Page 52 of Unmanageable

I don’t answer her. Instead, I reach into the cluttered back, rummaging around until I grab a crumpled-up brown paper bag from our late-night stop at a gas station yesterday.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

I reach into the bag and pull out a pair of giant, ridiculous plastic googly-eye glasses that I’d bought for two dollars at the checkout counter purely because they made me laugh. I slide them onto my face.

They are absolutely massive, featuring bright green glitter frames and oversized plastic pupils that bounce frantically on metal springs every single time I tilt my head.

I turn toward her, keeping my face completely stone-faced and serious.

“I’ve been giving some serious thought to the overall brand identity, Scottie,” I say. “I think the whole ‘Cash’ nickname is played out. I think we need a bold new aesthetic for the comeback. Something that says to the fans: I see the puck, but I also see the deep, terrifying secrets of the universe.”

I shake my head hard, and the giant plastic eyes go into an absolute frenzy, boing-ing back and forth violently.

Scottie just stares at me. “Cash, take those ridiculous things off. You look like an absolute moron.”

“A moron? Or a marketing visionary?” I lean a few inches closer. “I’m thinking I should wear these during the post-game press conferences. Imagine the media coverage. O’Connell Sees All. The endorsement deals will print themselves.”

“Finnian, I am seriously not in the mood for this right now.”

“I spy with my little eye… a very grumpy hockey agent who desperately needs a laugh.”

I reach down into the center console and grab a small, handheld plastic fan—another two-dollar gas station treasure—and flick the switch. The cheap foam blades spin up, lighting up in flashing patterns of neon red and blue.

I hold it up directly under my chin, letting the weak breeze blow my messy hair back in a dramatic, slow-motion glamour effect.

“I am a high-performance athletic machine, Scottie. I require constant cooling to maintain optimal performance parameters.”

A tiny, almost microscopic twitch happens right at the left corner of her mouth. She tries to suppress it instantly, biting the inside of her cheek and looking down at her lap, but I catch it.

“Is that a smile? No, it can’t be. The Great Shark doesn’t smile at cheap novelty toys. It’s strictly against the bylaws of the corporate agency.”

“It wasn’t a smile,” she mutters, though her voice lacks its previous bite. “It was a muscle spasm born of second-hand embarrassment.”

“Embarrassment is just the gateway drug to joy, Scottie,” I say, shaking my head violently again. This time, one of the plastic pupils gets stuck at a weird, unnatural angle against the rim, making me look cross-eyed. “Look into my soul, Scottie. Tell me what you see.”

“I see a two-dollar plastic mistake,” she says, and this time, a small, genuine huff of a laugh escapes her nose before she can stop it.

“There she is!” I yell. “She lives! The Great Shark returns to the deep!”

“I genuinely hate you,” she says, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling. “You are so incredibly, unbelievably stupid.”

“Stupidly talented,” I correct her, pulling the ridiculous glasses off my face and tossing them onto the dashboard. I look over at her, and the frantic playfulness dies down to something a bit quieter, a bit more grounded. “Better?”

She looks out her side window, her reflection caught in the glass. She doesn’t look at me, but her shoulders have dropped an inch. “Thank you, Finn.”

“Don’t thank me. It’s standard league protocol. Clause 4.2 of our standard representation agreement: Goalie must provide comic relief in the event of an agent meltdown.”

“I don’t recall reading that specific clause in the contract.”

“That’s because I added it in crayon while you weren’t looking.”

I stick the key into the ignition, and I shift into gear and pull out of the empty rink parking lot, the pale morning sun starting to break through the gray clouds overhead.

“Hey, Scottie?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re going to be totally fine. The ice time, the hotels, the… all of it. We’re going to handle it.”