Page 144 of Puck the Coach's Son
Harlan takes a breath. I hear traffic in the background on his end; he's driving.
“Maddox. I am going to ask a question for my own clarity and then I am going to do what you tell me to do. The question is: are you asking because Blackridge needs a center or are you asking because you need Theo Laurent to have a reason to leave Frosthaven tonight.”
“Both.”
“Okay.”
The blinker ticks on his end. He's turning off somewhere.
“I'm not lying about the face-off. I'm not lying about the pass. Pull the tape.”
“I'll pull the tape. Give me forty-five minutes.”
I roll my shoulder. It clicks once.
“Harlan.”
“Yeah.”
My jaw sets.
“He's Wolves property.”
“No. He isn't. Callahan didn't sign him. Nobody signed him. He was playing on a tryout slot; his dad is the coach. He's a free agent. That's one of the reasons Paul's whole thing is bullshit, Maddox. It wasn't even a real contract. Forty-five minutes.”
He hangs up.
I sit on Phoenix's kitchen counter and drink Phoenix's coffee while staring at my phone, and I try to think about anythingother than the boy whose first professional goal pass I just turned into a hostage negotiation.
Harlan calls back in thirty-four minutes.
“Orrick wants him.”
I close my eyes.
“Say it again.”
“Orrick pulled the tape. Orrick saw the pass. Orrick laughed, Maddox. He said, ‘are you fucking kidding me’and I said, ‘no I am not’and he said, ‘what's the catch’and I told him the catch and he said, ‘fine, but only if the kid signs before tomorrow at noon so I can announce the two of you together’. Entry-level, eight-fifty base, bonus structure standard, two-way with a Blackridge affiliate so he can develop if he needs to, but Orrick says he'll open camp with the big club. It's a better deal than Frosthaven was going to give him at twenty.”
Eight-fifty. My chest does the thing. Eight hundred and fifty thousand dollars is life-changing money for a twenty-year-old whose father controls his bank card.
“Papers.”
“Already drawn. I have them on email. I need him to sign before noon tomorrow. I need his signature either in person in Blackridge at the physical, or a notarized scan tonight. You want to tell me how we're getting that done.”
I think about the private security on Theo's lawn. I think about Paul's taped knuckles. I think about my phone with no reply on it since eleven-fifteen this morning when suddenly I got a barrage of messages.
I think aboutwait for me.
“I'm going to get it done tonight.”
“How?”
I slide off the counter. My bare feet hit the kitchen tile.
“I'm going to go there.”
“Maddox.”
