I crept through the carpeted hallways of my apartment building the next morning, still dressed in the clothes I had worn the night before. Luis’s door was open—he must have posted bail or something—but when I walked by, it slammed shut.

It sounded like an attempt at a deliberate shun, which would have made me laugh if I hadn’t been so tired. It fascinated me that the little troll still thought that I had any interest at all. Unwilling to waste any more brain energy on him, I shook it off and walked into my apartment.

Flinging my arms wide, I embraced my sacred space. My feminine touches, my useless pretty things, my pastel walls and squishy couches. Not that Dante’s place was bad. It was a handsome apartment—expensive, sound, and attractive—but it was all him. The last few days had been so draining that I wanted nothing more than to curl up in my own space, surrounded by my own things, and take a nice long nap.

“Not today,” I told myself firmly. “You have work to do.”

Dante and I had stayed up till the wee hours of the morning, talking about his career between cuddles and caresses. I’d enjoyed hearing him talk about his passion. It had given me a new idea for my article, one which I was eager to put to paper.

“No notes today. All in my head,” I murmured, glancing at the stack of legal pads which usually held the bones of my articles.

I sucked in a deep breath and cracked my knuckles, rolling my shoulders and tossing my hair back. Laser focus on.

The Making of a Legend

Thirty years ago, a little boy played in an abandoned parking lot with a thrift-store hockey stick and a flattened coke can. Too little to join his brothers in their sports, he took to entertaining himself, mimicking what he saw on his dad’s garage TV every hockey season. Through struggles in school, first loves, first heartbreaks, and his very first sports car, this boy’s first love and greatest passion remained: hockey. His name was Dante Drake.

Nearly ten years later, another little boy, Joel Palmer, was given the chance of a lifetime. His father, best friends with some of the biggest names in the game, built him his own miniature rink in their backyard. Every day, he would take the boy out to teach him how to play. This boy worked hard, until he was confident in showing off for his dad’s friends. He fell in love with the game and spent all of his spare time improving.

Dante worked hard, raking leaves and mowing lawns, cleaning houses, and babysitting. His parents never stopped encouraging him, but they were strapped for cash with three other children to care for. He persevered, however, and joined a children’s league when he was twelve years old. It was a struggle for him at first; he had never been on ice skates before, and his tin can practice was nothing like playing with a real puck on the ice. One night he went home, disheartened and discouraged, intent on telling his dad that he was going to quit.

His parents were talking when he came home. His mother was crying. Young and frightened, Dante stopped to listen. He heard his mother lament the lack of opportunities her children had, curing herself and the world for being so hard to move through. He heard his father telling her sternly that their kids were strong, smart, and talented; if the opportunities wouldn’t come, they would make their own. He held Dante up as an example. Of course, Dante couldn’t quit after that. He would never break his mother’s heart if he could help it.

At the same age, Joel was beginning to feel the pressure. His father constantly talked about how he would make the big leagues and make them all rich. Though his family had never been poor, Joel’s dad was always on the lookout for the next big thing, his next big break. Joel didn’t want to be his father’s golden goose, and said as much. In spite of his father’s insistence and frequent rages, Joel abandoned the game for two full years.

When Joel was in seventh grade, his father barely survived a heart attack. When his father was in surgery, Joel overheard his mother talking with her sister, telling her that she didn’t know what they were going to do if he didn’t pull through. That very night, Joel refroze his homemade rink and began practicing again, swearing to himself that his mother would never have to worry for her future ever again. He joined the youth league and instantly became the star of the county; by the end of the year, he had caught the nation’s attention.

Dante threw himself into his training and made his parents proud. He put himself through college on a hockey scholarship, and found himself a manager before graduation. Within a few years, he was signed to the Portland Harriers, in a moment which has been permanently immortalized on his mother’s living room wall. He made it—through the sweat of his brow and by the skin of his teeth, as his father would say—and he is rightfully proud of his accomplishment.

