Breakaway

by Avon Gale

  Now I can embark on a life of crime, if this new contract doesn’t work out.

  Jared’s summer had been pretty great. He’d been on a high for weeks after the Renegades won, and he still couldn’t believe he’d been the MVP. Savannah had thrown a parade for their victorious heroes. And you would have thought it was a Stanley-Cup parade, the guys were so happy about it.

  He got to be in a new commercial too, and this time he wasn’t even beating anything up. Nope. Instead of decking high prices, Jared got to fling himself on the ground to save a customer from throwing money at an inferior truck model by catching their cash in his hockey glove.

  Lane hated that commercial, which meant Jared could watch it without the same embarrassment he felt for the first commercial. As long as Lane was actually there. If it came on when Jared was home by himself, he turned it off or changed the channel immediately.

  His apartment was still mostly boring and plain, but he had a framed photo on his mantel of him and Lane from the party on the ice after the finals. The Flyers invitation was back in the box under his bed, because that wasn’t the thing Jared was most proud of anymore.

  And okay. Fine. He had one picture of him lifting the Kelly Cup up over his head too. Zoe took that picture, just as—to Lane’s eternal mortification—she’d taken the one of him blocking that shot of Lane’s. Zoe told Lane she just thought she was going to capture his game-winning, series-winning goal, but that didn’t make Lane any happier about it.

  Jared would never have a single problem with Lane being mad at him about that. It was the highlight of his entire career. One day Lane would be an NHL star and Jared could show people how he’d once denied Lane Courtnall a game-winning goal. Perfect.

  The only dark spot in the summer was the realization that Lane was very likely not going to be in Jacksonville at the start of the season. And Jared was also very likely on his way to sign a contract with the Renegades, so he would be in Savannah.

  His realtor had contacted him about showing him some available properties. But he hadn’t called her back yet.

  He was glad that it was happening now, though. He wanted to make sure he made the right decision for himself, and didn’t base it on Lane and wherever he was going to end up. Lane had no official word yet, but it was only a matter of time.

  Jared wore a suit and tie to the meeting, and he was doubly glad he’d had the air conditioner fixed. Wearing a suit every day must be weird. How did business guys do that?

  His agent, the general manager, and the team’s owner were all waiting for him when he got to the arena. They were in one of the offices upstairs. A conference room. Someone had placed ice-cold bottles of water at each of the places on the table.

  They shook hands and Jared took a seat next to his agent. The year before, he’d signed his contract right before the start of training camp, in the coach’s office. He hoped his tie wasn’t too tight or crooked or something. He’d had to watch a video on YouTube to figure out how to tie the damn thing—which he was never telling anyone, ever. Except maybe Lane.

  Lane would either know how to tie a perfect Windsor knot or would own a clip-on tie. The thought made Jared smile. But he also mentally told himself to find out which it was. He couldn’t let Lane go to a similar meeting in a clip-on tie.

  “We’re glad you could meet with us, Mr. Shore,” Robert Wilson, the general manager, told him warmly. “We’re all thrilled about the season you’ve had, of course. An MVP and a Kelly Cup winner, and a team that speaks so highly of you.”

  “We didn’t expect you to do anything but fight” was left unsaid.

  “Everyone on this team was amazing,” Jared said, and the three men at the table nodded, all smiles.

  “You were very inspirational, you know,” Wilson told him. “The coach, the players, they said your leadership was one of the key components in winning the championship. You’re a veteran player, and it’s obvious they all respected your skills and experience.”

  Jared tried not to laugh. The GM was a nice guy, but he reminded Jared of the dude from the car lot where he filmed those commercials. “I’m glad to hear that,” he said honestly, because that praise meant more to him than the other stuff.

  “I know that last year, you were hopeful to get a longer contract with us. And at the time, we had an uncertain financial future, and there was some question if the team would stay here long enough to make that feasible.”

  Leblanc, Zubarev, and even Wynn had three-year contracts, but Jared didn’t point that out. He also didn’t point out they could just say he was a fourth-line enforcer over thirty, and they don’t get those kinds of deals, since everyone in the room knew that was really the reason.

