Spur of the moment media piece. It's been a long while since I wrote anything even remotely character-related for Finn. Read it or don't, I just wanted to do some character writing and get it off my chest. Plus money.
WC:1817
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“Yeah. I’m still shaking a bit from the cup win, and then I’ve got worlds to think about, but… yeah. I’m testing the waters this year.”
His voice is quivering with excitement as he tries to contain himself, but how can he when he’s on the phone with his dear father, the same man that enabled him so much so long ago? It’s a miracle he could even get the words out without breaking down in his Miami apartment--and he’s damn close to doing it too. There’s tears welling up in his eyes but he chokes them back and laughs into the receiver.
“Yes, father. Yes. I’m boarding a plane for Austria in about ten hours, and then it’s bright and early for team training tomorrow. Then world championships… Yes. Yes, I’m going to try my hardest, don’t I always?... I know, I know, but it is what it is. I do what I’m told.
“Yes I’ll call you once I’ve made a decision. I promise, you’ll be the first to know. I still have to meet with my agent about it… Yes. I know, mother must be making dinner. Yes, go eat. I’ll call you when I’m in Austria. Okay? Alright. I love you.”
He’s practically done packing. An 8PM flight from Miami International Airport to Vienna… and from there to the hotel. Then a quick turnaround for practice with the German squad in the morning… maybe lunch with Rhys and Konig afterwards. A busy 32 hours. A painfully busy 32 hours. Still, it’s something to take the mind off of everything else going on. It’ll make the hectic thoughts of free agency and the hype coming off of the Cup win seem so far away. A very nice break, a well-deserved one.
Finn Krüger is an exhausted, exhausted man.
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Austria’s prettier than he remembers. It’s been a very long time since he’s been in the country, but everything is so nice. Calm in some places, action-packed in others. Of course, the hype around the tournament makes everything feel a thousand times more electric. Even if they want to boo you, it’s still attention. And if he looks good, then Germany looks good--or, so he’d like to believe. Truth be told, the offseason’s felt miles different this year than it ever did before. Maybe it’s the impending sense of massive change, but everything feels much less fun than it used to. Maybe that’s just the feeling of finally getting old and experienced. After all, he’s a veteran now.
So why doesn’t he feel like it?
Why does the young Cologne native still feel like a little kid, lost in the shuffle of moving up and down all over the place, a little marionette wearing pads and a hockey sweater. Boy, there’s a nerve-wracking feeling. That’s one that he’d rather not feel. IIHF was supposed to take his mind off of things, not immediately back onto them.
It doesn’t help that the team ultimately winds up going out of the medals in the first round. The Finns are a good club though, there’s a lot of talent on that roster. He knows that. But it means that he has to return home and really start thinking about things. And there’s a lot that it’s going to come down to but everything is noise and light and it hurts a bit. Truth be told, he feels a little bit like throwing up.
And Finn Krüger heaves in the bathroom and then has a breakdown in his hotel room four hours before he’s supposed to fly home to Cologne and visit his family. That thing he promised himself he wouldn’t do when it came to this stuff.
Even still, he manages to clean himself up and remain postured for his family. Yeah, you’re supposed to open up to your family but it’s business stuff that he’d rather not taint his visit home with. He’d rather focus on his mother and father, their business. Their work. How they’re doing at home and what their plan is.
“Actually, your mother and I were planning to move to the United States. To be a bit closer to you, maybe come to some of your games in West Kendall.”
He nearly chokes on his food when he hears that.
“Maybe hold off on that for just a little while longer, father. You never know how things change.” He says, shaking off what might’ve been his premature death. The headlines are already in his head: ‘SHL Defenceman chokes to death in Cologne home, parents baffled.’ He laughs softly to himself, at which his mother raises an eye. He smiles at her and she smiles back, returning to her food and mentioning something about the Bundesliga to his father.
There’s that nausea again, rising like a wave up through his stomach. He excuses himself for the bathroom and heaves again.
Soon he leaves, however, and once his plane has touched back down in Miami, he’s missed fifteen text messages and eight calls from his agent. He presses on the ‘Call’ button and braces himself.
“Back in the states, then?”
“Yes, Sebastien. I’m back. Quite literally just touched down.”
“I’ll take the snark in your tone as a sign that you got my messages. We’ve got meetings with a few teams tomorrow, I hope that you’re ready.”
“I’ll be honest with you, Seb. I’ve thrown up… probably four or five times thinking about this in the last few weeks. My gut has been turned upside down half a dozen fucking times and I don’t know if I’m going to be able to handle this.”
