Home ice advantage, p.1
Home Ice Advantage, page 1
A NineStar Press Publication
www.ninestarpress.com
Home Ice Advantage
ISBN: 978-1-64890-174-4
© 2020 K.R. Collins
Cover Art © 2020 Natasha Snow
Published in December, 2020 by NineStar Press, New Mexico, USA.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact NineStar Press at Contact@ninestarpress.com.
Also available in Print, ISBN: 978-1-64890-175-1
WARNING:
This book contains homophobic slurs.
Home Ice Advantage
Sophie Fournier, Book Four
K.R. Collins
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
About the Author
Chapter One
“Let’s talk expectations. What do you want out of your contract?”
“Eight years, nine point three million a year,” Sophie answers. She did her research. It might be her first real contract, but she’s Sophie Fournier. She’s the first woman drafted into the North American Hockey League, she’s the captain of the Concord Condors, she led the League in points for two of her three seasons, and a month ago she led her team to their first-ever Maple Cup.
There’s a long silence on the other line, and she checks to make sure her agent is still there.
“Let’s talk realistic expectations,” he finally says. “Cut both those numbers in half.”
It’s Sophie’s turn to be stunned into silence. Hers doesn’t last as long. “Half? At least women outside of hockey make seventy-five cents to a man’s dollar.”
“Sophie—”
“Half?” she demands. “I ran the numbers. It wouldn’t be out of line to ask for ten million. Dima’s being offered at least ten, and he’s a winger, and he doesn’t have a Maple Cup to his name.”
“You can’t compare yourself to Dmitri Ivanov. You can’t compare yourself to anyone. Whatever numbers you ran, toss them out. They’re based on your male counterparts. We’re starting from scratch.”
“I did not fight as hard as I did to make it to and succeed in this league to be told I’m worth half of a man. You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“Of course, I’m on your side but you have to be realistic.”
She hangs up. It isn’t her best moment, and her guilt is almost enough to call back. But then she shoves her phone in her pocket and stomps into the kitchen where she pauses, scowl frozen on her face. Her mom and five other women are gathered around the island counter. There are piles of fruits and vegetables, multiple cutting boards, and three blenders. Sophie recognizes two of the women as neighbors. She played street hockey with their kids growing up.
“Oh, Sophie,” Mrs. Milchard greets. “We’re making smoothies. I bet you have all sorts of tips.”
Sophie smiles, automatic, but it’s strained. “I’ve made a few in my day. I’m actually about to go for a run, but if you still have questions when I’m back, I’ll answer them.”
“And test them.”
Sophie nods and flees upstairs to change. She hadn’t planned on going for a run but now she has to. She switches her T-shirt for a racerback and tugs her sweatpants off. She pauses as she pulls her shorts up. She has new ink. One hip has a pair of crossed hockey sticks. There’s a small 93 to the left of the sticks, because it’s the number she wears on the ice. This tattoo was a present to herself years ago. Her new one is on the other hip. It now says 2013-2014 in honor of their Maple Cup win.
Her win? Concord’s win? She is the captain and cornerstone of Concord’s franchise. She wants to be a Condor forever. But, if she believes her agent, Concord won’t offer the kind of deal given to players of her caliber.
She buries her contract thoughts as she pulls her hair up into a ponytail. She takes the stairs by two but doesn’t make it through the kitchen unnoticed.
“Are you going around the block?” her mom asks.
“The park, probably.” She wants to run trails, disappear into the woods until the only people she sees are ones training for marathons or running with their dogs, people who won’t want to stop and chat.
“Then you should take this with you.” Her mom hands Sophie a Gatorade and a bag of pretzels. “You’ll have your phone, right?”
Sophie holds up her phone in answer. She takes the snack and gives her mom a kiss. “Have fun juicing.”
She escapes to the woods, turns her music up, and runs until there’s no space in her head for thoughts. By the time she’s back at her car, her skin is slick with sweat, and she’s grateful for the pretzels. She sits on the curb as the sun beats down on her back. Sweat drips down her spine and dries on her arms, sticky, proof she worked hard. She musters up enough energy to stretch and then drives home.
There are still cars along the curb. She pulls up behind an SUV and takes the keys out of her ignition. Her gym card dangles from the key ring. She turns the car back on and drives down the street. She did her weight training this morning before her call with her agent, so she just uses the gym’s showers, changes into one of the many spare sets of clothes she keeps in her car, and drives to the store.
She goes through the salad bar, loading up a plastic container for herself and one for Colby. It’s on the early side for lunch so she picks up a few things for dinner. On the way to the checkout, she pauses at the Maple Cup display. She’s used to seeing Winnipeg Porcupine gear at home with the sparse collection of shirseys for other Canadian teams. Even Quebec carries Team Canada Ducasse shirseys, though they refuse to stock his Montreal merch.