  “You’ve been a popular player here, even before this remarkable season,” the GM continued. “And with the championship win, people are getting interested in the team. We’ve already nearly doubled the number of season-ticket holders from last year, and I’m told we have new sponsors too. And the minor league ball club decided to relocate to Charleston, so that’s no longer a distraction.”

  Jared just nodded. His contract negotiations had never taken that long. He opened the bottle of water, even though no one else had touched theirs. They were suit people. Maybe they were used to how stuffy the room was.

  “Anyway, we hope you’re pleased with this contract. It’s a three-year deal, and we hope the financial terms are acceptable. We’d really like you to stay with the organization, Jared, and if you want to retire before the three years are up, we want you to know there’s a place for you here.”

  It was almost as if someone had written a script of “things that will never happen to Jared Shore” and handed it to the universe with a “go ahead, why not?” post-it note stuck to it. But that wasn’t even the shocking thing, he discovered, as his agent went through the finer points of the contract. There was a no-trade clause, for one, and the other—was he reading that right?

  “Does this say it’s a two-way deal?” Jared laughed, a little horrified at how rude that sounded. But now he was convinced he was dreaming. So much so, he actually casually pinched himself under the table. “Are you guys serious? You know I’m gonna be thirty-three after this season. And do you really think the Checkers want me up in Charlotte? The AHL is a developmental league for the majors, not guys like me.”

  “We wanted it to be an option. That’s all,” Wilson said, and he did look sincere. “Veteran leadership is something every club is on the lookout for, from our league all the way up to the majors. People noticed you had a stellar season, Shore. They really did.”

  “And they have to notice my age,” Jared responded. He was still amused at being called a Veteran Leader instead of an Aging Enforcer. “Look. I’m really, really flattered. Please don’t think I’m being ungrateful. But the likelihood of my having a season like this again.... Well, it’s pretty slim.”

  His agent might have tried to kick him under the table.

  “All we want you to do is keep playing hockey.” Wilson was watching him very carefully. “Or at the very least, be a part of our team. This is a good, young, and talented club we have. If we can’t have you on the ice, we want you to be a part of it off of it. And that save you made on that Courtnall kid....” Wilson grinned at him, and Jared liked him a little more for speaking more like a fan than a suit. “That was amazing, by the way.” He cleared his throat. “A very smart play, I mean. That’s what we want from you, Shore. That sort of hockey sense, it takes smart players to teach it.

  “And you were leading the team in assists,” Wilson continued. “That’s a sign of a leader, a good teammate, and a smart hockey player.”

  Jared thought getting an assist meant he’d paid attention to the plays they’d run a thousand times in practice, not proof of leadership abilities. But he wasn’t going to argue. Jared had no idea what he was even doing, or why he wasn’t just shutting up and taking the best contract he’d ever seen with his name on it. Why was he trying to talk them out of it? Mayb
e his agent should kick him a little harder. “I don’t know what to say,” Jared said, almost helplessly.

  Jared felt a weird sensation like the ocean was right outside and was about to crash through the arena walls and sweep him away. The roaring in his ears was louder than it had ever been, louder than the crowd when he’d lifted the Kelly Cup. “The coach know you have all this stuff in here? Because he might be able to tell you that my season wasn’t typical.”

  “Who do you think drew up this contract?” Wilson gave Jared a very calm smile. “The coaching staff, the players, and the management all believe in you and what you bring as a player and a teammate to the Renegades. Though I think he wanted to include something about you not acting in any more commercials.”

  The coaching staff, the players, and the management all believe in you.

  Jared had a horrifying moment where he was worried the burning in the back of his throat was going to spill out over his eyes and onto the table. It occurred to him that, after all of the highs of this season—proving he was more than the player he’d allowed himself to become, scoring game-winning goals, stopping game-winning goals, being a champion and an MVP—this was all he’d ever really wanted. Not so much the money or the multi-year contract or even the two-way deal, but the sentiment behind it.

