Page 18 of Hat Trick

“This might be a difficult meeting for you, Riley, so we’re going to go off your cues,” Kirk starts. “We don’t need to make any decisions today, but with the season approaching, we want to get the ball rolling.”

“Ball rolling on what?” Riley scratches his jaw. His fingers drift over the beard he has now. The stubble is new, but familiarity sinks in when he shoves his glasses up his nose. “We don’t need to sit here and pretend like I have a future on this team. I know it. You all know it. The idiots on social media know it. Let’s not pretend I’m going to make a miraculous comeback and play on opening night. I’m miserable. I’m not who I used to be, and sitting here with you all is my idea of hell.”

Riley’s never been rude to the media like Liam is, but he doesn’t have the charisma Maverick exudes. He’s polite, answers the questions he’s asked, and moves on. This attitude and snappiness are new, and I’m not sure what to make of it.

“You’re always going to have a spot on this team, even if it means you’re permanently on the bench,” Coach Saunders says, and the consideration in his voice is something rare. He’s usually barking out orders to the guys on the ice. Yelling over whistles and looking like he’s going to break a whiteboard, but there’s sincerity in his tone. “We’re going to honor your contract. Every penny of it.”

“What?” Riley blinks. “You’re not serious.”

“I’m serious. It comes with stipulations, though. You’re not playing, but you’re expected to do everything else that’s required of players on my team. Therapy and rehabilitation—both physical and mental—which I know you’ve been bullshitting up to this point, are mandatory. Showing up to practice and games and traveling with the team is non-negotiable. So is voicing your opinion when I ask for feedback on lines and what isn’t working with a shift. If you don’t want to put in the work, that’s fine. We’ll go our separate ways, and you won’t be on our payroll.”

Riley is quiet. He stares at his hands, and I wonder what’s running through his mind.

When I asked the guys if they’ve talked to him, they said he removed himself from their group chat. He doesn’t answer their messages. He doesn’t come out of his room when they stop by and visit.

I can’t imagine the weight he’s carrying.

To have something you love ripped out from under you is heartbreaking, but to lose a physical part of yourself too?

It’s unfathomable.

“Fine,” Riley finally mumbles. The relief on Coach’s face is instantaneous, and I bet he was expecting more of a fight. “Whatever.”

“I, um, did some research,” I say, and everyone in the room—except for Riley—turns to look at me. The combined wealth around me is pushing two billion dollars, so I’m sure these men must think I’m an absolute fucking joke.

“Research?” Coach asks.

“Yeah.” I clear my throat and roll my shoulders back, refusing to be intimidated. I’m a strong, capable woman who deserves her place at this table. “There’s another hockey player who lost his leg via amputation after going into cardiac arrest during a game. He’s able to skate today. It’s not the same level of intensity required of NHL players, but?—”

“Thank you, Laura, for your insight,” Stuart says. “But it’s pointless. You know we shouldn’t be worrying about skating right now. We need to focus on a long-term rehabilitation plan, which?—”

A noise startles me. I knock my water bottle over, and the sound echoes in the quiet room. When I turn, I notice Riley’s palm splayed out on the table.

“She wasn’t finished speaking,” Riley says, deathly low. The look in his eye is murderous. A shiver races up my spine when he curls his fingers into a fist. My cheeks turn bright red when he stares at my boss and tilts his head to the side. “And her name is Lexi. L-e-x-i. That’s not difficult, is it? Treat her with respect and get it right, or I’m leaving.”

Holyshit.

I think I need to get my head checked, because that outburst was the hottest display of emotion I’ve ever seen in my goddamn life.

“Of course.” Stuart reaches for the papers in front of him. He shuffles them, and he might be close to exploding. Or firing me. “My apologies.”

“Better. We’ll work on it.” Riley leans back in his chair and looks my way. His gaze is soft, but his attention is intense. Overwhelming, like I’m the only one in the room. I don’t know why I’m suddenly nervous, but I feel like I can’tnotbe. “What were you saying?”

“Right.” I reach into my purse and pull out the file I’ve been working on the last few weeks. The research and interviews I’ve done have consumed me, and while I’m shocked we’re sitting here having this meeting at all, I’m so glad we are. “Like I mentioned, skating again is a real possibility. It’s going to take time. The therapy Coach mentioned is one of the components, but there will be additional training as well. Add in relearning how to walk with a new piece of machinery you’re not familiar with, and you’re going to need to put in hours of work. And I meanwork, which includes giving your best effort and not stopping when you want to quit.”

I pause for a breath, surprised when no one interrupts me. They’re normally eager to throw out ideas they think are better than mine and talk over me, but Riley must’ve gotten his message across.

The romance books I read are right: having a guy turn a little unhinged and defend your honor is sexy as hell.

“We’re going to need a promise from you that you’re going to show up. Your performance doesn’t have to be great. It just has to be something,” I say.

Riley draws in a breath. His bottom lip quivers before he drops his eyes to the table. When he pushes his glasses up his nose again, I see faded cuts on the back of his hands and the marks near his wrist that are turning to scars.

God.

I want to hug him.

We’re not best friends but we arefriends.After spending eight months together year after year, and seeing the reminder of what happened to him while hardly anyone else glances his way, makes me want to burn the world down.

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