The days ticked down, flying past in a whir of traveling, strategic practices, and hard-fought games.

When it came to playing—whether that be in a scrimmage or out in front of a crowd—I was zoned in. Focused on my teammates, my opponents, the path of the puck, and doing everything I could to propel the team to victory.

It was everything else in my life that fell victim to my distracted mind. On edge, the voice in the back of my head began growing louder and louder, repeatedly reminding me that my time in Boston was likely coming an end.

After that first story had run—a dark shadow over a great performance on my end—the gossip about a possible trade had picked up steam. Now there were whole ass websites dedicated to tracking the latest sports news leaks, and everybody was wondering what the outcome would be.

No one more so than me.

I tensed every time my phone pinged with a message and could feel the stress fill my body when my agent called to check in. Now, when I walked into the Knights' complex, I felt like people had their eyes on me, watching and waiting for the perfect moment to tell me I'd been booted out. And with the speculation now out there, I'd started distancing myself from my teammates outside of the arena, except Nyberg, of course. It was just easier this way, because while most of them ignored the elephant in the room, understanding that nothing could be done to save me, it still stung whenever a look of pity or sympathy got tossed my way. Like the ink on the paper had already gone and dried.

I felt like some part of me was broken, or at the very least crumbling under the pressure of this specific spotlight. Which was why, before I climbed on the team's morning flight back to Boston, I was strolling the streets of New York, following the directions my agent had texted me to a coffee shop around the corner from our hotel.

Answers. I needed answers. And while they wouldn't be concrete, I needed some kind of footing to stand on knowing that the trade deadline was less than ten days away.

Stepping inside the coffee shop, I took a moment to shake the snow off me and arced my gaze in search of Ken. Easily finding him, I zigzagged through the growing line of customers and headed to the table he was seated at.

He stood as I approached, offering his hand to shake. "Great game last night, man. It's nice to see you giving it your all out there."

I mustered up a small smile. "Thanks," I responded as we both sat down. "And it's good to finally be able to hash all this out face to face."

Nodding in agreement, he said, "It's definitely not something I like to do over the phone, so—" I stiffened, bracing myself as he hopped right into things. "—while we don't have full confirmation, there's a high likelihood you're one of the Knights' prime pieces as they consider offers leading up to the trade deadline."

Fuck.

He certainly hadn't beaten around the bush.

A bubble of panic began to brew inside of me, but I pushed it down as best I could. I needed to have my thoughts straight for this conversation, so I took slow breaths and leaned forward, my elbows resting on the table as my hands covered my eyes.

"Then what are my options? Is there even anything I can do at this point?"

I tried to rack my brain for everything I knew about the trading process, because I wasn't a newbie to it. This was just the first time it was unwelcome on my end.

Having been drafted young, but in a late round, I'd bounced between three minor league teams the first couple years of my career before being called up to play for Pittsburgh. And while I'd done well in the games I'd suited up for, come the end of the season, I'd been sent to the Knights.

I'd been twenty-two—ripe and ready to play—and until last year, I thought I'd found the team I meshed with. The one I'd play with until I retired.

But clearly I'd been naïve about that.

Ken's expression was understanding, knowing this wasn't the path I wanted my career to take, but also professional. "Honestly, there's not much that can sway management's mind once they become dead set on acquiring new players to shake things up." The last shred of hope I'd been clinging to disappeared from reach. "But there is some good news. With the rumours going around the league that you're one of the players the Knights are willing to trade, I've received calls from a few teams to gauge your interest in the case a deal was made."

"Okay," I said, not fully hiding the dejected sigh that followed. "Which teams?"

"New Jersey, Nashville, and Los Angeles."

While Jersey was not somewhere I'd be keen to go given their losing record the last five years, Nashville wasn't half bad. L.A., however, was the surprising and intriguing option.

Having grown up in California, I'd cheered for the Los Angeles Royals and, as a kid, had imagined playing within their ranks. That was until I realized the probability of doing so was next to none.

"Los Angeles? Really?"

Ken nodded, knowing exactly why I'd perked up slightly. "They're looking to bulk up their second line, which is where you would come in. Same position in the roster, but a new home."

"And the other two? Jersey and Nashville, what are they looking for?"

"Nashville is similar to L.A., though they might bounce you between the second and third lines to find the right fit for you in the roster, but Jersey is honestly just looking for someone to give them a spark."

"Yeah, I really don't see myself in Jersey, to be honest," I said, running a hand through my hair stressfully, working through the thoughts bouncing around my head.

"I didn't think you would, but I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't tell you that was a possibility."

"Understood, but can you let them know I'm likely not the player they're looking for? Give them something that'll hopefully sway them away from going into talks with the Knights' management?"

"Can do," Ken replied. He then raised a brow. "And Nashville and Los Angeles? How do you feel about those options?"

