Page 175 of Game Misconduct
I choke on a breath. “I told him we’d ruin each other.”
Tessa kneels in front of me and grips my wrists with steady hands. “Thenun-ruinit, Sloane. Fight for him. Hell, fight foryou.”
But all I can do is cry.
I don’t know how to fight for someone who already walked away.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Maddox
The crowd’salready a live wire when I step out of the tunnel, but the second my skates slice across the crease, it explodes.
A low rumble that builds into a roar, echoing off the rafters, rattling straight through my ribs and the steel under my pads.
Feels like electricity.
Feels like home.
The Pit’s packed—standing room only, banners snapping from the upper deck, the kind of night you can smell in your bones.
It’s a divisional game with playoff points on the line.
And my old team? They’re all here for blood.
I flex my left shoulder once, testing the wrap under my chest protector. It’s tight, holding everything in place, but the muscle still sings with that old pain.
A reminder. A warning. A pulse I can’t ignore.
Across the red line, I spot him.
Joshua Leonard.
Same smirk. Same slow, smug circle through warm-ups, coasting in front of the crease like he owns it. Like he owns me.
My jaw tightens behind the mask. I press the blade edge intothe blue paint, focusing on my rhythm: shuffle, slide, set. Stay loose. Stay ready.
Jace glides by, tapping the butt of his stick against my pad. “You good?”
“Yeah.” I nod once, eyes locked on the Freeze bench. “I’m good.”
“Keep your head.”
Then he skates off like he’s read enough between the lines.
They announce starting lineups. My name gets the loudest cheer, booming and relentless. Feels like gasoline poured on the fire building in my chest.
I drop into my crease, knees bent, stick out front, glove loose. Joshua’s lined up on the wing for the first draw, but his eyes never leave me. Even from forty feet away I can feel the hiss of his breath through the cage.
The puck drops.
Riley wins it clean, and the play moves up ice. I rock back into the crease, tracking lanes, eyes scanning traffic.
The Freeze are pushing early—dump-and-chase, bodies flying at our D.
They want to test me. Given that they know about my shoulder injury, they’re testing the shoulder as well.
First shot comes low glove. Easy snag. I hold it a beat before the whistle, just long enough to let the crowd cheer.
