Page 6 of Power Forward

“Nothing.” He shakes his head. “Nothing. I’ve just never seen Jackson be so…” He waves his free hand like he’s trying to think of the right words.

“Standoffish,” Alex supplies.

“He did get a phone call from the kids earlier. Not sure what happened, but maybe it’s playing on his mind?” Peyton suggests with a shrug.

Or maybe it’s me.

But I don’t say that. That would mean explainingwhy,and that’s not a box I want to open right now.

Plastering on what I hope is a convincing smile, I let them know I also need a drink, but instead of heading to the bar, I walk to the edge of the courtyard as numbness takes over my insides. A feeling that has been consistent since being forced to hang up my skates before I was ready.

When I stepped out onto the ice every night, I was loved. Adored. But the moment I retired, it was like I was forgotten. I became just another player to come and go from the sport. To have their career end earlier than expected. I went from spending a majority of my time with a group of guys to having multiple surgeries and nothing but my own mind for company while I recovered.

Nobody really understands how fucking lonely it is.

You’re in the limelight, at the pinnacle of the sport that you’ve devoted your life to since you were a kid, then that’s it. With a snap of the fingers, it’s gone in a puff of smoke.Now, you’re someone who’s only remembered on “hockey’s worst on-ice injuries” clips online. Even the players’ association didn’t care once the doctors confirmed I wouldn’t be returning to the ice.

I was brushed aside like a dirty alley cat, left to fend for myself with the constant reminder that I failed.

I failed Jackson.

I failed Zara.

I failed my career.

As I watch Jackson’s retreating back disappear into the crowd, I can’t help but wonder if he would look at me differently if he knew about the inner demon that’s been living inside of me for so long. That I’ve allowed it to eat away at my life, stopping me from living. To just be… existing. Now, I’m living the life I loved so much through my clients instead.

Or would he see me as the weak man that I am underneath the façade I try so fucking hard to keep up?

Or would he be glad that he cut me out of his life when he did?

I guess I’ll never get the chance to know.

Chapter Three

Jackson

“Whiskey, neat.” I pull out a twenty-dollar bill from my pocket. “Actually, best make it a double.”

“You got it.” The bartender makes quick work of pouring definitely more than a double into a glass tumbler and slides it across the surface.

“Thanks,” I say, stuffing the twenty in the glass jar. Turning on my heel, I head toward the edge of the patio so I’m out of the way. With it being an open bar and a bunch of hockey players in attendance, it’s very busy and only getting more rowdy as the night goes on. The liquid burns my throat when I swallow it down, but I revel in it. It gives me something else to focus on other than my heart beating hard in my chest.

Whiskey isn’t my typical drink of choice, but it was always Hayden’s. For weeks after we broke up, it became my crutch. Loving how it tasted on my lips because it reminded me of him. But then the heartbreak turned into anger, and I haven’t touched a drop since.

Until now.

It wasn’t my intention to be rude and walk away from my teammates like a grumpy teenager, but fuck, I needed some air. Which is ironic, considering we’re already outside, but being in close proximity to Hayden again is too much.

It’s been fourteen years, damnit.Fourteen. Surely I should be immune to him by now. I shouldn’t want to simultaneously punch him in the face and stick my tongue down his throat. I shouldn’t want to bury my face in his neck, inhaling his scent until it’s ingrained in my soul. I shouldn’t care about him in any way whatsoever. He made his bed and lay in it when he threw what we had away without so much as a second thought. We both moved on, married our respective wives—albeit we both got divorced from those wives, but that’s neither here nor there.

I’m struggling to understand why I’m still affected by him after all this time. It’s like the Hayden Cassidy homing beacon that’s been dormant inside me for over a decade has kick-started, and every single one of my senses has been programmed to focus on him.

It’s stifling.

Throughout dinner, the only sound I could hear over the music and chatter was his deep, husky laughter. The smell of his spicy cologne has stayed with me all day, torturing me because he smells as good as I remember. And every time I looked in his direction, his eyes were zeroed in on me. Paying no attention to whoever he was talking to at the time, simply watching me with those intense gray eyes.

There was one thing I noticed, however, and that was whenever he laughed or smiled, it never quite reached his eyes.

---