Page 56 of Unleashed

“I want to play.” The words came sharper, harder than intended. “If you’re not pulling me, I want to play.”

I turned to Dr. Preston. He sighed. “I don’t have to pull you for a meniscus tear. Not if you’ve been playing on it for the last two months. If you can tolerate it, if the pain isn’t a factor—”

“Not a factor.”

“We evaluate regularly. Your knee stability may not hold. You’re going to be at a higher risk for a ligament injury and for long term repercussions. But yes, I can sign off on you playing if you swear to me and your coach right now that you will communicate any changes in symptoms. That you agree to closer monitoring by the medical staff as well as the trainers. And you express understanding that you do risk worsening the condition of your knee.”

Coach Mack slapped the arm of his chair. “You damn well better communicate, Viggy. This is bullshit.”

“I will, Coach. You have my word.”

“PR wise,” Dante cut in, “we’ll start with a press release. Frame it as playing through adversity. Team first mentality.”

Coach snorted. “Team first would have been reporting the injury when it happened. Team first would have been giving your head coach time to prepare for the increased likelihood of you not being in the line-up.”

My guilt twisted, fear rising at Coach voicing my worst nightmare. Me, off the ice.

“Right, Coach.” Dante’s voice stayed neutral. “But the narrative works with the whole wounded warrior, hockey toughness idea. Captain giving it all for one last run at the Cup. Fans eat that up.”

My knee throbbed, a steady soundtrack of pain and everything it signified playing over and over in my mind. “What about the team?”

“Meeting in twenty minutes. Everyone’s already here.” Coach pushed to his feet. “They deserve to hear it from you first.” He shot a look at Dante. “Hold off on that release another hour.”

Coach yanked open the office door. I shoved to my feet, asked his back, “Full disclosure?”

He hovered in the open doorway. “Full disclosure, Viggy. Then we figure out how to win this thing.”

My coach headed out and I moved to follow him when the doctor’s voice stopped me. “Viggy? You understand what you’re risking?”

Did I? My career was over either way. But going out on my terms, with my team? Maybe even with the Cup?

Worth any price.

I met his gaze. “Send any changes in the protocols to the trainers. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Never let them see you sweat. Never let them see you break. Captainship 101. But walking out that door, knowing what waited in the locker room? Hardest thing I’d done in seventeen years of hockey.

* * *

I held the team meeting in the locker room. Ninety-nine percent of my life’s decisions took place in the locker room; no reason today should be any different. The players suited up in practice colors, whites and blues, like any other practice day—with the exception that our next game would start our playoff run.

“Listen up!” Coach Mack’s voice cut through the noise. The music died. Twenty-three faces turned our way, expressions shifting from relaxed to focused as they caught my stance and Coach’s grim face.

Riley, across the room, just left of the center locker—the captain’s locker— straightened from his slouch. The kid had a good radar for knowing when shit turned serious. On the north wall, Silver’s eyes narrowed, tracking between me and Coach. I gave him a nod, sucked in a breath, and launched into the most terrifying speech of my life.

“I’ve got something to say.” My voice carried to the corners of the room. I’d perfected the right pitch, how loud to speak to the room of men I considered my brothers. “We all know whenUnleashedairs. Some of you might have heard this already, but tonight’s episode is about me.”

Murmurs rippled through the room. The red recording light blinked from one of the cameras in the corner. Because of course Sutton would be recording this, too.

“The thing is—what I should have come clean about weeks ago—is my knee is worse than I’ve let on.”

The murmurs died. Utter silence descended, broken only by the whir of the blade sharpener next door in the equipment room.

“I had an MRI this morning. Torn meniscus. Some other damage.” Keep it clinical. No emotion. “Doc’s cleared me to play, with conditions.”

I dragged my gaze across the room, meeting the eyes of the players that trusted me. Trusted me to make good decisions. To give the team one hundred percent, something I hadn’t been able to do for the last few weeks. “Because of the knee, I haven’t been able to play up to my standards. Still not going to be a hundred percent—”

“No shit, Vignier.” Chet Doyle’s voice cut through the quiet. I braced. Every team had one, but our resident dickhead never failed to run his mouth and set my back up. “You’ve been off your game for weeks. Cost us that game against the Rangers. Probably the one against Richland, too.” He shoved up from his seat. “Now we find out you’ve known why all along? That you shouldn’t have even been in the line-up?”

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