Page 13 of The Tryout

“On a very good day, more like…sixty? Maybe sixty-five?”

“And what percent do hockey agents take? Ten? Fifteen?”

I laugh.

“The Players’ Association caps it at 5%.”

He whistles.

“A good piece of negotiation, there.”

“It’s, uh, pretty standard across professional sports. Baseball’s the only one where it’s not in writing, but they pretty much follow the rule anyway.”

He nods, looking almost…proud?

“Ok, so on a $60,000 contract, your agent’s taking home $3,000? How the hell are they getting paid?”

I laugh. It’s a fair point.

“Well, they’re not taking AHL-only clients, for the most part. Plus they can take a larger percentage on endorsements…which I won’t be getting.”

Now, he nods, understanding dawning on his face.

“So, that’s why finding a new agent hasn’t been a priority.”

“Yeah. None of the good ones will be interested anymore.”

“And of the $5,000 increase, you’d be giving most of it to the agent, anyway.”

He seems to be realizing that my failure to find an agent this summer – to even look for one – hasn’t just been laziness on my part.

“Exactly.” I’m glad he understands – or is beginning to, at least.

“Well, I agree there’s no reason to bother. The best thing you can do for your contract is perform. Besides, you’ve got a decent contract lawyer on speed dial.”

This is the first time in a long time that Pops has indicated any willingness to move my hockey career forward. I grab on with both hands.

“No, I’ve got the best.”

CHAPTER THREE

FINN

Minneapolis, Mid-September

The patterns from the first day of camp hold, my skating stronger and surer than last year. Coach runs me through drills with almost every forward on the team. I’m on the left and the right; hell, he even has me play center occasionally.

I know this makes sense; he needs to know where he could slot me in, who I might be able to replace during the season. Or, even better, who I might have good enough chemistry with to justify staying here in Minneapolis.

Each evening, I get in Tremblay’s SUV and ride back with him to the house on Grant Street. Without fail, Carter appears within twenty minutes, usually sitting in the kitchen figuring out dinner by the time I get out of the shower and into a comfortable set of clothes.

When they told me they were close, I guess I assumed they were dating. Or maybe “dating”. Jamie’s hesitance to come out publicly as a couple had made me wonder just how invested he really is in this thing. But after ten days and nights in this house, it’s clear – he’s all in.

I’m also surprised to see just how many people they are out to. Alexei Kovalenko is no real surprise – he and Tremblay have been tight for years. But it soon becomes clear that most of the offensive top six are also in on the secret. Anders Lindholm and his wife and Johnny MacKenzie and his girlfriend all stopped by for a dinner in which I was obviously the seventh wheel. Tremblay kept his arm stretched across the back of Jamie’s chair the whole night – and no one blinked or asked a single question.

Then, Carter had Sutter and Matthews over for a Mario Kart tournament with me over the weekend. They inevitably kicked my ass – I don’t exactly have a strong background in video games. But more importantly, they didn’t blink an eye when Tremblay came up from the home gym in the basement, dropping a kiss on Jamie’s cheek before heading for the shower.

At this point, it almost seems like everyone knows.