Page 106 of Dangle

“Yes, Mrs. Richmond?—”

“Call me Charlotte.”

“Okay, Charlotte. I’ll be blunt. Youdoneed me. The Wardens called up Dylan Kahun rather than me because he’s squeaky clean. Unlike me, he doesn’t spend a lot of time in the box. He doesn’t have any majors, and his minors are accidental, but…” I paused with a sigh.

“Don’t hold back on me now. I want to know what you think.”

“Based on his performance at the end of last season and what he’s shown so far this season—Dylan Kahun is not ready for the NHL. Off the ice, he looks tough, he plays hard, but he doesn’t have the physicality to go up against NHL-caliber defenders.”

“He’s a great player.”

“In the AHL? Absolutely. He’s a fucking beautician. Smart, fast, and a clean player, but he’s not NHL-level smart. He’s not NHL-fast. And clean can’t make up for that. He takes a beating every time he steps onto the ice. It’s all ESPN is showing in his highlight reels. He started protecting his ribs three games into the season. What’s worse, he knows this. He knows he’s not as smart as the other guys on the ice. Nor is he as fast or as tough. And he knows it. It’s written all over his face. He looks utterly terrified.”

Silence.

Fuck. What the hell was I?—

Laughter—loud, cackling, snorting laughter from multiple people—interrupted the spiral that threatened to grab hold of me.

“I like you, Trey,” Charlotte said. “When can I get you to New York to sign a contract?”

Holy shit. A contract. I hadn’t fucked everything up, like my father said in the last text messages I received before blocking him.

“Ma’am, the Wardens were all I knew. All I thought about. My whole life I chased a Wardens jersey. I dreamed of it. I cried andbledfor it?—”

“The words coming out of your mouth sound like I should fuel up the jet, but something in your tone tells me differently.”

“Charlotte, I appreciate the offer, and if I thought I could stomach playing for the Wardens, after everything, I would. Because very few things would make me as happy as replacing my father and grandfather’s toxic legacy. I would…”

“You want me to release you.”

Not a question. A statement. Smart lady.

“Yes.”

“Well, given what I’ve found out about why you’re still in Manchester, I’m not shocked. Especially after you didn’t come to camp this summer.”

An apology burned the back of my throat, but I refused to apologize for protecting myself from toxic people.

“Your silence says a lot, Trey,” she paused, and the line went ultra quiet, as if she had muted herself. “Okay. I’m told I can release your rights, which will make you a free agent.”

“Yes, ma’am, but I have a suggestion.”

“Hmm…well, you nailed it with Kahun…” She paused, and a tapping sound filled the silence; then she said, “Okay, I’m listening.”

“I…I’m in a relationship with a man,” I said.

“I’m aware, and?”

I sighed. I had to shake off this compulsion to make myself too big, so that I pushed people away, or so small they didn’t notice me. And I needed to learn to ask…no, demand the things I wanted and needed. “He has a life in Minnesota.”

“Which means you have a life in Minnesota.” A few moments passed, and she said, “You realize you play hockey, right? That trades happen?”

“Yes. I do. But Manchester has become home. And besides that, I want to stay as far away from the epically toxic shitstorm that is the Malachek legacy in New York. I’m over being called Donald Malachek 3.0. My name is Trey.”

And I had the paperwork to prove it. I was Trey Malachek.

Not Donald Malachek III.