  The last of the cold, empty spaces inside him filled up with warmth, and suddenly there was no more indecision about what to do, no more arguments, and no more fear. He smiled and stood up to shake Robert Wilson’s hand.

  “Thank you, sir. I don’t think you know how much it means to me to have this opportunity. This is the best team I’ve ever played for, hands down, and I can’t tell you how happy I am to be able to retire as a member of it.”

  Wilson stood to shake Jared’s hand, but didn’t release it. Which was awkward, because there was a table between them that Jared had to lean over. “You’re not signing, are you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Jared,” Jimmy spoke up for the first time, apparently recovering his voice to keep his client from being an utter moron. “I’m not sure there’s anything more I can negotiate for you, here. This is an extremely generous contract—”

  “There’s nothing else I need,” Jared said simply. Wilson nodded in understanding and let go of his hand. “That’s the thing. I don’t have anything else to play for, because I finally have it. And that’s how I want it to end.”

  “I hope you’ll consider the rest of our offer, then,” Wilson said smoothly, nicely ignoring Jared’s incredulous expression. “I think you’d make an excellent addition to our coaching staff.”

  “And I appreciate that, but I don’t think I’ll be staying in the area. But I love the idea of coaching, and hopefully no one’s too disappointed that they won’t give me a reference.”

  “Of course. Where are you going?” Wilson was all business, gathering his things. Jared wondered if he could sneakily pocket the man’s water and take it with him. “I’m friendly with a lot of GM’s, so just let me know. In fact, here’s my card.”

  “Not sure yet, but I will. Thank you. That’s great.” Jared thanked him, and slipped the card into his suit pocket. “I’d like to tell the coach myself, if that’s all right?”

  “Of course.” Wilson shook his hand again. “Best of luck, Shore. Courtnall’s a lucky guy.”

  Well, of course they knew about that. Jared might have... maybe kissed Lane at center ice when they won the Kelly Cup. Or else he hugged Lane like he wanted to kiss him. One of those. He smiled, blushing a little, despite himself. “Yup. He’ll be thrilled I’m not gonna play goalie anymore too probably.”

  Wilson laughed, and Jared noticed his agent was still fuming but trying to smile as the GM left them in the room. As he expected, Jimmy rounded on him with an angry glare the second the door closed.

  “Shore—”

  “Here,” Jared said, handing him the contract. “I’m really not signing it. But you should call a couple of guys on the roster. See if they need agents. I know Leblanc hates his, and I’m sure, after this season, they’d be open to a little negotiation about his salary?”

  That appeased his agent somewhat, though Jimmy still muttered something like “hit in the head too many times” as he left Jared alone in the fancy conference room, looking out the window at the bright, pretty Savannah day. It didn’t look as hot as it was outside, and the air-conditioning in the building probably helped, but he was going to miss the place.

  Even though he was going to leave, it no longer felt like running away.

  Jared’s hands were shaking a little as he opened Wilson’s untouched water bottle. But other than that, he felt fine. More than fine. The emotional highs of the past year, from falling in love to excelling in the sport he loved, settled into a contented peacefulness that he’d never felt before.

  Thirteen years before, Jared signed his first professional contract out of anger and heartbreak. For exactly the opposite reasons, he turned his last one down.

  And it felt better than lifting any trophy ever would.

  Jared got to Lane’s a few hours later, a little sunburned from driving all the way to Jacksonville with the windows open. He wanted to remember what heat felt like, before he signed up for Syracuse winters and snow.

  It was a good thing he had an insatiable boyfriend in his early twenties to keep him warm. Clearly that was the secret to surviving winter conditions, no matter where they were.

  “Hey, J.” Lane was on his couch, playing a video game, when Jared showed up and let himself in. His hair looked dumb and was sticking up every which way, like he’d just rolled out of bed. Though he hadn’t. Lane got up early and went running. How obnoxious was that? He also wasn’t wearing a shirt. All he was wearing, in fact, was a pair of running pants. God. Sometimes Lane looked like he should be making sexist jokes and drinking a Smirnoff Ice. If they even still made those.

