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But instead of having my head in the game, it’s everywhere else, like usual.
My agent, Mike, leans forward in his chair, his brow furrowed with concern. “What’s going on, man?”
Mike is one of a kind. A good, loyal man. He’s supported me throughout my career, guiding me through the highs and lows of playing professional hockey.
“Nothing,” I lie, not in the mood to discuss my inner turmoil.
He sits back on a huff. “Cut the shit, Aiden. I know you.”
He does, and I know there’s no skating around the talk he’s determined to have.
I let out a breath. “I’m stressed.”
“Okay, and…” He motions toward me. “Aren’t you always stressed?”
“Not like this.” I ball my hands into fists at my side.
“I thought your routines helped with—”
I wave him off. “They do. But this is different. I’m on edge, and it doesn’t matter if everything is perfect, it still feels like…” I shake my head, closing my eyes and clenching my teeth. “Just forget it.”
“No. Explain.” His voice is harsher than it’s been toward me in a while, and I don’t blame him. I’m acting like a child, but when you’ve lived the life that I have, you’re just waiting for the floor to give out underneath you and for all that you’ve built to crumble into ruin.
“It still feels like my life is utter chaos,” I admit, giving him that much.
“It’s being back here, right?”
“Yep,” I respond. There’s no reason to deny it. Mike has known me for a long time. He knows what being back here means to me. It doesn’t matter that Birmingham, Michigan, is technically two hours from where I grew up. It still feels too close.
“You’re always edgy when you play here, but I assume it’s worse this time because so much rides on this game.” He sucks air through his teeth and taps his chin, eventually lifting one finger into the air. “You know what you need?”
Nothing good ever comes from those five words from Mike. His answer to everything is a pair of well-sculpted legs and two perfect double D’s.
“Something tells me you’re going to tell me.”
He smiles, leaning forward. “You need to get laid.”
I bark a laugh because I called it. “Easy for you to say…you can just fuck with no consequences.”
His head shakes back and forth while his lips purse. “Not true, but I hear what you’re saying. Puck bunnies are getting better at hiding in plain sight.”
I bite my lower lip, trying to refrain from laughing.
“Maybe it will take the edge off.” He shifts in his seat. “It could be the solution for you—a way to help you relax and get back in the game.”
“Yeah, but at what cost?” I bite out, knowing full well there are many problems with his plan.
“No cost. I know of a girl…”
“This is how all good intentions start. You remember I’m notoriously evasive with who I take into my bed. One wrong move and I’ll become Hudson.” My teammate is one of the best guys I know, but he can’t go anywhere without women throwing themselves at him. They know they have a shot because he’s a player, and I have no interest in having that happen to me.
My private life is my own. It needs to stay that way. “Also, since I’m so selective with who I spend my time with, the local press will be all over me, and for good reason. They’ll do anything for a glimpse into my life. A night in the sack with the wrong girl, and they’ll get that story and wreck my reputation in the process.”
Hockey players might not be followed around by the paparazzi like football stars, but the local news…they love a good story.
“Can you let me finish?” He crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re always so damn pessimistic.”
“Fine,” I huff. “Proceed.”