But in the heart of Thunder Bay, Ontario, there’s a rack of Concord Condors Maple Cup gear. There are shirts with the Cup on the front and the whole roster on the back. There’s one with New Hampshire reshaped to look like the Cup. There are even a few shirseys. Sophie finds a number 13 and traces the NYBERG on the back.
She takes a picture and sends it to Elsa, knowing she’ll get a kick out of it. She’s tempted to buy the shirt and mail it to Lenny Dernier. He’ll have an on-air meltdown when he realizes the good Canadian province of Ontario is stocking fan-wear with a foreigner’s name on it.
Like most Canadian kids, Sophie was glued to the TV when Lenny Dernier came on to host his program after games. Only, as the years have passed and the game has changed, Dernier hasn’t. He clings to an era of hockey where a majority of the players were Canadians and where there were often as many, or more, fights than goals in a game. Back when hockey was a man’s sport.
She’s learned to tune him out, or mute him, these days. He sometimes tolerates Sophie because she had the good sense to be born Canadian even if she is a woman. But he hates Elsa, because he thinks Swedes are lazy, and he really hates Lexie. The last one Sophie finds hilarious, because he hates her for being crass and too aggressive, traits he would praise her for if she were a man. She dropped an f-bomb on live television once, caught up in the adrenaline of a big win, and he declared her a bad role model for all Canadian children.
She would probably find his shtick funnier if he didn’t believe it. And if he didn’t have a loyal following. Sophie’s rookie season saw the Clayton Trophy, the award given to the top rookie, as a competition between Dmitri Ivanov, herself, and Victor Serov. Two Russians and a woman. Dernier was apoplectic. He’s back on his “end of hockey as we know it” rant because this year the three Clayton nominees were two Americans and a Swede. He’s apparently looking to help fund Canada’s youth hockey program in order to restore their country to greatness.
It’s bullshit.
Elsa calls as Sophie goes through the self-checkout. “Did you buy it?”
“Why would I need to buy it? Do you know how many of your shirts I have? I swear you left half your wardrobe.”
“Are you wearing one right now?”
“No.” Though it’s an idea. Maybe if she wears a Nyberg shirsey everywhere, people won’t recognize her. She weighs her salad, weighs Colby’s, and places them in her reusable bag.
“See, you don’t have enough.”
Sophie checks to see what she actually is wearing. There’s a porcupine on the front which means it’s left over from her bantam days. “I’m in a knockoff Winnipeg shirt.”
“Gross.”
“Your face is gross.” She finishes scanning her items and pays.
“You miss my face.”
She does but she won’t admit it. She first met Elsa Nyberg when they were opponents at a U-Tourney. Sophie was there representing Canada; Elsa was there for Sweden. She left the tournament with the gold medal
“Family picnic.” Elsa sighs as if it’s a burden, but Sophie knows she hoards all the time she can spend with her family in the offseason. “Patric and Henrik want to play basketball.”
Sophie laughs as Elsa complains about how her cousins like all the wrong sports. By the time Elsa’s dragged away to participate, Sophie feels better. Of course, once she hangs up, her car is too quiet, not even the radio playing softly in the background.
I have family to see too. And before I know it, Elsa and I will be back in Concord together.
When she arrives at Colby’s office, she’s surprised to be greeted by the receptionist. Too late, it occurs to her dropping by to visit Colby isn’t the same as dropping by a hockey rink. Her steps falter.
The receptionist, whose nameplate says Dianne, offers her a smile. “Do you have an appointment?”
“Uh, no. I’m here to see my brother, but I can call him.”
“Then I’d be out of a job. Have a seat, dear. I’ll call Colby and let him know you’re here.”
“How’d you know I’m Colby’s sister?”
“Everyone here knows who you are. We had office viewing parties. Congratulations, by the way.”
Sophie sits in one of the wingback chairs and picks up an out-of-date hunting magazine. She opens it but doesn’t read a single word. Colby comes down the side hallway after she’s flipped a few pages. He’s in slacks and a nice dress shirt. If his hair was gelled within an inch of its life, he’d look ready to board the bus for an away game. Instead, he has a legal pad tucked under his arm and his phone in hand.
“Hi Dianne. I’m on my way to the sales meeting. What’s up?”
She points and Sophie sets the magazine down. She feels conspicuously out of place in her running clothes. She fishes Colby’s salad out of her bag. “I was in the area.”
“I have a meeting.”
“It’s okay.” She holds the salad out to him. “Mom had friends over. They’re juicing so I needed to escape before I became a test subject. Uh, good luck in your meeting.”
“We’re trying to figure out how to boost our numbers. Cross-selling might be the key. You don’t care about this. Sorry.”
“I care.” Well, she cares because he does. But this is a completely unknown world to her. She wants to spend the next fifteen years of her life in the NAHL and then become a coach or advisor to a team, find a way to stay involved in the sport.
