“These contact lenses are daily-wear ones, right? I’ve got you a week’s worth and your glasses case.” She let out a big exhale and he heard the drawer shut. “I can’t believe they didn’t let you spend five minutes at home to pack a bag before you left.”
Connor scanned the choices of razors. “There was no way I could’ve driven all the way home from the arena and turned around to immediately drive back to the airport— even without going inside and packing a bag— and still made that flight.”
“Where are your glasses?”
“Nightstand.”
“And there’s really no way for you to come back home for Christmas?
Connor scanned the razors again but didn’t see the brand he normally used. Maybe he would just leave the scruff. “I used in-flight WiFi any moment I wasn’t fielding messages from TV analysts and reps from the Glaciers to search every airline outof Denver. I looked at the ones that were leaving from the earliest moment I could get there after my game on the night of the twenty-third until the morning of the twenty-fifth. Not only could I not find a flight, but there’s a storm coming in, and they’re guessing all the people who actually did find flights will be sitting at the airport, not flying.”
No, he really hated the itchiness of scruff. That was something he was only willing to do when his team made the playoffs. He had to find a razor.
“This sucks,” Laura said. “Did you really not have a clue that they were going to trade you?”
“None. I thought things were going well.” A lot of trades happened right before the trade deadline, which was in early March this year. If trades happened earlier in the season, it was often because they didn’t think a player was a good fit on the team or because the team in general was struggling.
But Connor got along great with his team. He loved the guys. Traveling with them day in and day out, battling with them, shooting for the same goals— he was willing to do anything for them. And his team was doing great. He’d been told by the management not long ago that he was in the team’s long-term plans. They’d even put up a billboard featuring him six weeks ago and stocked more of his jerseys in fan stores.
“I was changing after practice when the public relations guy came in and said that the GM wanted to see me.” The sinking feeling he’d gotten in his stomach at the time had immediately told him that it was about a trade.
He grabbed a razor and tossed it into his basket, then added some shaving cream.
“Okay,” Laura said, “I’ve got your favorite pajama pants and a few shirts, including that bluish-gray one with the super soft fabric. What else?”
“Shoes.” He headed to the next aisle over.
“I can’t believe they would actually trade a player eight days before Christmas. Right before the Christmas blackout— which is far too short, if you ask me. No one wants to move across the country at Christmastime, let alone move with no warning.”
“It’s all part of the life I signed up for when I joined the NHL. At least I don’t have a wife and kids I had to break the news to.”
“True. But do they really have to give you zero notice? They couldn’t have just selected a later flight today to at least give you a bit of time?”
“You’re really hung up on that no-notice thing. It’s just part of the job. It sucks, but I’ve been luckier than most to have spent my entire career up until now near family. Besides, they had press interviews lined up for me, so I had to fly in quickly.” He added deodorant to his basket.
“Which they lined upafterchoosing your flight.”
“Laura, what’s done is done.”
“And moaning about it won’t change anything,” she said, finishing their step-dad’s mantra. “I know. How did the interviews go?”
It was more than just interviews. He’d also fielded a dozen messages and calls from his new organization to find out things like his skate size, any sponsored equipment brands, and his number so they could put it on home and away jerseys. He also got calls from the team doctors and training staff to coordinate and get information, and from the Director of Services to make the transition smooth and cover all the bases. He even got a call from payroll.
And that was just the urgent stuff that directly involved him, not any of the stuff going on behind the scenes with media relations, marketing, social media, retail, community relations, and a host of other departments. He wasn’t through getting calls, either. Two had come in just in the few minutes he had been on the phone with his sister.
“Fine. I had my suit and dress shoes with me at the arena, of course. Oh, by the way, one of the guys is driving my car back to my place, so don’t freak out if he comes in to drop off the keys while you’re there. Anyway, the interviews went well, if you don’t count how weird it felt to wear dress shoes without socks, which I didnothappen to grab.”
“Oh, socks!” Laura said, followed by sounds of drawers opening and closing.
“Bottom drawer,” he offered.
“Got them! Who puts their socks in the bottom drawer? Weirdo. What else? Any bathroom stuff other than your contact lenses?”
“No. I’m not going to wait for that box to be delivered before I brush my teeth or put on deodorant.” Toothbrush. That’s what he needed. He started walking toward the aisle with them. “You are going to ship it overnight to the hotel, right?”
“Yeah, as soon as I leave here. But in case you’ve acclimated to the time zone there in the past few hours and already forgot, it’s ten p.m. here, so it’s not going to betonight’sovernight.” After a short pause, she added, “So, you might want to find a store where you can buy some underwear, too.”
Frustration hit him and came out in a growl. He tossed a tube of toothpaste into his basket and moved over to the toothbrushes. The shock still hadn’t completely worn off yet, but grief and irritation were starting to settle in.
