Page 36 of Unforgettable Player

“Hi. One of the kids here yours?”

He laughs and rubs the scruff on his chin. “No. I’m a scout for the Worcester Railers.”

“Oh. You got your eye on someone here? Sam’s looking good out there, you’ll have to wait a few years, but⁠—”

“No, no.” He shakes his head. “I’m here to speak to you.”

It takes my brain a second to compute what he’s saying. “You’re here to scout me?”

“Yes. Why is that so surprising?”

“I….” I trail off with a shrug.

“I’ve been trying to get in touch with your agent, but I haven’t had much luck.”

“We, um … parted ways.”

“I see. Well, if you’re looking for representation, there are a few people I can put you in touch with. They’d jump at the chance to represent a young, up-and-coming player like yourself.”

I don’t know what to say, so I just stand there like an idiot.

Damien doesn’t seem phased in the slightest. He’s still smiling at me, still standing there. “May I ask what your plans are next season? I heard you were taking a break from Harvard, but I didn’t realize it was to coach. Were you planning to try out somewhere in the ECHL? The right agent might even be able to put you in the run-in with an AHL team⁠—”

My heart races, but I ignore it. “I’m not playing hockey anymore.”

That wipes the confident smile off his face. “Why not?”

I swallow, square my shoulders, remind myself of the plan. “When my draft team dropped me, I focused on my plan B instead.”

Damien looks behind me at the shabby rink, the discarded bag of pucks at center ice. “Coaching juniors?”

“This is just a favor to Coach Garvin, for the summer.”

“Ah.”

“I actually have a job in Palo Alto, in sales, working for a tech company.”

Damien’s frown deepens as he studies me. “If you don’t mind me asking, why aren’t you pursuing hockey? You know a lot of people start out as free agents. And you were just unlucky you were drafted by the team who least needed fresh blood right now. You weren’t passed over because you’re not good, it’s just how things work.”

I speak without thinking, heat rising to my face. “They could have traded me. They could have sent me to the ECHL for development, but they just dropped me. If that’s not being passed over, then I don’t know what is.”

Damien’s eyes droop in sympathy. Fuck, I didn’t mean for that to come out. He puts a hand on my shoulder. I force myself to hold his gaze.

“Connor, you’re a talented player. Your hockey career doesn’t have to be over. Give me a call when you’re finished here and we’ll set up a meeting.”

He takes his hand off my shoulder to get a business card from his pocket. “And get a damn agent,” he calls over his shoulder as he leaves.

Coach calls me into his office as I’m heading out.

“Who was that?” he asks.

I keep my face turned away while I mess with the zipper on my duffel bag. If I tell him I was scouted by a minor league team, he’ll be excited for me. He’ll probably tell people. My parents will find out. Then there’ll be no backing out.

“Nobody,” I say.

ELLIOT

When we get back from the record store, Connor’s in the kitchen in a Harvard Hockey t-shirt and dark track pants with no socks. He lifts his head and smiles when he sees me. It’s not his usual, easygoing, confident smile. There’s a hint of uncertainty in it and it knocks me for six. Seeing him in this setting again after he kissed me like his life depended on it is like stepping into an episode of The Twilight Zone. The Connor that exists right now—Harvard hockey player who could floor me with a yawn or a friendly smile, the one whose hoodies I sniffed when no one was looking—couldn’t be more unattainable.