Page 3 of Rinkmates

“Of course, you will, but this won’t fix everything. Houston has a nasty concussion andneedsto play. You better pray for a speedy recovery. His coach is furious, and so is the team. No parties for you until the end of the season, do you understand? They’ll rip you apart.”

I want to make a snarky remark about how another head injury wouldn’t make much of a difference when it came to Houston, but I keep my mouth shut. After all, what good would it do? Praying seemed like the only viable option at this point. But, well, the big man upstairs has better things to do than listen to my petty requests. He must’ve used up all his divine spark crafting my life of luxury in the lap of a rich-ass family. All I ended up with was a trust fund the size of a small nation’s GDP and a family hating my every being. So, in my case, money does squat to bring me joy.

“Look,” Ethan says, dragging his hand through his hair once more. “Nina and I have been talking. We both agreed you’ve got incredible potential. You could go all the way to being the number one player in history. But you won’t get there if you can’tkeep your temper in check. In fact, you’re so close to losing it all, and the sooner you understand, the better. I’ll be honest with you, I’m not sure you’ll be a player after this season, whether we win the Stanley Cup or not.”

My stomach knots as the truth hits me.

The worst part?

I knew it.

The moment Houston started provoking me, I knew it was a trap to get me off my game. I knew if I lost, it could be my last hit.

And yet, I did it anyway.

My foot taps nervously against the floor. “I’ll do whatever it takes,” I whisper, but as the words leave my mouth, I can feel doubt creeping in. Maybe Houston was right about me all along—just a spoiled nepo baby who doesn’t deserve to be on this team. My family’s influence and wealth had gotten me drafted while players like him had earned their spots. And just like that, the demons in my mind come to life again,whisperingI am not worthy enough and all my success is because of my father’s achievements.

Because, well, it is.

My parents were the ones who molded and manipulated me into this career, paying for everything until they saw their desired outcome of a successful hockey player son. The bitterness rises in my throat as I contemplate the fact that money can solve everything according to my parents. Everything but my damaged self.

Ethan claps me on the shoulder. “Yes, you will because there’s no other choice. Houston’s just as loaded as you, and I’ve got a hunch we’ll need to go all in when we hit the courtroom. Let’s hope it’s just a concussion and nothing more.”

The door creaks open, and out strides Houston’s agent, a bald man in a tailored gray suit screaming corporate power. My stomach plummets at the sight of him, but then I notice Ninatrailing behind, her bright smile a stark contrast to his imposing presence. I make a conscious effort to reign in my emotions. After all, Nina wouldn’t be beaming if it were truly the end of the world for me.

I observe as Houston’s agent saunters toward the entrance, completely disregarding my existence. He swings open the front door, and we’re hit with a wave of chaos from eager reporters and flashing cameras.

I cringe.

Of course, the whole circus has gathered out there to hear my side of the story after being hauled away by the cops again just three hours ago. It’s only seven in the morning, but these journalists never take a break.

Nina clears her throat, and when I finally look up, my sweet assistant is giving me the evil eye. And honestly, I can’t even blame her. She was thrilled to land this job. I am a star player, but, just as my dear old dad loves to say, I’m also the only mistake he’s ever made. Maybe Nina is starting to think so too.

“Good or bad news first?” she says, standing there like the little shy girl she’s always been.

The first time Ethan brought her along, I didn’t think she’d cut it, because she looked like she was twelve. She’s always flaunting her pink lip gloss, sporting merch from pop stars, and gulping down three hot cocoas daily. But here she is, outshining Ethan and me in handling lawsuits with finesse. She’s a maestro with numbers and a pro at connecting the dots, and when it’s time to call out my shit, I’d rather it come from her than Ethan. I bet those policemen were pleased to chat with her and not us. Ethan is the grumpiest guy I’ve ever met and I’m me. She’s dazzling. Her flawless brown skin and infectious smile could thaw the iciest of hearts. Despite our rocky start, she’s become something akin to my little sister.

“Bad,” I mutter, ignoring the disapproving look Ethan is giving me. I guess every word I say is bound to be off today.

“They won’t drop the case, so it’s going to court,” Nina says.

I rake my hand through my hair in frustration. Damn it. Mercer, my coach, will kill me. The team will. Dad will.

“But,” Nina interjects, wagging a finger at us, “they’re leaving the statement up to us and won’t use any footage against us, so we can control the narrative.”

Ethan lets out a sigh. “Thenarrative. You mean him being an idiot?”

“Absolutely not,” she exclaims, feigning shock, as if I haven’t acted like a complete fool—which we all know is the case. “We’ll make it seem…less foolish, but yeah, okay, it’s clear we need to change things.”

She looks at me and I don’t say anything, so she raises her eyebrows and I nod. “Yeah.” Yes, we do have to change something.

And that something is me.

News alert. I’ve been struggling with myself since birth.

“Oh, and…” Her voice falters, and I sense her struggle to speak.

“What else?” I ask.

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