"Nashville is a good team, so let them know I'm open to talking. And you know I love California. If I could play for the Royals, that would be a great shot for me to play for the team I grew up cheering for. Tell them I'd be open to talking too, but in both cases, only if the Knights initiate conversations. If something falls through for some reason and the Knights change their mind, I want to stay."

While the look he gave me in return was one of certainty—one that told me I should put any hope of clinging to Boston out of my head—there was also a touch of sympathy to it. But luckily for me, he didn't stick the stake in my chest by fighting me on my request. Instead, he simply said, "I'll make the calls."

***

Completely opposite to my own mood, my teammates all seemed to be in the same headspace on the short flight back to Boston—rowdy and buzzing with optimism. Still riding the high from our win the night before, there were people speculating how long it'd take for us to clinch a playoff spot and others getting into a heated competition around one of the in-flight entertainment games.

Yet I sat alone, my headphones in, trying my best to tune everything out. I wasn't about to hop in and pretend like I wasn't simply waiting for the other shoe to drop in terms of where I was headed, but I also didn't want to offload my problems on my teammates.

Though I needed to talk to someone, and when I opened my messages to see the last conversation I'd had with Lia days before, I clicked it open without much of a thought.

Met with my agent before boarding. Looks like it's only a matter of time before the front office ships me off in exchange for fresh legs.

Both our schedules had been crazy busy over the last week, and while I expected a response to take a while, I was surprised to see three little dots pop up within a few seconds of the message being delivered.

I'm sorry 😔 I can't imagine how that feels. To know it's coming, but still having to put on a brave face and play hard until it does.

Well, I can tell you it definitely doesn't feel good, that's for sure.

Honestly, I can't think of what to do or say right now, but I can offer solace in the form of pizza and movies if you wanted to swing by tonight.

Will there be pineapple on the pizza?

I promise there won't be, and you can choose the movie. I won't even complain if it's a horror.

As tempting as it would be to have you in my lap the whole film, scared out of your mind, I'm thinking more of a classic, but it doesn't really matter to me. If I swing by around seven, will you be home by then?

Seven works. And in the meantime, I suggest buying a packet of gummy worms. They always pick me up when I'm feeling down 💕

Will take that under advisement.

We continued texting back and forth, moving away from the serious tone I'd started with and leaning more toward lighthearted banter until the plane began to make its descent.

In the hours that followed, I was tasked with compartmentalizing my feelings to the best of my ability as everybody headed to the arena for practice. There was no way I wanted to be responsible for lowering team morale or prompting any questions as to where my head was at. Which meant putting my head down and working just as hard as I did every other day. Acting like everything was fine.

Though truthfully, I may have put a little extra energy into the checking drills, needing some kind of physical outlet for my internalized aggression.

But when the whistle blew and we were all dismissed, nobody—not a teammate or coach—had noticed anything off about me. Or if they did, like I expected Coach Davidson had, they didn't say anything.

It was only after I'd showered and changed that I figured the jig was up, when Nyberg came over to clap me on the back.

"Dude, you coming to Schmidt's for video games and beer?"

Or not.

"Uh, I don't think so," I said, pulling my phone out of my pocket to check the time. It was just past five, and while I still had nearly two hours before I was expected at Lia's, there was no way I could keep up this emotional façade for more than a few more minutes. "I already have plans."

He raised an eyebrow suspiciously. "Plans? Today?"

"Yeah, I'm heading to Lia's later."

"Wait—" His eyes bugged out. "—seriously? You've got a date planned for Valentine's Day?"

Valentine's Day. Shit. I really hoped Lia wasn't expecting tonight to be about a ridiculous holiday, because I really didn't need that kind of expectation on top of everything else right now.

I shook my head vehemently with denial. "No," I gritted out. "No, you've got it wrong. We're just ordering pizza and watching a movie or two. There's nothing special about it."

The last Valentine's Day I actually cared to celebrate had been years ago, with someone I liked nothing more than to forget these days. But it had been about flowers and chocolate, with reservations at a fancy steakhouse for dinner. Tonight was the complete opposite of that. It was chill. Casual. Not romantic at all.

"Does she know that?" Nyberg asked, looking as though he didn't believe a word I said.

And while I had no way of confirming that she did, in fact, know tonight had nothing to do with Valentine's Day; I really, truly, hoped she did.

***

At five minutes to seven, I pressed the buzzer to Lia's apartment and heard her voice crackle over the speaker moments later.

"Hello?"

"It's me."

"Come on up," she said, and the door to her building's lobby beeped open.

Stepping inside, I was just about to let the door close behind me when I saw a delivery man, pizza in hand, looking to follow me inside.

"Any chance that pizza is for Lia?" I asked, holding the door open for him.

"I've got two actually, but yeah, one's for Lia in apartment 406," he replied, glancing down at the receipt as the both of us headed to the elevators, stepping onto the open one waiting. "You the boyfriend?"

