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“You might also be the best person to remind him he’s not god’s gift just because he’s a first round pick, and to hype him up when he has a shitty game. Because he will have shitty games.” I don’t know if I’m helping with all these suggestions or not.
My brothers are twenty years younger than me, we definitely don’t have the same relationship as Reed and Sean do, even if Sean is twelve years younger than Reed. It’s different . . . though maybe it won’t be when Mace and Mads grow up.
“Let’s hope it’s not the season opener.”
“Let’s,” I agree.
I get another text, Sarah telling me it’s done.
“Right.” I straighten and try to give him my best smile. “You should be getting an email soon from someone from The Deep about travel arrangements. Obviously you’ve got a month before you need to go for pre-season training, but you can figure out the timing with Sean also moving there.”
“Just got it,” he mumbles, and pulls his phone out from his jeans pocket. He scrolls and taps for a bit, and then his eyebrows shoot up.
“What is it?”
“It says Maksim Brotnik, Travel Coordinator, Chicago Deep, NHL. Do you think . . .”
“Ah yes.” I nod. “That’s probably Nikolay Brotnik’s brother. He and Charlie Heart moved back to Illinois after retiring, didn’t they?”
“Hot damn.”
I can tell Reed is at least a little starstruck.
“It’s just his brother,” I say, trying to make him feel better, but honestly a bit bewildered about why he’d react this way.
But he looks at me, then back at his phone’s screen, and it’s like he’s deciding something.
He shows me the email and I see a tiny photo at the bottom where his title card is.
Now my eyebrows shoot up.
Reed was looking at the picture. He’s . . . attracted to him?
I didn’t see that coming.
He stands before I can even think of something to say, and once again offers me his hand.
Always a stand-up guy.
“Thanks for everything, Tuck. I know I’m probably never going to have another owner as good as you.”
I smirk. “Not unless you get yourself traded to Las Vegas.”
He snorts. “That’s the damn truth.”
As soon as the door of the SUV closes behind me, I know this isn’t going to be a normal car ride back home.
For one, my phone vibrates with a message from Eli, asking me to call him ASAP, and also, Wes is too quiet.
I mean, he’s always quiet, but this is . . . is he even breathing?
“What’s happening?” I ask him instead of trying to keep guessing in my head.
He clears his throat, even shifts in the driver’s seat—which I have never seen him do—and now I’m wondering if he’s going to quit.
“I have a few candidates ready for you to interview. For whenever you want.”
That’s . . . not a big deal?
