Page 186 of Game Misconduct
I pause, pencil hovering.
The words will come later.
For now, it’s enough that I know what it’s supposed to be.
I don’t want a press conference.
I don’t want to grovel behind closed doors.
If I’m going down, I’m doing it our way.
Loud.
Public.
With cameras and chaos and the team behind me.
I lean back on the couch, sketchpad resting against my thigh, heart thudding like it did the first time she kissed me.
She gave me something I didn’t know I needed.
And I let her go.
But not without a fight.
My phone buzzes next to me—probably Jace, checking in again. I don’t answer.
Instead, I close the sketchpad and drag in a breath that tastes like salt and ink and maybe, finally, hope.
If I’m going down, I’m doing it with my whole heart on the ice.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Sloane
The Pit is alive tonight.
Buzzing, hissing. Unapologetically loud.
There’s music pulsing through the air, fans in flashing neon, signs that glitter under the arena lights—one that even saysMARRY ME MADDOXin all caps, scrawled in black Sharpie on a hot pink poster board.
I should laugh. Roll my eyes. Something.
But I just keep walking, heels sharp against the tile as I move through the tunnel toward the owner’s suite like I don’t feel like I’m shattering with every step.
Fan Appreciation Night is supposed to be a celebration. The culmination of months of grind and grit.
It's the kind of night where you smile until your cheeks hurt, where the crowd screams loud enough to shake the rafters, and every handshake comes with a compliment about how far the team’s come.
And we have.
We made it through chaos. Through scandal. Through fire.
And somehow, I still feel like I lost everything.
The suite doors open ahead of me. A few of the sponsors arealready inside, sipping top-shelf whiskey and watching the pre-game warmups on the triple screens.
A congratulatory basket from one of our luxury brand partners sits on the table—leather, silk, something sleek and black with my name embossed in gold.
