Page 8 of Bro Code

“But like I said,” said Rick, warm and expansive as ever, “this is just tire-kicking. This is rumor and speculation.” A pause. “But, ah…if it does turn out to be, you know, more than that…which direction do you want me to steer this ship? You got any teams in mind you might be willing to move to?”

Riley stared across the parking lot. A row of media cars was parked along the edge of the security fence, and a woman getting out of one had apparently spotted him, because she was eyeing him as she hurried to get her lanyard on.

“No,” he said, bluntly.

A pause while Rick collected his thoughts.

“Alright,” he said. “That’s fine. That’s no problem. Like I said: this is rumor mill stuff. You may want to give it some thought, though. Just as an insurance policy. Hey, I’ll be in New York in a couple days for a conference. Maybe we grab dinner and talk this through.”

Riley nodded, watching the press woman shut her skirt in the car door and swear loudly as she got stopped by it.

“Sure,” he said. “Maybe.”

Riley stepped off the ice in the middle of a home game two days later to find Rick waiting in the tunnel.

“Hey Rye.”

He halted in surprise. Rick was in town for that conference and they’d agreed to meet for dinner after the game. He wasn’t expecting to see him until then. Rick fell in step beside him as he headed for the locker room, face drawn and walking fast. As they neared the locker room door, Rick caught Riley’s elbow and steered him at a different one.

“Nope, yep, we’re going in here.”

Riley frowned at him as he was guided into the X-Ray room and found himself face-to-face with the General Manager and Director of Public Relations. He stopped dead and felt his stomach fall into his feet.

The GM indicated the rolling stool that the X-Ray tech usually sat on. “Webb. Take a seat.”

Riley didn’t move. Was this what he thought it was? It couldn't be. It was less than two weeks into the season. They were in the middle of a game. He still had to play third period.

He heard Rick quietly shut the door behind them, and the room became a tiny windowless cell. Riley felt massive in it. He may have been the smallest player on the team, but in here, he was bigger than everyone. Hair soaked and still breathing in a damp jersey and armor with his skates laced up. Everyone else was in a suit and tie and he literally had his helmet in his hand.

When he didn’t sit, the GM held a tablet out to Riley.

“What’s this about?” said Riley, not taking it.

“Montreal just put a blockbuster trade deal on the table,” said Rick, behind him. “New York accepted.”

“What?”

Holy shit. This was exactly what he thought it was.

“Kid, I’m sorry.” Rick put up his hands as Riley spun around. “I’m getting blindsided here too. I only had time to get down here because I was already in town. I’m trying to talk them down, but–”

“They can’t do that! I have a No-Trade Clause.”

“Right, well the trade isn’t done. But the window closes at midnight. They need your signature to waive that clause.”

“Fuck that.” Riley turned to the GM, still holding out the tablet. “I’m not signing that.”

Rick came up beside him and addressed the GM. “When was this even brokered? Last I heard was hypotheticals–”

“Montreal’s first-line center was just stretchered off the ice with an ACL tear during their game against Boston,” said the GM. “They’re panicking. They’ve been watching Riley’s stats, and they’re looking for a replacement.”

“Just stretchered off the ice?” said Riley in disbelief. “Like tonight?”

“The call came through five minutes after their first period ended.”

“That would’ve been like…an hour ago!”

“Hour and a half,” said Rick. He pushed up his sleeves. “Which is an extremely accelerated timeline. I think my client deserves a day to think this over.”