Chapter 2- The verdict

The boardroom smelled of burnt coffee and tension. The Flyers’ executives sat around the long table, papers scattered, voices sharp with frustration.

“This is the third game in two months Wolfe has been ejected,” Phil, the assistant coach, said, stabbing his finger against the stat sheets. “Our sponsors are breathing down my neck. If this continues, they’ll walk. And if they walk, we’re broke.”

“We can’t ignore his numbers,” the general manager countered. “Wolfe may be reckless, but he’s also the only one putting up MVP stats on this team. Without him, we don’t even make qualifiers.”

“Stats don’t matter if he spends half the season in the penalty box,” another board member snapped.

The room broke into arguments, some siding with Phil, others with the GM. The head coach, Gared, sat grim-faced at the end of the table, eyes fixed on his folded hands.

Finally, the chairman cleared his throat, silencing the room. “Enough. We’re not here to argue, we’re here to decide. Atlan Wolfe’s contract is up for review. The question is simple, do we keep him, or do we cut him loose before the season starts?”

A heavy silence followed.

Then, the doors opened. Atlan walked in. Still bruised from last night’s fight, cheekbone purpled, knuckles raw, eyes cold. He didn’t wait for permission. He dropped into the chair opposite the chairman, shoulders squared, like he wasn’t the one on trial.

“You wanted to talk about me?” His voice was low, steady. “Then say it to my face.”

Phil bristled. “We’re tired of cleaning up after your temper, Wolfe. You’re a liability.”

The GM leaned forward. “You’re also the best damn player on this roster. No one wants to lose you, but no one can afford your chaos either. So what are we supposed to do with you?”

Atlan’s jaw flexed. He wanted to snarl, to fight back but he bit it down. “You want control? Fine. Give me something worth staying for. Otherwise, cut me. I’m done begging for a place on a team that doesn’t know what to do with me.”

The room erupted again, voices clashing.

“See? That’s exactly what we’re talking about. That damn temper of yours is what’s got you here, Wolfe,” another board member said.

“Atlan, you need to leave the room while we make a decision. We’ll call you back soon with the verdict,” the chairman said, motioning for him to go.

Atlan glanced around the boardroom at the faces of the people he had played for, bled for, and won for these past three years. “Fine. I’ll be outside.” He pushed out of his chair and walked out.

Inside, the GM turned to Gared. “You’ve been silent since the beginning of this meeting. Do you have anything to contribute before we take a vote?”

Gared sighed. “I don’t think I’ll be impartial. I’m too close to the boy. Since he joined the team, I’ve taken him like a son. I’m just surprised how easily you’re all talking about kicking him off when you know his mother died a month ago. He’s hurting. Grief can wreck a player’s head, and hockey is as mental as it is physical.”

Phil scoffed. “That’s no excuse, Gared. We’ve had players grieve before, and that’s why we spend big bucks on a counselor. Wolfe has always had a temper, the grief just made it worse. The season is three months away, and he’s in no shape to help us make qualifiers. I say we cut him, terminate his contract, pay him out, and move forward.”

The chairman stood. “All in favor of Wolfe staying, raise your hands.”

Out of nine people in the boardroom, only three raised their hands.

“We have our decision,” the chairman said flatly. “Tom, call Wolfe back in.”

Atlan returned, trying to hold himself together though his stomach knotted with dread.

The head coach met his eyes with regret. “Wolfe… the board has decided to release you. We’re sorry.”

His head spun. “What about my contract? You can’t just terminate it!”

“It will be terminated, with compensation to keep you on your feet until you find a new team,” Gared said, handing him a sheaf of papers.

“But the season is in three months! It’ll be impossible to recruit someone else to take my place. I’ve carried this team on my back for three years and you all know it!” His voice thundered with anger.

“Calm down, son,” Gared murmured, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We all know your value. But the team can’t take the risk. I hope, after this season, we can welcome you back once you’ve reconciled with your mother’s passing and…”

“Don’t talk about my mother!” Atlan snapped. His voice cracked under the weight of rage and grief. “If I leave, I’m not coming back. And this team? It sucks anyway. I’d rather not be part of something this pathetic.”

He scrawled his name on the papers and stormed out of the office.

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––

As he pulled out of the parking lot, his vision blurred. His chest felt hollow, his throat tight. There was only one place he could think of, only one person he could run to. Danny.

It had been hard keeping their relationship secret for two years. The team forbade players from being romantically involved, but Danny had been his anchor through it all. Now that he was no longer a Flyer, Atlan didn’t care who found out.

He drove recklessly, well past the speed limit. By some miracle, no cop stopped him. Parking across the street from Danny’s house, he killed the engine.

The sprawling four bedroom home, with its glass doors and perfect lawn, felt mocking tonight. Too polished, too rich and too far from the broken pieces of Atlan’s life. But none of that mattered, he just needed Danny.

Atlan shoved the key Danny had given him into the lock and pushed the door open. Loud music blasted through the house. Clothes and shoes were scattered on the floor like a storm had ripped through. His chest tightened when he noticed a pair of Air Forces on the mat. Danny hated sneakers like that. They weren’t his.

His pulse spiked. He followed the sounds toward the master bedroom, every step heavier than the last. Then came the moans. Not Danny’s at least, not alone.

A woman’s voice, a woman's moans, Atlan froze outside the door, his hands trembling. He almost turned back, but anger shoved him forward. He yanked the door open.

The scene gutted him. Danny, naked in bed with a woman.

They froze at the sound of the door. The woman scrambled for the duvet, trying to cover herself. Danny jumped up, fumbling for his shirt.

“Atlan… what are you doing here?” Danny stammered, guilt painted across his face.

Atlan’s breath caught. “I… I was kicked off the team today. I called you a dozen times, and you didn’t answer. I needed you, Danny. But now…” His voice broke. “Now I see I shouldn’t have come.”

Danny’s expression twisted. “Babe, it’s not what it looks like. It’s just a fling. You haven’t been giving me energy these past weeks….I have needs too.”

Atlan’s rage snapped. “I’ve been grieving my dead mother! You wanted me to act like everything was fine, like I wasn’t falling apart? And you…” his voice cracked “you’re doing this with a woman? What does that even mean, Danny? Were you experimenting with me this whole time? Was I just your fucking toy?”

Danny tried to reach for him. “I’m sorry, Atlan. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just… I don’t know what I feel anymore. I couldn’t tell you.”

Atlan yanked his hand back, shaking, eyes blurring with tears. “Don’t you dare touch me. Don’t you dare.”

“Please…”

“Fuck you, Danny!” Atlan thundered, his voice echoing through the house. He turned and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

Outside his phone rang, he looked at the lit up screen, it was an unknown number. He steadied himself and picked it.

“Hello, who is this?” 

“Hello Danny, this is Norman, the scout. We talked yesterday, I'm hoping you've made up your mind.”

“I was hoping you'd call, I'll send you the location to a bar. Meet me there in an hour.”