Page 183 of Game Misconduct
“Start there.” He reaches for his notepad again and flips to a fresh page. “Then finish this season strong. Go out swinging.”
I rise from the chair, but the weight doesn’t leave. It just shifts. Sinks lower, deeper.
Something permanent in the way it settles in my bones.
At the door, I pause. “Thanks, Coach.”
He doesn’t look up. “Make it worth it, Lasker.”
I step into the hallway alone. The buzz of the arena lights overhead, the echo of skates and voices long gone.
I don’t know what happens next. Don’t know if she’ll ever forgive me. Don’t even know if I can fix what I broke.
But I do know this…
I’m not running again.
If I’ve got one shot left to prove she matters more than the game, I’ll take it.
Even if it means giving it all up.
The door to the locker room hisses shut behind me.
For a second, nobody looks up.
Riley’s sprawled on the bench, taping his stick. Finn’s half-dressed, skates still on, a towel around his neck. Cal’s in the corner, headphones around his neck, fidgeting with a puck like it holds the answers to the universe.
The second I step in, though, something shifts.
Eyes cut to me.
Not suspicion. Not judgment.
Something else.
Something heavier.
Jace leans against the far wall, arms folded, expression unreadable. He’s the only one who already knows. We talked after practice—just the two of us, up in the film room, where the lights are always dim and the silence hits harder than it should.
I told him everything.
Didn’t sugarcoat it.
Didn’t run.
“I’m out after this season,” I say now, to the whole room. Myvoice is low, but it hits like a puck to the boards. “No contract extensions. No trades. I’m done.”
The silence sharpens. Not one guy speaks.
I brace for it—questions, jokes, maybe even disappointment.
Instead, Riley’s the first to nod.
“Fucking knew it,” he mutters. He shoves the tape roll into his gear bag and adds, “You got that ‘I’ve been emotionally wrecked by a woman’ glow.”
Finn laughs under his breath. “It’s the dead eyes. Real subtle, bro.”
Jace doesn’t say anything, but his gaze flicks between them. A silent cue.
