Dominik (Arizona Vengeance 6)

“Gray Brannon.” Her voice is professional but husky. If the woman weren’t already happily married to Ryker Evans, former goalie and current coach for the Cold Fury, I’d consider making a play. She’s a stunning woman.

“Gray… it’s Dominik Carlson.”

It’s apparent her secretary already informed her who was on the other line as a prerequisite to get her to leave her meeting. She’s not surprised, nor affronted, by my interruption. Merely replies, “What can I do for you, Mr. Carlson?”

“Dominik,” I say. “Everyone calls me Dominik.”

“Okay, Dominik… shoot.”

Efficient. I like that.

“I have a player… Rafe Simmons.”

She immediately regales me with his stats, all of which are stored in that pretty yet brilliant head of hers. “Second-line center. He was brought up from the minors in Denver. Regular season had thirty-six goals, twenty-seven assists. Sixty-three points in eighty-two games. Not bad.”

Yeah… little freaky she knows that information about a player who isn’t on her team, but I’m glad I can cut to the chase.

“He wants to be traded to the Cold Fury,” I say bluntly.

“Come again?” This is an unheard-of request after the trade deadline since she knows full well it means this request comes with the understanding he could not actually participate in the playoffs.

I inform her about Rafe’s situation and how this is a personal request to be near a dying family member.

“That’s awful,” she murmurs, a relatively small peek into her empathetic side before I get the businesswoman again. “But he adds nothing to our team since he’s not eligible to play. And frankly, I’m surprised you’re letting him go. It will be to your detriment. I’m sure you know. However, I can’t in good conscience trade someone from my team to you knowing I’d be dooming them to the same fate of not being able to play.”

She’s not telling me anything I don’t know and didn’t expect. Still, I can’t resist. “Come on, Gray. Have a heart here.”

“Give me an option that lets me show some compassion, but that helps me as well,” she counters, which makes me laugh.

I like her a lot.

“Okay, I’ve got this idea, but it would be risky and it’s time critical.” I settle back in my chair, staring out at the Phoenix skyline. I spent the last hour ironing this out with Coach Perron and Christian, and we think it’s doable. “I’ll send Rafe down to the minors today on waiver. You do the same with Kane Bellan.”

“He’s my second-line center,” she replies, surprised my sights are set on him right as the playoffs are starting.

“It would be an even trade. My second-line center for yours, but I’d also like to point out my center is slightly better than yours. Bellan only ended up with sixty-six points in the regular season.”

“We’d have to forfeit them for the waiting period,” she says. “Forty-eight hours without them, which means the first game of the playoffs.”

“It’s a risk,” I agree. “But at least we’ll both have an even stake.”

Gray mulls over my words. I can’t even imagine the thoughts churning through her brain right now.

The rule is any player traded after the deadline in February is ineligible to play in the playoffs. But if we put our players on waivers and send them down to the minor leagues, they retain their eligibility. All we have to do is claim them after a forty-eight-hour wait period and boom… we can swap players who will be able to compete.

“You do realize the rosters freeze at midnight EST, right?” she asks. “That’s in eight hours.”

“Which is why this is going to be difficult.” The clock is ticking fast. We’d have to get legal involved, contracts drafted, and notifications to the league made. This stuff takes time, and we’d have to bust ass to get it done. “And it’s why you really don’t have a lot of time to think about this. I’ll need your answer, Gray. Think you and I can come together to do this so a man can go home and spend time with his dying father?”

Finally, she sighs. “I can’t believe I’m even considering this. You do realize we have a good shot of playing each other, don’t you?”

“That’s what the good bettin’ folks in Vegas seem to think at this point,” I reply with a laugh.

“Better let me get with my attorneys on this.” Another sigh from her, but it doesn’t seem annoyed. More like regretful—probably over the fact I’ve ruined her evening plans because we’ve got a lot of work to do.

Well, she does.

And Christian Rutherford does… since I’ll be turning this over to him to complete.

That’s what general managers do.

“Thank you, Gray,” I say, putting my heart behind the words. “Rafe is a good guy. Despite what’s going on with him personally, he’ll give you two-hundred percent at all times.”

“He better,” she replies, but I can hear the smile in her tone. “Or I’m going to come to Phoenix and kick your ass.”