Shattered Ice

Traded

*Caleb*

The clang of metal against metal reverberates through the nearly empty gym, and my hurting head… each sound punctuated by the muted thud of my sneakers against the polished floor. I’m staring at my reflection in the mirror, the bags under my eyes betraying last night’s escapades. I can still feel the remnants of whiskey swirling in my stomach, a reminder of the party that turned into a small riot of laughter and questionable decisions. But that’s the life of a guy like me… iron-willed defenceman on the ice, party playboy by choice. But I am still one of the first ones here, ready to work.

I take a deep breath and adjust the weights on the barbell. Another day, another chance to prove I’m worth my salt on the ice. I’m known for my relentless hits and the way I can shut down the opposing team’s star player like flipping a switch. But right now, all I’m fighting is the urge to collapse on the mat and call it a day. I grunt as I lift the weight, my muscles screaming in protest.

“Hey, Mackinnon! You look like a zombie who just crawled out of a grave!” A voice cuts through the haze of my workout. It’s Jake, one of our forwards, leaning against the doorframe, a grin plastered on his face. He’s got that obnoxious charm, the kind that makes you want to punch him in the face even if you can’t help but chuckle.

“Thanks for the compliment, man. I was just aiming for ‘handsome devil,’ but I’ll settle for ‘undead.’” I flex my arms, trying to look impressive while stifling a yawn.

“Good luck with that. I heard the coach is looking for you. You in trouble?” Another player, Mark, chimes in, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

“Yeah, right. Coach clearly just wants to tell me I’m the best thing to hit this ice since the Zamboni,” I reply, rolling my eyes. I set the weights back down, letting the adrenaline push away my hangover.

As I walk towards the door, I can hear their laughter trailing behind me. They think it’s all a joke, but I know better. The last time the coach called me in, it wasn’t just for a pep talk. I have a gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach as I make my way towards the door.

Just as I reach the gym exit, Coach Harris strides in, his eyes narrowing as he spots me. “Caleb, Mr. Thompson need to see you in his office. Now.”

My stomach drops… the owner wants to see me? “What’s this about?”

“Just go. You’ll find out,” he replies, his tone brooking no argument. I nod, feeling the weight of his gaze as I head upstairs, each step heavier than the last.

Once I reach the office, I knock and enter. The owner, Mr. Thompson, is sitting behind a massive desk, papers scattered in some kind of controlled chaos. He looks up, and for a moment, that warm, fatherly smile is plastered across his face. But there’s something lurking behind it, a seriousness that sends a chill down my spine.

“Caleb! Great to see you, my boy!” he booms, motioning for me to sit. “Let’s get right to it.”

I take a seat, and the air thickens with unspoken tension. “What’s going on, sir?”

“Listen, I’ve got news… Good news.” He leans back, folding his hands. “The Charleston Pelicans are looking to trade for you. The new owner needs some stronger defensemen, and you’re their guy.”

A wave of disbelief crashes over me. “Wait, trading me? Just like that?” My heart races, the words feeling heavier than lead.

“Caleb, it’s a business decision. You’ll be paid more, and it could be a good opportunity for you.” He sounds almost apologetic, but I’m not buying it.

I can’t help but scoff. “So, you’re happy to get rid of me then?”

His smile falters for just a split second, but it’s enough to show me the truth behind the facade. “It’s not personal, Caleb. It’s about the team’s future. We need to make changes. This is a chance for you to shine.”

“Shine?” I repeat, incredulous. “You want me to shine in Charleston? No offense, but that’s not exactly the bright lights of New York, and their team is bleh at the most.”

He leans forward, his expression softening slightly. “I think you’ll do great things down there. Fresh start, new team… A team being rebuild. You could be the cornerstone of their defense.”

I grind my teeth, frustration bubbling to the surface. “So, what? I pack my bags and head south? Just like that?”

“It’s a business, Caleb! You know that better than anyone,” he replies, his voice rising slightly. “You’re a talented player, and talent is valuable… but you are also a PR nightmare. Look, I’m giving you the best deal I can. You’ll have the chance to play a pivotal role.”

I stand up abruptly, anger coursing through my veins. “I get it, but I don’t want to leave New York. I have just settled in, this is my team. I’ve fought for this place…”

“And you’ll continue to fight, just in a different jersey,” he interrupts, his tone authoritative. “I’m not asking for your permission. I’m giving you the facts.”

I feel the sting of defeat wash over me. There’s no denying it; this is happening whether I like it or not. “Fine,” I mutter, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll think about it.” I know I have no choice, but I like to pretend.

With that, I turn on my heel and stride out of the office, the weight of the news settling on my shoulders like a leaden blanket. As I make my way down the hall to the locker room, I can hear my teammates’ laughter echoing in the distance. They have no idea what just happened.

But I do. I’m being traded, uprooted from everything I know, and sent off to a place that feels more like a punishment than a fresh start. I might be leaving New York, but Caleb Mackinnon isn’t going to fade away quietly. I’ll fight for my place, no matter where that is.

New city, new team, new bunnies to meet.