Joel literally skated through the children’s league and college hockey. His next stumbling block was during his sophomore year of college, when both his parents were seriously injured in a car accident. Joel moved home for two years until his sister graduated and was free to take over, by which point Joel was barely able to get back on the college team; one more setback likely would have been the nail in the coffin of his career.

That final setback came in the form of yet another heart attack. This one was not so merciful, and his father passed away. Joel was prepared to drop out of college to care for his mother, forfeiting his hockey career before it began, and it was only the generosity of Mick Alder, co-owner of the Harriers and his father’s best friend, which kept him where he was. Alder took care of Joel’s mother financially, and offered Joel’s sister an annual stipend to attend to their mother’s day-to-day needs, thus enabling Joel to finish his college career and become available for the major league. On the day of Joel’s graduation, Alder signed him to the Harriers.

You may think that these two star players from such different backgrounds would never find common ground. Dante will admit that it was difficult for him to accept Joel at first; he perceived him to be spoiled, from a privileged background—a child who had everything handed to him. Joel found Dante to be rough and frequently unreasonable. Through a great deal of hard work and intentional team playing, the two of them finally found their footing.

“I want him to struggle. The only way to actualize your potential is through struggle and hard work. Joel has the potential to become a legend in his own right, and as his mentor and team leader, it’s my job to make sure he gets there.” – Dante Drake.

“I’m ready. I want to know everything he knows, and then I want to learn more. And I’ll do whatever it takes. I’m ready. I want to be the next Harriers legend. Not a replacement, but a worthy successor.” – Joel Palmer.

Yes, Joel, we believe you are. And better yet, Dante believes you are. Keep an eye on the Harriers, dear readers; you’ll be witness to the making of a new legend.

The final article came easier than any of my previous attempts. Dante and Joel had both given me permission to tell their stories, which I was infinitely grateful for. Without that, I wouldn’t have been able to put it together, to show how similar their lives had been in spite of their backgrounds. I hoped they would read it that way.

With six hours left until my deadline, I sent the article to Jimmy.

“Now what?” I asked myself, staring at my computer. That familiar panic jumped in my chest. “I have nothing in my work queue!”

My energy switched into high gear and I cycled through all of my emails, job boards, and open submissions. Within three hours, I had compiled a month’s worth of work, and had begun to brainstorm article ideas.

Just when I was confident enough to pitch a bid, an email popped up in my inbox. It was Jim from the Crier, and my stomach flopped instantly. He had responded too quickly. Was the article terrible? Would I need to start from scratch, with my notes and scrapped attempts? I hissed a breath through my teeth as I opened the email.

Ms. Ramos,

Excellent work! This is exactly the sort of feature we were hoping for. In fact, we would like to see more of these. The background of the stars, hard work stories, humanization of legends. To that end, we would like to extend an offer to you.

Attached is a contract for you to look over. Take your time, and feel free to have a lawyer comb through it at our expense. If you find the terms to your liking, please have a signed, notarized copy sent to the office at your convenience.

Jim DeLeary

My heart pounded as I opened up the attached contract. I scanned through it quickly until I found the meat of it, and then my jaw dropped. I stared until black spots flickered around my peripheral vision, then I gasped for the breath I had forgotten to take.

A weekly column, in my name. More money than I had ever had in my account at once, every single month.

“Who needs a lawyer? I’m taking this.”

My instinct was to sign immediately, but the responsible adult in my head wasn’t having it. I called up my friend Jenny, who drafted legal documents for a living.

“Holy cow,” she whistled when I told her the details of the contract. “That’s a lot of money.”

“Right? Which is why I desperately need you to look over this to make sure they aren’t screwing me in the fine print.”

“Yeah, absolutely. I’m free for the next hour; can you come by the office?”

“I’ll be right there. Oh, and you can bill the Crier for your time, apparently.”

“Nice,” she said happily. “I might take a couple hours and go over this real carefully.”

I laughed as I hung up, printed the contract, and made for the door. I felt like I was holding a dream in my hand. It was silly to be so careful with a stack of papers, but I couldn’t help it. This was everything I’d ever wanted from my career, and possibly more. I had seen my big break and taken it.