Page 119 of A Little Complicated

“Me too,” he replies.

“You’re lucky you’re signed with the Lions,” my dad continues, “after a stunt like that. What about your future?”

Tension explodes at the base of my skull, and my upper lip curls. “Fuck my future.”

“Don’t say—”

“Fuck. My. Future.” I push myself away from the locker and pace the space like a caged bull. It isn’t fair. I know it isn’t. To take it out on them. They love me. They want me to be happy. But I can’t help it. It isn’t fair. That I don't get to keep her. That she’s going to belong to Archer when she belonged to me first.

“What’s going on, Maverick?” my dad orders.

Adrenaline and rage sizzle beneath my skin, making me want to scrape at it with my fingers, but I keep my hands fisted because if I start, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop.

“Maverick,” Dad prods. It’s sharp. Direct. So is his stare.

I look down at the ground, my muscles trembling. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Don’t lie to me.” His tone softens. “This isn’t like you. You’ve been on a slippery slope for a while now. Ever since the end of last season. It’s like you don’t even want this anymore.”

“Maybe I don’t,” I say numbly.

“Don’t say that,” Archer spits from the metal bench between the lockers.

Fine.I won’t say anything at all.

I stop pacing and face my father again. “Do you need to say anything else?”

“You aren’t going to talk about this with me? With us?”

“Do you need anything else?” I repeat through clenched teeth.

Another wave of disappointment flares in his eyes, but he shakes his head. “No, son. I don’t.”

“Good.”Say it, Maverick. Just spit it out.“I’m done with hockey.”

A divot forms between his brows, and my dad cocks his head as he stares at me. I wait for his disappointment, his disgust. But only confusion shines back at me in his blue eyes that match Archer’s and mine.

“What do you mean?” he finally asks.

“I mean, I’m done,” I repeat. My doctor’s comments from earlier urging me to finish. To fucking say it. “I’m done with hockey. With LAU. The NHL. All of it.”

My father pales as if he doesn’t even know me anymore. As if I’m a stranger instead of his own son. “Maverick…”

“I quit, Dad. And there isn’t anything you can say or do to change my mind.” I don’t give him a chance to yell at me or demand we talk about this some more. I head to the showers and turn the water on, wishing the icy spray would ease the guilt on my shoulders and wash away the regret clinging to my heated skin. But it doesn’t do shit.

Nothing does.

Fuck.

38

OPHELIA

I’m freaking out.

Freak. Ing. Out.

Maverick isn’t answering my texts, and I haven’t seen him since he disappeared into the locker room with Archer. Now, here I am, in the passenger seat of Archer’s car, going out of my mind with worry and confusion.

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