There’s a particularly deafening silence that permeates the call. This isn’t an unfamiliar road for Sebastien Martineau, who’s had the conversation about free agency more than once with Finn. He’s been his agent as long as he’s been in the US and after nearly a decade together, Krüger is more than well aware that the silence isn’t malicious--merely thinking. Finally, the older man breaks the silence.
“Finn. How long have we been talking about this day?”
“A long while, Seb.”
“And so are you going to back down right now? This has been on your mind so much that you’re psyching yourself out… Look. Whether you want to believe me or not, you’re like a second son to me. All I want is the best for you. We’ve been in this together long enough that at the end of the day, I’m as interested in making life good for you as I am anything else.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll be down tomorrow. We’ll get lunch. Then we’ll start talking with some teams. Get an idea of who you’re interested in and then start talking contracts.”
“Yes. Thank you, Sebastien. I’ll see you tomorrow, yes?”
“Alright. Get some rest, Finn. Take an ibuprofen and a nap. You’ve got the entire future ahead of you tomorrow…”
There’s almost an audible smirk coming through the phone.
“...sorry, no pressure. Take it easy, bud.”
A click on the line. Finn Krüger heads for the luggage carousel and waits patiently for his bag, fighting the sickening nerves in his stomach.
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“So… I think that’s everyone who came down to Miami to talk.” Sebastien knocks back a small glass of whisky, turning with purpose to his client. “Your thoughts, Finn?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know. It’s a lot to take in. I’m surprised at the amount of people who came out to talk.”
“You need to quit being so fuckin’ down on yourself. You might not be happy with your play, but the rest of the league is ecstatic that you’re even on the market. Any teams immediately stand out?”
“Hamilton. Lot of old friends there. Konig too. Beyond that… Seattle. Got some old Mammoths connections there. Winnipeg too, it would be more than amazing to see Volkova and the kids again. Been such a long time since I got to even speak to her… West Kendall, of course.”
“Okay. So knock the rest of the teams away--”
“But they’re good offers!”
“Doesn’t matter. Your gut didn’t say their names just now. Your gut said Hamilton, Winnipeg, Seattle, and West Kendall. Trust your gut. Tell me about every team, whatever comes to mind. Start with… Seattle.”
“Open first pairing spot, guaranteed minutes, old connections. One of the greatest cities in the US. Great fans. Close to Canada for easy trips. Young but on the rise.”
“Winnipeg.”
“Winning culture. First pairing spot. Connections to my draft class. Seeing Volks again. Dedicated fanbase, in Canada. Great city name.”
“Hamilton.”
“Plenty of old friends. Plenty, plenty, plenty of old friends. More connections than I can even think of. Playing time. In Canada, still in the East Coast. First pairing spot… they’re also a bird team.” He says, laughing.
Seb laughs too, before sighing. “And West Kendall.”
“Family. Playing time, first pairing spot, just off a cup championship, but more than that--family.”
“Okay. There’s your gut reactions. Now, let’s put those aside and have a few drinks.”
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One in the afternoon. Head pounding with every pulse. The sight of Sebastien Martineau slumped over the couch, holding his head and a glass of water. He looks over and smiles widely at him, raising his glass.
“I always forget how talkative you get when you’re drunk.”
He smiles at him, practically beaming.
“Hamilton.”
He smiles back, wider.
“I’ll call Phelps right away.”
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Preseason doesn’t go like he’d like. He still isn’t putting points up like he used to, he still isn’t hitting or blocking shots like he used to. If anything, he’s done nothing but regress from a few seasons ago. Still, there’s an amazing feeling of wearing a new sweater and taking the ice with amazing friends, old and new. The apartment in Hamilton is nice, about as nice as he’s used to. It holds his gear, his bed, his TV. It’s a cozy place to cook dinner and then lay in bed, watching old re-runs of Seinfeld or whatever the hot new series on Netflix is. Maybe boot up the Playstation and kick around in FIFA. Play some Rocket League.
His father calls and starts making plans to move to Canada, though Finn still advises against it. After all, the sport is tumultuous and it’s never a guarantee that he’ll be in Hamilton again tomorrow. Maybe they’ll deal him in a blockbuster trade during a cup run. Maybe they won’t. It’s never a guarantee in this business.
But for now, he gets to spend more time with Konig outside of worlds. He gets to see his old friends in Robert and Angelo again. He gets to meet the newest blood. It’s a beautiful, if incredibly bizarre feeling. Doing something so familiar in a place so unfamiliar.
Phelpsy calls his name from outside the locker room, jogging in and smiling.
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