Page 16 of The Fake Out

I grumbled and stomped upstairs to my childhood bedroom. I plugged my phone in and waited for it to load up. My notifications blew up across the screen. I swiped them away and called my agent, not bothering to see all the calls or texts.

“Dude, where have you been?” Doug huffed out.

“Sorry, late night, and my phone died. What’s going on?” I asked.

“Have you heard?”

“My little brother told me to call you. I have no idea what’s going on.”

He sighed on the other line. “Jesus, you’re out of the loop. Open your email right now and look at what I sent you.”

But I didn’t have to open his email. I put him on speakerphone and looked at my phone, and the first thing I saw was a push notification that read, ‘Toronto Wolves trade Blaise Holmstrom to–’

All the blood drained from my face as I read the word ‘trade.’

The Wolves traded me. After a shitty season where I let my emotions get the better of me, they showed me the door.

“What the fuck?” I screeched out, raking a frustrated hand through my hair. This was not how I wanted this season to start.

“Relax, kid,” Doug reassured me. “Open your damn email.”

I looked down at my phone and clicked into the news story, allowing me to read the full headline.

‘Toronto Wolves trade Blaise Holmstrom to the Philadelphia Bulldogs.’

Holy shit.

The Bulldogs wanted me. I had three years left on my five-year contract, and Toronto didn’t want me anymore, but Philly did. My home team wanted me. The team my dad had played for and who I still rooted for when I wasn’t playing against them. My team wanted me.

I opened Doug’s email and scanned through the finer details about the trade.

“Is this real?” I asked.

I kept staring at my phone at the words on the screen. Getting traded sucked but to my dream team? To the team that was always at the top of my list if I wanted to go elsewhere? It was like a childhood dream come true. I had to pinch myself to make sure I was reading this right.

“Yeah, kid, it’s real.”

“Whoa,” I breathed out.

“Congrats, you can move back home. I’m sure your dad’ll be thrilled.”

“Okay,” I muttered.

I was still in shock, my mind racing to all the things I needed for the move. I didn’t have a house in Toronto; I kept it simple with a condo in the city. My sister Maja lived with me, but she could stay until she was done with school.

“It’s a good thing, Blaise. Toronto was taking a hit on their cap, but Philly had the room. Don’t fuck up this season, okay?”

“Okay, okay. I got it. Thanks, man.”

I hung up the phone and sat on my bed with unease.

I always dreamed of playing for Philly, of being a hometown guy, but getting traded felt like a failure. The dark part of me couldn’t help but feel like Philly only wanted me because I was Halvard Holmstrom’s son. Like it was a publicity move.

A knock sounded on my door, and I saw Dad standing in the doorway, rubbing his grey hair with a towel. “I just saw. That’s good, no?”

I swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes and no. Toronto didn’t want me anymore.”

“Fuck them. You were born to play in Philly, Blaise. And raised in that barn, and don’t forget that.”