  Instead, he was drinking a Dr Pepper and asking Jared if he had a nice trip? Why was he all red? Did he need some aloe? Because Lane had some since it was Florida. Had Jared ever tried aloe before? Because it was great. Lane liked it. Did Jared know it came from plants that you yourself could grow?

  And this is what I left my career for, Jared thought. He grinned like a moron and possibly drew hearts in his head. Ugh. He had it bad.

  “Yes. It was fine. I drove with the windows down because I wanted the fresh air. Sure. I’ll take some aloe if you want to put it on me. And yes, I did know about it and also that it came from plants, but I didn’t know we could have one, because it seems easier to just get it at Walmart.”

  “I got mine at Publix.”

  “Lane,” Jared said, and he couldn’t stop smiling.

  “Yeah?” Lane didn’t look at him, just nodded over the sofa. “Want to play? I’m beating the Wings six to three. Or we can be on the same team, and you can be the goalie. I know how much you like that.”

  Jared did, indeed, like that. He wanted to tell Lane about what happened, and there was a stupid, dumb, and totally embarrassing gift in his bag that he wanted to give Lane too. But just because he was newly retired didn’t mean he wasn’t up for some hockey. Hell, no.

  “Sure. But we’re starting over, and we’re not playing on the same team. Fuck that shit.” Jared sat down and took the controller that Lane tossed him. “Lane?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”

  Lane finally looked away from the screen, where he was busy selecting the two teams—the Leafs and the Avs—he didn’t even need to ask. He focused on Jared with sudden intensity, blinked slowly and then shrugged and went back to the game. “It’s hot out.”

  Lane’s air conditioner was going full blast.

  “Do you know what Smirnoff Ice is?”

  “Huh?” Lane gave him a look that suggested Jared was doing everything wrong. “Is that, like, slang for some sex thing? Or for like....” He waved a hand. “Bling?”

  “Bling.” Jared started laughing. He laughe
d harder, and then tackled Lane to the ground. “If it’s so hot, pretty boy, let’s get these pants off.”

  They never did get around to playing the video game. And it was kind of weird to fuck Lane on the carpet, with the NHL 13 menu screen on repeat in the background.

  Later Jared asked Lane if he’d heard from his agent.

  “Oh. Uh. Maybe? I don’t know. I figured I’d just go see the coach or whatever. Do you want a pizza? I’m starving.”

  “You’re like a virtual pet,” Jared said. “Except all you need is food, sex, and Dr Pepper.” At Lane’s blank look, he sighed. “Never mind. Lane? I have to tell you something. It’s kind of serious.”

  More and more often, Jared saw hints of the player Lane would become in his overall demeanor, the way he talked to people, and the way he concentrated on them. This season had done wonders for him, and while he was still very much the same guy who threw his gloves off and tried to get Jared to eat scalding hot chicken nuggets, there was no denying he was growing into himself. Both that tall, lanky frame of his and his personality were filling out nicely, Jared thought ruefully. But Lane was always going to be a bit weird.

  “Serious like, what? Hockey serious, boyfriend serious, or not really serious?”

  Jared was dying to get an explanation of all of those. Later. “You sound like Zoe.”

  “Dude, no way. She has, like, fourteen different kinds of serious. And upset.” Lane stretched out on the sofa, his feet hanging off the edge, his head on Jared’s thigh. “So is it hockey serious or boyfriend serious?”

  “Oh my god. What have I done?” Jared tugged at his hair. “Shut up. Okay? This is... it’s hockey serious, boyfriend serious, and, I don’t know, life-decision serious.”

  Lane stared up at him and then sat up slowly. He had bites on his chest and he still wasn’t wearing a shirt. Why did he do that? It was distracting. “Your heart is beating really fast. You’re not dying. Right?”

  “This is what you think life-decision serious is?”

  “Stop stalling,” Lane said, and Jared hated it when Lane went from being goofy and clueless to goofy and perceptive as hell.