Page 152 of Game Misconduct
Maddox
The locker roomhums with the usual pre-game chaos—sticks clatter, tape rips, someone’s blasting a remix of a Taylor Swift song Riley insists is for “vibes only.”
It should ground me.
This room.
This rhythm.
It’s what I know.
But my focus keeps slipping.
I run tape along my stick in slow, precise rotations. The stretch-pull-snap is mechanical, something to do with my hands while the rest of me spirals.
It’s been a day.
A full day.
No call.
No message.
Not even a damn emoji.
Sloane’s silence is louder than any headline.
And maybe that’s fair.
Maybe I should’ve called her. Just said,Heads-up—Finn’s dick made therounds on TikTok.
I don’t know what the rules are between us anymore.
But I know I broke something.
I roll my shoulder, just enough to feel the ache spike down my back. It’s tight. Overused. Pissed off.
I haven’t told Holt. Haven’t told our trainer. Hell, I haven’t toldmyself, not really.
Because admitting it means slowing down.
And I can’t afford slow. Not when the only thing keeping me sane is moving fast enough to outrun everything I feel.
“Cal, you’re lacing up like a twelve-year-old girl at summer camp.”
Cal throws Riley a look. “You learned that from me yesterday.”
Riley grins. “Yeah, and I’m workshopping it.”
Cal shrugs and goes back to lacing up. He’s quieter than usual. Focused.
Not nervous. Just…still.
Like he’s trying not to show something.
Jace leans against his stall, taping his own stick with slow, even passes. He hasn’t said a word, but his eyes cut toward me. Observing.
He doesn’t ask what’s wrong. Doesn’t need to.
