I can’t take it anymore. I hold up my hand to stop him. “I don’t want to think about that yet. I want to get into the NHL. Can you guide me?” Shea presses his lips together, and I can see in his eyes, he knows I’ve already failed. He just doesn’t want to say it. “You don’t believe I’ll make it,” I accuse, and he shakes his head.
“It’s not that. I want to believe you can, but I also thought your agent was doing his job.”
My heart drops back into my stomach and is burned to shit by the acid that swirls around it. Maybe I should have been doing more. Been in the rink more. In Coach’s face. I think I knew my dream was going to shit the moment he didn’t give me captain. Maybe because Sofia told me it didn’t matter. That it wouldn’t help. At first, I agreed with her. Now I know that was a mistake. This whole month I should have been doing things differently, and I should have been focusing on hockey and my studies instead of Sofia.
But I’ve been doing that all four years I’ve been on the Bullies, and nothing has changed.
Plus, I couldn’t stop what I am feeling for Sofia if I wanted to.
She fascinates me.
Fuck.
When Shea clears his throat, I look up. “Let me make some phone calls, and then we’ll go from there.”
“Thanks.”
He gives me a curt nod. “We’ll get this figured out.”
I smile. “And we’re sure Elli can’t just sign me?”
I said it to make him laugh, but he shakes his head. “Elli loves you and doesn’t want to put that label on your head. You want to make it because of your talent, not because your aunt owns a team and she put you on it.”
“I know that,” I agree. I’ve always known that. “I was joking.”
He stands up, and I do the same before he envelops me in a hug. “No matter what, I am over the moon proud of you. And I know your dad is too.”
That chokes me up. I hug my uncle, feeling safe and as if everything is okay. I want to be confident and know that this will work out, but I’m not.
I know I’ve already failed.
What bothers me most is that I’m not as upset as I thought I’d be. I thought I would be devastated. But over the last couple months, subconsciously, I think I knew I wouldn’t make it. I’ve talked a big game and I’ve done the work, but maybe that’s why my dad didn’t push for this. He knew the truth. He knew I wasn’t made for the NHL. Or maybe I did worry too much about my education. But who can fault me for that? I don’t. I knew I wanted a major, not like some guys who just stay undecided until they have to. I wanted more.
Damn it.
As I drive back to campus to see Sofia, I know I can’t ever tell her about this. I don’t want her to feel as though she has been a distraction like she worried she would be. I sure as hell don’t want her to know I’m a failure. No, I can’t tell her. Not yet, not until I know I’ve exhausted every option.
And damn it, I am going to exhaust them.