This summer I repented. I ran seven miles every day, even on the ones when New York City was as humid and gross as a used practice jersey.

I didn’t skip a workout in the gym, either. In the evenings, I’ve drunk only a single light beer. Did you ever hear the joke about how light beer is just like sex in the bottom of a canoe? Because it’s fucking close to water.

Oh hell! I can’t even pray like a grownup. I just told a dirty joke to God.

Just then, the door swings open, and my heart plummets as Hugh Major walks into the small room, chest out. He’s followed by Eric, my father’s cousin, who is also my agent.

And Eric looks grim.

Oh shit. This is really happening.

Up until this very moment—when I saw that look on Eric’s face—I still held out some hope that, after my strong showing at training camp, they’d give me one more chance.

Fuck my life. I deserve this. But it’s still going to bite the big one.

“Well, son,” Hugh says as Eric shuts the door. “You sure had some trouble last season.”

“I know, sir,” I say evenly, because a man doesn’t cower from his fate. “My production was not up to my own standards.”

“Nor mine,” he agrees, even as a cold drop of sweat makes its way down my back. “You’re capable of so much more.”

“And I’m going to prove it, even if I have to do that in Hartford.”

“Huh.” He frowns at me. “How about you do it downstairs on the practice rink instead? We’re going to roster you. But you’d better give us something to show for it.”

“Yessir,” I say, my ears ringing with confusion. Did I just hear that right? I’m staying?

I glance at Eric’s stern glower for clarification. Why does he look so dark when…

His lip twitches. Then it twitches again.

That Bastard! He knew how this was going to go. He was just fucking with me.

“Keep your head down, kid. You know you’ve got to,” says Hugh.

“I can,” I insist, dragging my gaze back to his. “I got this.”

“Then get down there and show us all.” He gives me a nod and—done with me now—lets himself out of the room to deal with someone else’s drama.

I don’t breathe until he’s gone. I’m drenched in cold sweat. And Eric, that fucker, is chuckling silently. “You jackass!” I hiss. “I about sharted myself just from the look on your ugly face when you walked in here.’’

“I know,” he says with a snort. “It was priceless. And no less than you deserve. Honestly, Hugh should have yelled a little more and thrown some furniture around. Maybe that would put you into the headspace you need this season. “

“But I am in the right headspace,” I insist. “I’ve been there since I got sent down to Hartford in March. Now I’m fitter than I’ve ever been. Even since high school, when I was in lust with a distance runner.”