alone.