Colby’s hockey career ended after college. He plays in a men’s league now, but his days are spent here. It’s a world she doesn’t understand. And, after years of having hockey connecting them, she doesn’t know how to talk to him. Does he resent her for still playing when he can’t? She’s living their childhood dream, and he’s stuck here—cubicles and meetings.
She clears her throat. “I don’t want to make you late. I’ll see you for dinner sometime this week?”
Another change. Colby’s moved out of their parents’ house. He has an apartment and a new girlfriend, Charlotte, and her name is everything Sophie knows about her. A job, his own apartment, a girlfriend, her brother’s growing up, and Sophie feels left behind.
“Absolutely.” He lifts his salad in a thank-you and hurries back the way he came.
It leaves Sophie with an environmentally friendly bag with only her lunch in it now.
“Nice shirt.” Dianne nods at the porcupine logo. “Your contract is up. Any chance you’re signing with Winnipeg?”
“Probably not.” And she should go through her spare clothes to make sure any hockey clothes she wears bear Concord’s logo. She doesn’t want to start any rumors.
Dianne nods as if she was expecting the answer. “Concord would be stupid to let you go. Maybe next contract. It’ll be a big homecoming.”
Sophie offers a parting smile and slips out.
*
Eventually, Sophie calls her agent to apologize and finish their conversation. He calls her back a few days later. Concord’s offering her an eight-year deal at three million a season or they can talk bridge deals.
“Three?” she repeats, incredulous.
Her agent hesitates before he says, “You’re the first woman in the League. No one knows how you’re going to age.”
Sophie stares up at the ceiling. “I’m not signing for three. Concord isn’t stupid enough to think I would.”
“They aren’t, but this is a warning you won’t be getting your full ask. They want to play hardball.”
They don’t value me. “I guess this means a no-trade clause isn’t on the table.” If she signs long-term, they want her cheap so if she doesn’t age well, they can buy out her contract or dump it on another team. I’m your captain. I rescued this franchise. But this is the same front office which drafted her last because it was a good business decision. If they can sign her to a cheap contract, they will.
Maybe they’ll lowball her enough another team will offer sheet her and Concord will be forced to raise their price. When she was drafted, Concord was the only one who could draft her. They used it to their advantage, waiting until their final pick. Now, though, Sophie’s available to any team as long as they’re willing to give up some picks and goodwill to offer sheet her.
“Once they see our ask, they’ll revise their offer, but it won’t be as high as you want. We’ll force them to compromise, but we have to be prepared to compromise as well. Do you want money or term?”
Does she want eight years at a ludicrously low number? She told Elsa they’d be Condors forever—but at three million? She doesn’t even need the money; she has endorsement deals and it isn’t like three million is anything to sneeze at. But it would be an eight-year reminder of how little Concord values her. She’s already saddled with being the last pick of her draft. She thought the A and then the C were trends in the right direction—they recognized and appreciated what she brings to the team. This is a slap in the face.
If she goes shorter term for more money, she’ll have to do all this again in a few more years. And it isn’t like her résumé will improve. In three seasons she has two scoring titles and a Maple Cup. What more does she have to do?
“I need to think about it,” she tells her agent.
*
She spends two weeks working out, spending time with her family, and not thinking about her contract. Apparently, it’s too long because rumors start. The facts the media have to work with are the contract isn’t done yet, and Concord’s started making its summer moves. Marty Owen speculates Sophie isn’t savvy enough to negotiate for herself. Lenny Dernier does a special on contract disputes and the disastrous ways they can end. Carol Rogers wonders if Concord let Luke Garfield, one of Concord’s wingers, walk so they had the money to give Sophie a big contract.
Within three days it’s widely accepted that Sophie and Concord are far apart on asks and this stalemate could drag into the start of the season.
“There’s no urgency right now,” Kyle Sorkin says. He’s a former Quebec Bobcat, and he’s a regular panelist on TNSN along with his rival from his playing days, Bobby Brindle. “Once she sits out training camp, maybe a few preseason games, Concord will realize she’s serious. And they need her more than she needs them.”
As if Sophie could get away with pulling that kind of move. There have been a handful of men who dragged out contract negotiations until they missed regular season games, but it would be the end of her career. What Sorkin doesn’t understand is she has no leverage.
Lenny Dernier uses his timeslot to play the lowlights of her career, scoring slumps and bad penalties. It feels as if every time she walks past a TV, she sees herself slamming her stick into Anthony Sinclair’s face or tussling with Michael Hayes.
Her dad, a religious viewer of Rinkside, turns off the show in disgust. “When are you going to end this?”
Sophie looks up sharply. They’ve barely acknowledged her stalemate with Concord, but she assumed her dad was on her side. He was the one who pushed her to play with the boys, play up an age group, break into new leagues. He was the one who set the goal of the NAHL and helped her chase it. And now he wants her to back down?
“They won’t stop until you sign. All you’re cultivating is bad blood.”
