Page 182 of Game Misconduct
The weight settlesinto my chest before I even knock.
Coach Holt’s office is still dark, blinds drawn, door cracked open like it’s waiting for me.
The rink’s quiet now, just the hum of machinery and the distant echo of sticks hitting rubber.
Practice wrapped half an hour ago, but I stayed behind. Pacing. Thinking. Trying like hell to talk myself out of this.
Didn’t work.
I nudge the door open with a knuckle.
Coach is behind his desk, scribbling something in a notepad. Doesn’t look up. Just flips a page and keeps writing like he already knows why I’m here.
“Got a minute?” I ask.
He finishes his line. Sets the pen down. “Close the door.”
The click behind me sounds final. Like the start of something I can’t undo.
I sink into the chair across from him, palms sweaty, heart pounding like I’m about to take a slap shot to the chest.
Coach doesn’t say anything, just watches me with that quiet,unreadable stare that always makes you feel like you’re about to get benched.
I run a hand through my hair. “I’m retiring at the end of the season.”
No flinch. No blink. Just a slow nod.
“I wanted you to hear it from me first,” I add. “Before the press gets wind or the rumors start.”
His voice is low. “You sure about that?”
No. Not even a little.
But I nod anyway. “Yeah.”
I can’t say her name. Not here. Not now. But she’s in every inch of this decision. In the ache under my ribs. In the silence I wake up to now that she’s gone.
Coach leans back and folds his arms. “You’ve got a few good years left, Lasker.”
“I know.”
“You’re finally playing with a team that respects you.”
“Yeah.”
He studies me. “This about Carrington?”
I let the breath go slow. “This is about me not wanting to lose the only thing that ever made walking away from the game make sense.”
He exhales through his nose. “You know what this’ll mean for your contract. For trades. For playoffs.”
“Doesn’t matter. Not anymore.”
There’s a beat of silence, heavy and still. Then, quietly, Coach nods again.
“All right,” he says. No speech. No lecture. Just that. Simple and solid. “You tell Jace?”
“Not yet.”
