Page 99 of Pucking Amazing

“Syd! Stop disappearing. Oh—” his voice softens. “I see you’ve met our future team owner,” he booms with false joviality. “Amelia here is shadowing her parents to learn the ropes.”

I plaster on a bright smile, suppressing my rising shame. Just smile and spin, that’s my job now. Never mind that I’m failing miserably at actually helping these players...

Vincent steers me away, updating me on what’s happened. Mikey showed up high as a kite and made a massive scene, screaming at the serving staff and getting belligerent with the restaurant’s manager when he tried to intervene.

It was ugly…and extremely public. Mikey’s already left the premises, so there’s not much I can do until he’s located.

“No luck yet,” Vincent grunts. “We’ve tried his home, his girlfriend’s place, his favorite restaurants. Any ideas?”

I chew my lip, racking my brain. Where would a troubled young athlete go to escape? To get away from the pressure, the scrutiny, the constant fear of screwing up?

Suddenly it hits me. “The rink,” I blurt out. “He’d go to the one place that feels like home. Where he feels safe and in control.”

Vincent’s eyes widen. He whips out his phone and starts barking orders. Within minutes, we’re racing across town in his sleek Audi, tires squealing as we take corners at breakneck speed.

As we pull up to the darkened practice arena, my heart is pounding.

Please let him be here. Please let him be okay.

Vincent uses his master key to let us in the back entrance. The cavernous space is eerie, all shadows and silence. Our footsteps echo as we make our way down to the ice.

And there, sitting hunched in the center of the ice, is Mikey. My heart clenches at the sight of him. Slowly, I make my way across the ice to join him, my shoes slipping on the slick surface.

Mikey’s bloodshot eyes peer out at me. “Whadda you want?” he slurs.

“We’re here to help, Mikey.” I keep my voice gentle but firm. “You need to get treatment. We’ll be with you every step of the way.”

He stands, then nearly slips.

Vincent has walked up behind me and steps forward to catch his elbow. “C’mon, son. Let us help you.”

Mikey looks between us, his face sad and exhausted, and suddenly his shoulders sag, the fight gone out of him. He lets himself be led off the ice.

An hour later, Mikey’s quietly checked into rehab and I’m in a conference room, staring down a social media nightmare. Coach Daniels paces while Chloe scrolls through her phone with a deepening frown.

“TMZ’s already picked it up,” she reports. “Photos of Mikey leaving the restaurant drunk off his ass with a black eye and a bloody nose. Speculation about him groping the team owner’s daughter.”

Coach slams a fist on the table. “Goddamnit!”

I massage my temples, a headache building. It was my job to prevent this exact scenario. Some addiction specialist I’m turning out to be.

Paul’s mocking voice slithers through my mind. “You’re out of your depth, Syd. You can’t handle this. You’re going to fail, just like always.”

I shake my head, trying to dislodge his poisonous words. But they cling like cobwebs, sticky and cloying.

Vincent catches my eye from across the table, his gaze concerned.

I look away, shame burning my cheeks. I’ve let him down. Let them all down.

“We need to release a statement,” Chloe is saying. “Something to explain Mikey’s absence, spin this in a sympathetic light...”

Their voices fade to a distant buzz as Paul’s taunts grow louder, drowning out all else. “You’re weak, Syd. You’ll never be enough... Where were you when this was going down? Fucking some hockey players like a slut?”

I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing the heels of my hands against them, willing Paul’s voice to disappear.

A gentle touch on my shoulder startles me and my eyes fly open. Coach Daniels is crouched beside my chair, his eyes soft with concern.

“Hey,” he says quietly. “You okay?”

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