Page 170 of Game Misconduct
“Thanks for the kick while I’m down.”
He shrugs, sipping his drink again. “You’re the one who did it.”
“Yeah, I did. I hurt her and burned down the only good thing I’ve had in years.”
Jace studies me for a long moment. “You want to fix it?”
I shrug. “Doesn’t matter what I want.”
“Bullshit.” He sits forward. “You stood up when it counted in Boston. You’re gonna do the same here. Start by deciding what the hell you want, and stop hiding from it.”
I rake a hand through my hair. “Even if I wanted to fix it, I don’t know how.”
“Then figure it out.” Jace stands, finishes his drink, and sets it down with a quiet clink. “But here’s the truth, Maddox—if you don’t fight for her, you’re not just walking away from Carrington. You’re walking away from yourself.”
He turns toward the door.
“Oh, and one more thing.” He pauses with his hand on the knob. “When you’re ready to stop letting other people write your ending, write your own.”
Then he’s gone.
And I’m still sitting in the wreckage, glass in my hand, heart in my throat.
Jace has a point. Several actually.
If I stood up for someone else in Boston without having a safety net, why shouldn’t I give myself the same opportunity here.
Because everyone lets you down.
Except they don’t.
Sloane didn’t. Jace didn’t. Coach didn’t. Cal didn’t. They’ve all taken a chance on me.
And I’m about to pull a classic Lasker and fuck it all up. And for what?
I’m tired of being alone. Fighting all of this all by myself. Putting my head down and focusing on the game while the game of my life passes me right by.
Yeah, the cap is right.
It’s time I start writing the ending to my own story.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Sloane
I should be gettingready for the game. Press walk-throughs, media roundups, pre-ceremony meetings with sponsors.
Instead, I sit in the dark in my office.
Just me, my laptop, and the power-hungry glow of the screen as I open the file I promised myself I’d never touch again.
PLAYER ACQUISITION DOSSIER – M. LASKER
My chest tightens.
It takes a full minute to double-click. Not because I’m indecisive. But because it feels like slicing open a wound just to check if it still bleeds.
Spoiler alert: it does.
