How r contract talks going? 3:13 pm, june 25, 2026.
jamie's text isn't surprising, but coming far later than trevor had expected. it's june, the sun is glaring through his car window as he sits in the prentiss parking lot and he has to turn his screen brightness all the way up to read it clearly. he hums, turns the music volume down. how honest does he want to go? not that he's worried about collusion or whatever the fuck, it's more that he knows there's a deeper question that jamie wants to ask but can't get to outright. what would be the best way to get it out of him?
he throws his phone in the empty shotgun seat and calls "jim" from the carplay console while starting the engine. jamie picks up on the second ring.
"hey jimmers, are you trying to squeeze a couple million from my contract to yours?" he can basically hear jamie's eye roll.
jamie ignores his greeting. "have you thought about how we'll be ufas as long as we get contracts over two years?" trevor has thought about this every day since the summer of 2023.
"of course i have, jim. why, are you indecisive about the length?" there's a prominent silence on the other end. trevor drums his fingers over the wheel. damn these long red lights. the light turns green.
"i'm sure danny has said to you that he wants more long term. but my agent says to go shorter to get a better long term later. i just, i see the pros and cons of both, you know? and i'm trying to get more opinions on this, and you're you know, also, yeah." it's great when jamie starts to speak in broken sentences because trevor knows that that means he's having a hard time getting the words out. and for jamie, nothing is harder to say than the truth.
trevor decides to play a little. "you mean i'm literally the only other person in this exact situation and you want my advice?" jamie barks out a laugh. "don't get a big head, z."
"i'm going around the four year range. danny also really wants longer but i would rather take less right now and get paid when i feel like i really deserve it. i'm not close to where i want to be, you know that jim." there's a pause where trevor is pretty sure jamie is nodding without realizing that he can't see that. trevor blares his horn at the car in front that won't get a fucking move on when the light turned green two seconds ago.
"don't you worry though?" there's no follow up. trevor wants to grip jamie by the shoulders and tell him to just get to the fucking point. "worry about what, sweet jim?" he lets his voice go sing-songy at the end for maximum irritation.
"of course we could improve in the coming years and earn something bigger. but the opposite could also happen and we could get shipped out or traded just as easily, especially as we get older. there's more security in the long term now." trevor does his best to ignore the royal we.
"well, i don't know about you, jim, but i don't plan on not improving in the coming years. and honestly even more for you, dude, you have so much more room to improve. if you would just shoot the damn puck more like i keep telling you, your points would double at minimum." jamie exhales loudly from his nose. "it's not even just improvement, though. injuries happen too."
it's trevor's time to go silent. he races down the empty freeway, pushing the speed limit and letting the green of the trees on both sides blur together. to him, and to jamie, he knows intimately, there is nothing worse than being injured. it's definitively worse than being on a team that sucks, on a team with a coach that you dislike, any of that. to sit on your ass unable to do anything productive with the feeling of precious time slipping away had sapped away at the both of them. the fear of getting another severe injury and being put on LTIR is always there, and it's always there with jamie, too.
when jamie had got hit during that january ducks game and hadn't gotten up, trevor had blue screened. he doesn't even remember how he made it onto the ice and was down on a knee. when jamie sat up and trevor saw that he saw him, that was when he came down to earth. it seemed like a concussion, which trevor selfishly prayed for, because the return time would likely be shorter than a physical injury. after the game, cam had found him and they'd exchanged the normal "i hope he'll be back soon"s. but in a deep part of his chest, trevor had thought, 'you don't know. no one knows how much jamie suffers while being out injured except for me. not even his family. i was the only one who saw him fight through tears of frustration when he had to limit shoulder movement. i was the one who learned every small jamie tell in order to either cheer him up or quietly support him depending on the mood.' after that game he had to shake himself out of the funk, standing in the shower and letting the water wash away the day. goldfish memory, his hockey coaches had always him. goldfish memory, trevor.
"you can't live life scared of injury, jamie. and you're not that player anymore, you know how to play safer but play good." it's completely true and trevor believes it. jamie sighs deeply. "you're right, z. doesn't get rid of the worry, though."
"listen, jim, i don't know what else to say. i'm signing for four years probably and i really think you should as well. for all the reasons your agent has probably told you because they're valid. and all the reasons i've just told you because you deserve to bet on yourself. dude, you're going to be a 1D in this league just fucking believe and admit it already." trevor slams on the gas as the light turns green, the cars in the lanes next to him vanishing in half a second.
jamie laughs. "are you sure you don't just want us to have contracts ending the same year?"
"well, you know, i love you jimmy." he doesn't expect to hear it back.
"you're right. i'll go shorter term." trevor pulls into his garage, and sets the car in park. "maybe we'll hit the market together, worst case scenario?" it's a pretty bad joke, and kind of insulting in the implication that trevor also has a bad four years in this scenario.
before trevor can say something snarky in response, jamie continues. "okay, well, i gotta go. i told tara i would make dinner today and i'm already pushing it." trevor fiddles with the button on his seatbelt. click, click, click.
"well jim, those steaks won't cooke themselves. hey, don't change your mind, okay? hit the free agency market together, remember that." jamie laughs, a real laugh. "of course, z. bye."
trevor turns off the ignition and sits in the garage. the motion detector light that turned on when he was pulling in is off now, so he sits in the relative darkness, the leather seat getting sticky with thigh sweat. matching four year contracts, how about that.
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