Page 50 of Off the Ice

“Noted,” I said, hiding a smile as he smirked and disappeared into the crowd.

As the night wore on, the party shifted into that hazy space between loud fun and late-night confessions. The laughter grew a little louder, the jokes a little cruder, and the drinks flowed like water. I found myself laughing with the players, watching Logan slip effortlessly between host and teammate, his charisma lighting up the room.

But as the clock ticked past midnight, the mood shifted.

It started small—Darren, who had been hovering near the bar all night, knocking over an empty beer bottle and cursing loudly as it clattered to the floor. A few of the guys laughed it off, but I noticed the way Darren’s hands shook as he grabbed another drink. His movements were jittery, his eyes darting around the room like he was waiting for something—or someone—to jump out at him.

“Darren, you good?” Jaymie called from across the room, his tone light but curious.

Darren didn’t answer. Instead, he stumbled into the center of the room, his face flushed and his movements unsteady. He was holding a nearly empty beer bottle, waving it like a prop as he slurred his words.

“You know what’s funny?” he said loudly, his voice cutting through the noise and drawing the room’s attention. “Everyone thinks hockey’s about the team. About loyalty. But it’s all bullshit.”

The laughter and chatter died instantly, replaced by a tense, uneasy silence. All eyes turned to Darren, whose face twisted with something I couldn’t quite name—anger, fear, maybe both.

“Darren,” Logan said sharply, stepping forward. “Maybe it’s time to call it a night.”

Darren ignored him, his voice rising with every word. “No, I’m serious! You think these guys have your back? You think the league gives a damn about us? They don’t. They never did.”

“Hey, man, calm down,” Connor said, his tone cautious as he exchanged a look with Logan. But Darren wasn’t calming down. If anything, he was ramping up.

“They’re coming after me, Bennett,” Darren said, his voice cracking as his eyes darted around the room. “And I can’t—I can’t stop it. I tried. I tried to keep my head down, to play the game, but they don’t care. They don’t care about me. They don’t care about any of us.”

The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. The players, who had been boisterous and carefree moments ago, now looked on with a mix of confusion and concern.

Logan stepped forward, his tone measured but firm. “Darren, let’s take this outside. Come on.”

But Darren shook his head, his expression wild. “What’s the point? They already know. They already know everything! You think they’re gonna stop? You think they’re just gonna let me walk away?”

His voice cracked, and for a moment, I thought he might break down completely. Logan moved quickly, closing the distance between them and grabbing Darren by the shoulders.

“Enough,” Logan said, his voice low but commanding. “We’re going outside. Now.”

Darren hesitated, his chest heaving as he looked around the room. His gaze flicked to me, his eyes wide and glassy, before he finally let Logan steer him toward the balcony. The door slid shut behind them, cutting off the muffled sound of Darren’s voice.

The rest of the team exchanged uneasy glances, the tension in the room palpable. I stood frozen, my mind racing with questions I didn’t know how to ask. Jaymie muttered something under his breath, shaking his head as he grabbed a drink from the bar.

“What the hell was that about?” Mallory asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

No one answered. The weight of Darren’s words lingered in the air, heavy and undeniable.

Twenty Seven

Logan

Themorningaftertheparty, the weight of Darren’s drunken state still sat heavy on my chest. I couldn’t shake the image of him in my penthouse, slurring his words, his face flushed with booze and panic. He looked like a kid who’d just seen the end of the world, and the worst part was, I still didn’t know how to fix it.

I’d managed to get him into an Uber with Jaymie as backup, promising Darren that we’d figure it out, that he wasn’t alone. But his words“They already know. They already know everything.”—kept echoing in my head, leaving a sour taste in my mouth. Who the hell werethey,and why hadn’t I seen this coming?

Practice in the afternoon also felt off. Darren was quieter than usual, sticking to himself and avoiding eye contact with anyone. The guys noticed, too, throwing him concerned glances in the locker room, but no one said anything. Not yet.

“Everything okay with Rivers?” Connor asked as we geared up. His tone was casual, but the weight behind his words wasn’t. I was hoping everyone would have forgotten what he had said. Fuck.

“He’ll be fine,” I said, not meeting his gaze. “Just a rough night.”

Connor didn’t push, but the tension in his expression didn’t ease.

I tried to focus on the ice, on the drills and the plays, but my head wasn’t in it. Every time I looked at Darren, I saw the cracks starting to form—the way he flinched when the coaches barked instructions, the way his shoulders hunched like he was carrying something too heavy for one person. And then there was Riker, pacing behind the bench like he always did, barking out orders like he had a personal stake in the outcome of every drill. My stomach churned every time I caught his eye, the suspicion I’d been trying to bury threatening to bubble over.

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