Page 109 of The Love You Win

Because I’m a coward.

And I’m not ready to lose him.

The words I love you tingle on the tip of my tongue. Like sweet poison I can’t find the strength to expel.

His ragged breathing cuts through the speaker and saws through my chest.

“Maddox?”

He takes long enough to respond that I think he may not answer. “Yeah.”

“I…” My damned tongue goes numb. “Have fun with the guys. Talk to you tomorrow?”

“We have a really full day tomorrow. Don’t know if I’ll have time to call you.”

The first tear rolls down my cheek. I want to scream.

But all I can muster is a whisper.

“Okay. Have a good game tomorrow. I miss you.”

I hold my breath, waiting for him to reply in kind. He doesn’t. He doesn’t say anything at all.

He simply hangs up.

forty-nine

MADDOX

My shoulder throbs as I skate away from the New York Bobcats’ defenseman. He pushes up off the ice with a glare.

“What’s up with you?” Logan asks me as we grapple with our opponent for the puck. “I’ve never seen you throw so many hits.”

The Bobcats’ left defenseman comes barreling toward me. I dodge him at the last second and throw my elbow. He slams into the glass with a satisfying thud. I shoot Logan a glare. “Are we playing a game or having a therapy session?”

“Looks like you could use a therapy session,” Byrne mutters under his breath. Ignoring him, I focus on the only thing keeping me from screaming. The game. If my mind is on the puck, it can’t be on a certain redhead who’s been using me just like Candace did. Isla’s just a better actress.

We’re up five to two with four minutes left in the third. Half of New York’s fans have already started leaving the arena. They know as well as we do there’s no coming back from that in four minutes. Especially not with the way I’m playing tonight.

I’m exorcizing all these putrid emotions eating away at my insides. Turning them on the Bobcats is a hell of a lot more satisfying than letting them eat me alive.

They’ll have plenty of time for that later.

For now, I force them to fuel me.

My world narrows down to my teammates, the ice, and the puck.

Logan chips the puck off the boards, getting it perfectly placed in front of me. I slap it to Wright, who dekes right, then left, then sends it flying with a sharp crack. Right past the goalie and into the five hole. The stunned goalie looks down between his legs, as if he can’t believe he missed blocking the shot.

The New York fans can’t believe it, either. A chorus of boos fill the arena as the time ticks down.

Thirty seconds.

Twenty.

Ten.

The buzzer sounds, and the disappointed announcer calls the win in our favor.

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