"Something like that," I replied, not wanting to complicate things as I fished a ten and a five out of my wallet. "Here, keep the change and I'll save you the trouble of door-to-door delivery."

"Sounds good to me, man," the guy replied, handing over the larger of the two pizzas as the elevator stopped at the fourth floor. "Have a good night."

"You too," I said, stepping out and heading down the hallway to Lia's apartment.

Knocking on the door, I waited a few moments for Lia to pull it open, only to be both surprised and relieved to see her in a pair of sweatpants, her hair up in a bun, and her glasses perched on her nose. To me, that meant she didn't see tonight as a Valentine's Day date, and I was grateful.

"Hey," I said, shrugging off my jacket as I handed over the pizza. "I hope you don't mind, I intercepted the pizza guy on the way up."

"You didn't have to do that," she replied, a warm kindness shining in her eyes, "but thank you."

"No problem."

"So," she started, closing the door and leading me into the living room, "I've got Netflix pulled up on the TV and I promise, this apartment—" Putting the pizza down on the coffee table, she spread her arms out wide, gesturing to the space around us, "—is a completely hockey free zone tonight."

An appreciative smile pulled at my lips. "Thanks," I said as I walked around the back of the couch, my eyes scanning the room. I hadn't been to her apartment other than to pick her up, and other than a few cute trinkets filling the open space, the thing I was most surprised to see was her desk. Which, besides the two screens and the keyboard, was covered entirely with pens, papers, and small sticky notes—all of which I assumed contained information pertaining to her defense. Nodding over to the mess as I took a seat, I asked, "Did you get much work done today?"

Because even though it was a weekend, I knew how determined she was to formulate the best findings she could for her presentation.

"A bit, yeah," she admitted, "though I should tell you to pretend that part of the apartment isn't here. It's a bit of a minefield to most people."

I shrugged. "I think it shows that you're serious about your work, and clearly passionate enough to jot down any idea that could help you get to where you need to be."

"Interesting way of looking at it." Her lips curved into a smile as she popped open the pizza box and motioned for me to grab a slice. Picking up the remote, she said, "Tell me to stop when you see something you like."

If I was in higher spirits, I might've turned to her and made a suggestive comment—alluding to liking her quite a bit—but I stayed quiet. Taking a bite out of my slice, I sat back, my eyes scanning the screen, yet barely registering the movies.

Until The Mighty Ducks popped up on the end of a row of family film recommendations.

"That was the first hockey movie my parents ever showed me," I said, unable to stop the admission as it came spilling out.

Lia's hand froze on the remote as she glanced back and forth between me and the screen a couple of times, a quizzical look on her face. "Mighty Ducks?"

I nodded, casting my eyes down to my lap. "Yeah. They put me in a playground league when I was four, and since I was small for my age, I couldn't really hold my balance all that well. And though I don't remember it, my parents love telling others about how I supposedly wanted to quit at the end of that first year, since I wasn't all that good. Until they showed me The Mighty Ducks, and then I apparently stopped at nothing to be the best in my hometown."

Peeking over her way when she stayed silent, I saw her expression soften as she tucked her legs up underneath her and turned to face me. Her gaze strong yet understanding as she reached out a hand to rest on my knee. "Derrick, did you want to talk about it?" she asked softly. "I know I might not be the best person to talk things through with, but I can be a soundboard if you want to vent. I can listen."

"I know. I know," I said, running a hand through my hair before dropping my head to rest against the back of the couch. "And I'm sorry I kind of shut down the last time you tried. I just don't think I'd really come to terms with it yet. I mean, I still haven't." I sighed. "How can I when my life could be uprooted completely in less than ten days? And I can't do anything. All I can do is wait, staring the trade deadline in the face, and wait for the front office to make a decision."

"Do you have any idea where you might end up?"

"According to my agent, Jersey, Nashville, and L.A. are interested."

"Well, L.A. wouldn't be horrible, right?" she asked, her hand slowly massaging my thigh. Though it wasn't at all suggestive—it was supportive. "You'd be closer to your family at least. And sometimes good opportunities come in roughed up packages."

A single huff of a laugh left my lips as they curved upward slightly, and ever so slowly, I could feel the tension in my shoulders begin to melt away under her soft gaze.

"So... Mighty Ducks?" she asked, nodding back to the television.

Looking back at the screen, I shook my head. "No, not tonight." She'd been right. Tonight wasn't about hockey. Reaching my arm over to wrap around her shoulders, I pulled into my side. "Let's go with Lord of The Rings."

She turned her face up towards mine, her mouth kicking up at one corner. "Really?"

I kissed her quickly before nodding. Sometimes you just needed to invest a few hours into your nerdy side. "Start 'er up. And let's demolish that pizza."

a/n: remember to vote and leave your thoughts in the comments below!