Page 31 of Hat Trick

It was a strategic business move by management. It lets the Stars exceed the salary cap for a new guy who will take my spot on the roster, and I check ESPN every day to see if any signings have been announced.

Free agency is done. I doubt the team will initiate a trade so early in the season, and I’m betting they’ll call up someone from our AHL affiliate, the Virginia Comets. Lexi told me she hasn’t heard any names being tossed around, but when it happens, I know they’ll give the new guy my old space.

For as nice as everyone’s been to me, I don’t expect this to go on much longer. They need to move on. They need to figure out a new lineup so they can get back to winning games. Come April when the boys are making a playoff push, I’ll be watching from the tunnel.

Alone.

A forgotten has-been.

I trace over the letters in my name and sigh. I’m tempted to rip the sticker off, but before I can, there’s a loud noise behind me.

I whip around and find Maverick standing in the entrance to the locker room wearing his full gear. His helmet falls from his gloved hand when his eyes meet mine. He gapes at me, blinks twice, then pops his mouth open.

“Holy shit,” he whispers.

“Hey,” I say. “What’s up?”

“What’s up? What’sup?”

Maverick charges toward me. I’m afraid he’s going to yell at me for ignoring everyone and leaving the group chat. For disappearing for months and falling off the face of the earth. When he drops his gloves like he’s ready for a fight on the ice, I brace myself for a swing.

No punch comes.

Instead, he’s wrapping his arms around me. He’s hugging me so tight, my feet come off the ground.

“Fuck,” I mumble.

“Jesus Christ, man. I’ve been so fucking worried about you,” he says.

“I’m fine.” We both know I’m bullshitting him, but he doesn’t call me out on it. He only hugs me harder until a sob works its way from my throat. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m so glad to see you.” Maverick pulls away and looks me up and down. He doesn’t blink twice at my crutches. “You look?—”

“Don’t lie to me, Miller. I look like shit.”

“I was going to say scrawny as hell. Fucking Ethan could kick your ass in arm wrestling, and that Canadian is the weakest one on the team.” He grins. “Fuck, dude. The boys are behind me. They’re going to?—”

“Riley?” Grant yells. He drops his stick and nearly trips over his skates when he runs to me. “Is it really you?”

“It’s me, G-Money.”

“Thank fuck. I missed the shit out of you, Mitchy.”

Familiarity grips me when the rest of the team files into the locker room. They’re all there, crowding around and giving me a group hug.

Ethan kisses the top of my head and proudly shows off his new tattoo hiding under his shoulder pads: a motorcycle with a dozen hearts around it. Ryan Seymour digs through his duffle bag and pulls out the card his daughter made when I was still in the hospital, and I smile at the scribbled drawing that looks like it could be flowers.

Or eight stick figures on a stripper pole.

Even Liam gives me a hug, but as soon as he pulls away, he bites his jersey. He starts talking to himself like he does before every game and pretends it never happened.

Hudson is the last one to make his way over. He unclips his helmet and grins. “Hasn’t been the same without you around, Ri.”

“Took me a while to come back.” I shrug. “Still not sure I want to be here, but I’m working on it.”

“Don’t do that.” He levels me with a serious look and a frown. “Don’t go dark. You can do that shit with the media and people who don’t know you, but don’t do it around us, okay?”

“I’m not?—”

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