Page 38 of Second Sin

Coach waits until everyone’s halfway through changing before letting loose. “Wilde. You’ve been off. Distracted. I don’t care if your dog died or your house burned down—you play like that again, you’re out of the lineup next week.”

Heads turn. Nobody says anything. But I feel the looks.

“Got it,” I mutter.

He gives me one last glare, then walks off.

I head for the showers. Let the water hit me until my skin’s raw and the shame sinks deeper.

When I come out, Blake and Kane are waiting near my locker.

Blake’s arms crossed. Kane’s leaning forward now, elbows on his knees, watching me like he knows I’m one breath away from self-imploding.

“You want to tell us what the hell that was?” Blake asks.

I grab my towel. “A bad game.”

Kane snorts. “Try ten bad games. You’ve been playing like your skates are made of cement.”

I don’t answer. Just yank on my briefs, shove my legs into my jeans, and zip up fast—like the sooner I’m dressed, the sooner I can get out of here. Out from under the weight of their stares.

“You gonna keep stonewalling, or are you finally gonna talk?” Blake presses.

My hands ball into fists at my sides before I even register the movement. My breath flares, jaw tight enough to ache.

“What do you want me to say?” I grit out.“That I fucked up? I did. Happy?”

“Fucked what up?” Kane asks, voice quiet but firm—like he’s giving me one chance to be straight. No judgment, just concern. And somehow, that hits harder.

"Olivia," I mutter.

"Hart?" Blake asks, brow raised.

I nod, jaw grinding, throat dry. I drag a hand over the back of my neck, fingers digging in like I can scrub the memory off my skin.

“Said some shit I shouldn’t have.” My voice drops. Rough. Like it hurts to say it.

I stare at the floor for a beat. Then let the rest of it out.

“Accused her of cheating,” I say, the words scraping out like they’re made of rust and regret. “Thought she was married. She was wearing a goddamn wedding ring, and my brain just—” I drag a hand down my face, laugh once, dry and bitter. “Fuck. I don’t even know how I got there. Just saw red. Snapped.”

The memory hits like a punch to the ribs. I swallow hard.

“Took everything I’ve been dragging around and threw it at her like it was hers to carry.”

I shake my head, jaw clenched so tight it hurts.

“Then she tells me her husband’s dead. And I just stood there. Like a goddamn asshole. Like the biggest fucking prick on the planet.”

Silence.

Then Blake lets out a low whistle, sharp and disbelieving. “Jesus, Wilde. That’s messed up.”

“Yeah.” I nod once. “It is.”

My throat feels raw. Like the guilt’s lodged so deep it’s tearing me up on the way out.

“She looked at me like I’d ripped something open in her,” I say, quieter now. “Like I took something already broken and shattered it again.”

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