Page 131 of Blindside Me
“I’m done letting fear make my choices.”
This constant need to prove who we are is what drove Jake to an early death. I won’t let that happen to me.
“You need help, Dad. Professional help. I hope you seek it.”
I walk out without waiting for a response.
The door closes behind me with a soft click, sealing my father in with his beer and ghosts. I don’t look back as I walk to my Jeep. Don’t need to.
I’m moving forward for the first time in years, not away.
Next: apologize to my teammates.
Then: win Jade back.
Not with promises.
With presence.
With truth.
With love.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Drew
I hesitate outside the locker room like I haven’t been here a thousand times before. The door is slightly ajar, familiar loud voices spilling out. My pulse kicks harder. I’ve taken hits to the ribs that felt less brutal than the weight of walking in here again and knowing I let them down. Not just suspended. Not just benched. I humiliated them. And if I want to earn their respect back, it starts with the truth. No excuses. No hiding.
The second I step inside, twenty heads swivel toward me. The usual pre-practice noise dies fast, swallowed by a silence that lands sharp and heavy.
My throat tightens. Every stare lands like a body check. Some surprised. Some skeptical. A few are unreadable. My suspension ended yesterday. Two games missed. Two losses on the board. Maybe avoidable if I’d kept my shit together.
I move to my locker, the one place that’s always made sense, and sit. The bench creaks under my weight. My back stays straight, my shoulders braced, but my eyes won’t lift. Not yet. I’m not ready to see what I broke.
“Well, well, if it isn’t the Ice Avenger himself,” Blake’s voice breaks the silence, his tone light but pointed. “Defender of women’s honor and destroyer of jawbones.”
A ripple of laughter loosens the room’s tension. Someone throws a balled-up sock that hits the wall near my head.
I don’t smile. Can’t. Not yet. My hands grip my gym bag too tightly, knuckles still showing the fading evidence of what I did. My jaw clenches as I stare at my locker nameplate: KLAAS, 33.
“You guys done?” I ask, voice rougher than intended.
“Not even close,” Ryan calls from across the room. “Beaulier’s still drinking through a straw.”
More laughter. I close my eyes briefly because they know that’s an exaggeration. Beaulier’s nose is broken at best.
I push to my feet, clearing my throat. May as well get this over with.
“I owe you all an apology,” I say, the words scraping my throat raw.
The room falls quiet again. Twenty faces, all waiting. I’ve never been good with words, but I owe them this.
“I fucked up.” My voice comes out steady despite the earthquake in my chest. “The suspension. The missed games. The embarrassment to the program. All of it. That’s on me.”
Nobody interrupts. The silence pushes me to continue when I’d rather crawl into my locker and disappear.
“I let my temper cost us.” My eyes move around the room, meeting theirs one by one. “I let me cost us. Two games we couldn’t afford to lose. I put myself before the team, and that’s not who I want to be.”
