Not needing to be told twice, she leans toward me as I do the same, and we both pose for the photo. She snaps it quickly and starts typing furiously before shoving the phone back into her bag.
“There. Now we can go.”
Addie turns the car off and hops out, but as I go to follow her, my phone pings. I slide it out of my jeans pocket, and my eyes widen at the message.
Maddox: Breathe. You’ve got this.
Me: Thank you. Good luck.
I breathe deeply and, with newfound confidence, join Addie outside.
13
MADDOX
Bentley shovesmy shoulder before flopping down beside me. The dressing room is ripe with both nerves and the always lingering smell of sweat. There are ten minutes until we hit the ice for warm-ups, and with Coach delivering his pre-game speech just minutes ago, we’re all giving ourselves pep talks before it’s time. It’s game three of the first round, and if we win tonight, we’ll be up by three and one step closer to the second round—opponent still to be determined.
This is my seventh season with the VW, and we’re still without a cup. I feel the pressure to bring this team to the title like a fucking dumbbell on my chest. That’s what I’m here for, yet I’ve failed every year.
I’m Oakley Hutton’s son—the face of the Vancouver Warriors. And despite what Alexander and all the suits upstairs promise me, it doesn’t stop the suffocating feeling of failure each loss brings.
You don’t pay a franchise player ten million dollars not to take you to the cup final game, and you sure as shit don’t renew his contract when he hasn’t done his part.
I won’t feel confident in my future until my lips are on the Stanley Cup.
“Your eye looks better,” Bentley notes, bending over to tie his skate.
“Feels better.”
“I’ve been waiting patiently for the scoop on that chick from the vet place, but I’m getting antsy. I’m about to be real offended if you weren’t planning on explaining.”
I roll my shoulders and pull at the neck of my jersey. It’s hot as fuck in all this gear. “Not here, man.”
“Why not? They’re all going to know about her real quick anyway.”
My stomach tumbles. Sweat breaks out on the back of my neck, and I swipe it away with a firm hand. I haven’t been this nervous before a game since I was a teenager, and despite my feelings about my looming contract, this nauseated feeling is all courtesy of Braxton.
Seeing her in the stands watching me play and cheering me on used to electrify me. It made me believe that while I was on that ice, I was invincible. Untouchable.
But now? Now I worry I could be taken out at any moment. Her presence is a weakness that I can’t afford but can’t refuse either.
“She was my best friend for most of my life. Since we were five. The last time I saw her was before I re-entered the draft.”
“That’s a long time with no contact. Seven years? Eight?”
“Eight. I was eighteen when I entered the first time and nineteen when I re-entered.”
“Are you going to elaborate, or are you going to make me use force?”
I roll my eyes. “Braxton’s father was my agent, despite my dad’s protests. Braxton was my best friend, and I didn’t think much of her dad, but I trusted him because I figured he wouldn’t do anything to piss off his daughter. It was obvious how attached to each other we were.”
“You loved her,” Bentley interrupts.
I look at him, my eyes narrowing. My guard is so high even I’m having trouble seeing over it. “What?”
“Nah, you can’t hide that shit from me. I saw it the minute you two got in the same room together. You loved her back then and probably still do now.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. Yeah, I loved her when we were kids, but that was alongfucking time ago.” I block out the voice in my head that tells me I’m a goddamn idiot and push on without letting Bentley respond.