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I meet Malik’s eyes briefly in the rearview mirror. “Exactlyhowwill this get sorted out?”
My leg bounces and I shift, pressing a hand on top of my knee, like that will be enough to quiet the anxiety coursing through me. Malik parks, then shoots Grant a quick look before twisting to face me.
“Would it be so hard to move things along with whomever you’re seeing?”
Ah, yes. The girlfriend I made up spur-of-the-moment twenty minutes ago.Her. I should have known the not-technically-a-lie would come back to bite me.
“If you're going to commit fraud, I can’t know about it.” Grant swivels around, directing his trademark pinched expression toward me. “Think: deportation with little hope of playing hockey again anywhere. No team wouldtouchyou.”
Malik turns to Grant. “It’s not fraud if Eli and his girlfriend decide to rush things along for practical reasons. I’ve heard of plenty of people getting married on the DL for a variety of reasons. They could do it now legally, at the courthouse, then have a big wedding and celebration later. I don’t see what the big deal is. It’s not like Eli’s trying to pay someone to marry him.”
“Which wouldabsolutelybe fraud.” Grant gives us both one last look of warning, his personal version of a fraud deterrent, then slams the car door. I can see him muttering to himself as he walks away.
Malik studies me. “So, are you thinking about it?”
I frown. “About going back to Canada?”
“About asking your girl to marry you sooner than later.”
“Not going to happen,” I say instead of telling Malik the truth—that there’s noherto ask.
“Are you against marriage?”
I blink at him. “No. Iwantto get married.”
To someone I love. Not so I can stay in the states. Like Grant said: it’s fraud.
Even my nonexistent girlfriend agrees: Real men don’t commit fraud.
Malik nods. “And she doesn’t? Or …?”
Or … she doesn’t exist.
“Worst case scenario, I’ll just go back to Canada until we get it straightened out. If it takes six months, that puts us at the end of the season. I could be back for training and?—”
“The immigration lawyer said it could be months before things get processed. A year, man.”
Am I sinking? It feels like Malik’s leather seats are suddenly sucking me down into them. I definitely didn’t hear Mr. Pebbles say anything about a fullyear. It must have been one of the many times when I zoned out.
“I can’t promise Larry would hold your spot.”
I sink just a little bit farther. If I had to describe the Appies’ team owner in one word, it’d behungry. While hunger is what drives me to be the best at my position, Larry’s hunger is the ugly kind. Thegreedykind. The kind wanting to feast on more money, fame, recognition—as much as he can get and in any way he can get it.
Larry is the single person I don’t like inside the Appies organization. It sucks that he happens to be the owner.
I swallow past a growing lump in my throat. Feels like a boulder.
“I’m sorry, man,” Malik says. “I’m sure it will be fine. Just … talk to your girl. We all do things and make sacrifices for the people we love. Maybe she’ll surprise you.”
Somehow, I don’t think she will.
Mom tries to convince me we should cancel her acupuncture appointment by doing jumping jacks to demonstrate how good she feels. Her version of jumping jacks looks more like some kind of dance you might see in a boy band video, only done very,verypoorly. Her arms flail up as her legs come together, completely incorrect form.
Normally, this would make me laugh. Today, I shake my head, holding back a sound that I’m afraid might be a sob. “We’re going.”
When she clasps her hands together under her chin, pleading, I wag a finger at her. “Nope.”
“But I feel good.Sogood. Need me to do jumping jacks again?” She lifts her arms above her head, already starting in the incorrect position.
