“That sounds great,” he says, ignoring it, and then asks another annoying question. “With many of your team members becoming free agents, how sure are you about the success of the team next year?” I look at him.

“I have no idea, and to be honest, that isn’t my job. My job is to go out on the ice and give it my all. Who I do it with is just a bonus,” I say, and then I turn to grab my Gatorade, hoping he takes the hint and fucks off.

“Thank you for answering the questions, Justin,” he says with a smile, and I nod. “See you next season.”

I look around, seeing a couple more reporters in the room. Apart from the last game of the year, this has to be the most depressing. Everyone came in today to “clean out their lockers.” Glancing at my watch, I realize my meeting with the GM is in ten minutes, so I grab my phone and head toward his office. My phone beeps in my pocket, and when I take it out, I see that Matthew just texted me. Matthew is my older brother, retired NHL god, and now the GM for the New York Stingers. And if that didn’t make it hard enough to follow in his footsteps, my father is Cooper Stone. The Cooper Stone who holds all the records across the board. The same records I try to beat every single year but always come short of.

Matthew: What time do you land, and are you staying with Mom and Dad?

I don’t text him back. In fact, I hate fucking texting. I always, always call, so it’s no surprise when he answers the phone laughing. “I think you are the only twenty-four-year-old kid who hates to text.” I hear honking in the background, and I know he must be in the city.

“I just don’t see the purpose of it when I can pick up the phone and call you,” I say, walking down the blue carpeted hallway. “I get there tomorrow morning. I changed my flight to give me extra time to pack up my condo and shit.”

“You mean you changed the flight so you can bang one more time before coming home.” He laughs, and I shake my head.

“No,” I say, trying to sound convincing but failing. Am I exclusive? No, I’ve never been. I have yet to find the person I want to be exclusive with. When I look around and see that all four of my siblings are happily married with kids, I wonder if I’m ever going to find my person. “Besides, if I got the flight out, I wouldn’t land in New York until midnight.”

“Where are you staying?” he asks. “I spoke with Dad ten minutes ago, and he said Mom is fixing your room.”

I groan out loud. “Why does she keep doing that?”