Page 98 of The Love You Win

My friend and goalie studies me. He takes in my ticking jaw, the fire in my eyes, and my clenching fist. “Is he bothering her? Do we need to beat this guy’s ass?”

I want to. After everything he did to her, he’s going to comment trash like this? Why hasn’t she blocked him? And why hasn’t she deleted the comments?

“I don’t know. Maybe? I didn’t even realize they were still following each other or in contact. When he showed up the other day, she was pretty shaken. It just doesn’t make sense.”

Bash claps a hand on my back. “Talk to her. I’m sure there’s an explanation. Don’t let this psych you out, Madds. We need to win this game.”

“Right.” I lock my phone and toss it in my duffel bag. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep my head in the game.”

“You better.” Bash stands right as Coach storms into the locker room.

“All right, men. Everyone ready? This isn’t the preseason anymore. I expect each and every one of you to play like the professionals you are. Play your best, kick some ass, and”—he looks at me—”keep your personal shit off the ice. Got it?”

Everyone shouts their agreement, even me. The problem is that sometimes divorcing yourself from your life when your blades hit the ice is easier said than done.

We lose the game by one goal in the third. Everyone played hard, but that doesn’t stop the fans from pitching a fit at the end of the game.

Nothing like skating off the ice to boos and jeers.

Coach rips us new assholes for a solid twenty minutes before storming out of the locker room, red-faced and fuming.

I feel responsible. I had the perfect opportunity to score in the second, and I bounced the damned puck off the iron. If I hadn’t missed, we would have tied and had a chance.

“Dude. This isn’t your fault.” Logan bumps me with his knee while I mope on the bench. I need to shower and change, but can’t seem to find the motivation.

“I missed that shot,” I growl.

“Yeah, and I missed three,” Sebastian says, drying his hair with a towel as he ambles toward his locker to get dressed. “It wasn’t our best game. But it’s only the first of the season. You can’t win them all.”

I rake my fingers through my sweaty hair. “Yeah, but people were already giving Isla shit. It’s going to be worse now. She wasn’t even here, but you know they’ll blame her.”

“Maybe.” Navarro tugs a henley over his head. “But you can’t control random assholes on the internet, Madds. The best thing you can do right now is shower, get dressed, and go make sure your girl knows you care about her.”

“I know,” I say. “I just… fuck. I can feel her pulling away ever since that preseason game and I’m freaking out.”

“You’ve got your issues, and she’s got hers. If I had to guess, I’d bet she’s freaking out, too. Go to her place. Show up with dinner and ice cream or something. Spend the night making love to her. Tell her you’re not going anywhere and that you don’t buy into any of the garbage those trolls are saying.” Navarro pins me with a serious look. “Tell her you love her.”

My heart skips a beat, and I suck in a deep breath. “It’s too soon for that.”

“Bullshit,” Griffin says. “Love doesn’t have a timeline.” With his hands on his hips, he stares at me. “Is she the first thing you think about in the morning when you wake up and the last thing you think about at night before you start snoring?”

“Yeah,” I say. “But I don’t snore.”

Wright rolls his eyes. “Do you have to keep yourself from beating the crap out of anyone that looks at her the wrong way or hurts her feelings?”

I nod.

“Do you break out in a cold sweat at the thought of her leaving? At the idea of her ending things?”

I nod again.

“Call it whatever you want, Graves, but it sounds a helluva lot like love to me.”

Griffin’s words slam into me like a freight train running at max speed. Because he’s right. I think maybe I do love her.

forty-five

ISLA

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