By the time Derrick settles back into his seat and passes a Brooklyn brewery IPA across the coffee table, I’m feeling a little steadier. I can do this, and hopefully Derrick will assume any weirdness on my part is due to a combination of our recent fight and the fact that I allegedly just woke up from an exhaustion-induced nap.
“Senior management called me in for a talk today,” he says, twisting the cap off his bottle. “They’re already considering the team-building camp a wash.”
“It’s only been three days,” I say, surprising myself. I don’t feel all that hopeful about the camp solving our problems myself, but I hate to see other people giving up on us so quickly. “And we had the weekend in there breaking up the momentum. They have to give everyone time to find their footing.”
Derrick takes a pull on his beer. “I agree, but they’re at the end of their ropes, Ian. They knew starting a third NHL team in a city with two already established teams was a risk, but I don’t think anyone thought the call would be coming from inside the house.”
I grunt and drink deeply from my own bottle. “Yeah. It’s pretty fucking disappointing. The first few years were so good and then…”
“And then things started going to shit,” Derrick says with a defeated sight that isn’t like him. He’s a problem solver, the guy who always has a new tactic or alternate approach. “Maybe group therapy and art therapy were a bad idea. Maybe we should have just focused on running plays and docked anyone caught fighting even more of their pay than they’re losing already.”
“I don’t know about that. I think Evie and Sandra are both doing a great job, but…” I shrug. “Maybe the damage runs too deep for some of these guys, both in their past and with their history with the team.”
Derrick nods, studying the label on his beer for a beat before he adds in a softer voice, “Senior management agrees with you, but they aren’t on the same page about what to do about it. Some of them want to push through a bunch of last-minute trades, giving up some of our better, more expensive players for a few promising drafts and hope a year out of the headlines for fighting will be worth the possible mediocre performance on the ice. But the others, especially those with partial ownership…” He brings his free hand to his face, rubbing at the tops of his eyes before he adds, “They’re talking about selling the team, Ian. At a loss if they have to, just to get out from under it.”
My throat goes so tight my beer has to fight its way down to my stomach. “What? You’re kidding.”
He shakes his head and takes another drink, his gaze still fixed on the coffee table. “They’re fed up. A couple of them even think the team is cursed.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Pro-sports people are superstitious, you know that. And season ticket sales are at an all-time low for this time of year.” He picks at the top of the label, peeling it away from the glass. “Some of that could be the economy and how damned hot it’s been lately—maybe no one’s in the mood to think about hockey yet. But it could also be a sign that the people who loved to watch you guys fight it out on the ice are getting sick of the same old bullshit. That they’re going back to their old hockey team or looking to another sport entirely for their loyalty fix. Fans are tribal, and once they’ve found another tribe, it’s hard as hell to win them back.”
I set my beer down and lean forward, my hands clasped together. “Should I set up a meeting with management? Try to talk it out? Convince them I can bring the team around by the end of the camp?”
“No, you can’t,” he says. “I’m not supposed to speak a word about this to anyone outside the inner circle. I could get in big trouble if they find out I leaked anything to you. But you’re my best friend and you’ve worked so hard to help build this team. The Possums wouldn’t be worth fighting for without you. I thought you should know where things stand so you can make the decision that’s best for you. It might not be too late to switch things up, find something better. And my gut says they’d let you go without a fight. They respect you and your salary is one of the larger ones, so…”
I let out a long, weary breath, shocked by the misery flooding through me. I’ve already been considering what he’s saying—I even set up a meeting with my agent for next Monday to discuss my options—but now that leaving New York is an even more likely possibility…
“I didn’t realize how much I wanted to stay,” I mutter.
Derrick’s shoulders hunch closer to his ears. “Yeah, me either. I’m sorry about last Friday. I was out of line. I shouldn’t have yelled at you or Evie like that. It was uncalled for.”
I look up, guilt mixing with the misery pumping through my veins. “Don’t worry about it. I know you were just trying to look out for her. But I would never hurt Evie or put her in danger. I care about her. A lot.”
“I know you do,” he says, “but that’s the one thing I promised myself I would never fuck up, Ian. That I would always watch out for her and take up the slack for our shitty parents.” He glances up, an uncertainty in his gaze that isn’t like him. “But I don’t know if I’ve pulled it off. She’s still so…”
“So what?” I finally ask, torn between being there for Derrick and the knowledge that Evie could be hearing every word of this conversation.
Hopefully she’s out of earshot, but I can’t know that for sure.
“So young, so naïve,” he says. “Childlike in a lot of ways. I don’t know, maybe I did the wrong thing by protecting her the way I have. Sometimes I worry that if something happened to me, she wouldn’t be okay and that’s…scary.”
“I don’t think that’s the case, Derrick,” I say, my stomach going sour as I tread into even trickier territory. “As far as I can tell, she has her shit together better than most people in their early twenties. She was great with the team yesterday.”
He tips his beer back, making a non-committal sound.
“And she kicked us both out of her apartment last Friday with a firm hand,” I remind him. “I’d say she’s doing just fine.” I reach for my bottle, spinning it to the right, leaving a wet trail on the marble top. “It’s the pair of us we need to worry about. What are your plans? If they do end up selling, I’m sure a management shake-up is inevitable.”
“No clue.” He drains the last of his beer and sets the empty down with a sharp click. “I have a couple of options, but I don’t want to give up on the Ice Possums yet. Landing this job straight out of college and knowing I was going to get to work with my best friend…it was one of the best days of my life.”
I nod, defeat slumping my own shoulders. “Yeah. Me, too. It was all our high school dreams coming true.”
Derrick’s lips curve into a crooked smile. “Except in the original dream, I was good enough to play for the NHL, too.” He huffs. “High school me would never believe I’m actually happier in management.”
“And your head would have exploded by now if you’d been forced to deal with all the bullshit on the ice the past few years. Or you would have been arrested for murder.”