Page 230 of Wrong Pucking Jersey

“Thank you,” I reply and watch him and Mr. Suzami walk away.

Damn. I guess I won’t get anything right now.

I try not to let it get to me, but the disappointment feels like weights placed on my tired shoulders. There’s so much going on, so many opportunities that should be coming my way, yet I feel like I’m not acquiring what’s meant for me.

No. I just need more time.

Keep pushing.

Keep working hard.

Force them to acknowledge how good of a player you are.

Hands gently press on my shoulders, encouraging me to look up and confirm Maddox’s closeness. He squeezes my shoulders as he stares into my eyes.

“We’re not at the end of the race,” he reminds. “This is only the beginning. The more we pursue and prove how confident we are in this field of expertise, the more doors will open and lead us to the rewards we deserve.”

He’s absolutely right.

I know he is.

It still hurts, though…

“I feel like I’m hidden by the shadows of everyone else’s spotlight,” I quietly confess. I know only Maddox can hear, as my eyes downcast to the floor to hide just how hurt I am.

The immense disappointment of not being offered any special deals or branding endorsements.

“Wolfgang.”

I take a deep breath and look back into Maddox’s honeycomb eyes.

“They could be testing you. Waiting to see how disappointed you are and to confirm you don’t have the drive to keep pushing forward.” He squeezes my shoulders further as an expression of determination floods his attractive face.

“You deserve to be on the ice, just like us. Your performance has been phenomenal, especially in the last two games. You just keep blocking them pucks and proving to them that you could be the best all-star goalie they’ve ever seen. Make them fight to get you from the competition,” he encourages and surprisingly leans in to lightly press his forehead against mine. “Remind them that you are a winner. A champion. The goalie everyone will be begging to get your fucking autograph on their jersey with your number on it.”

“That’s why you’re our captain,” I whisper the truth and pat his back in return, so I don’t ruin his hair. “Thanks, Maddox.”

“Always,” he assures me. “Now, can we get Mary-had-a-little-lamb drunk?”

“Fuck, yes,” Ace encourages. “We deserve it.”

“During the after party,” Damien reminds us as he comes over to pat my shoulder, just as Ace doesn’t hesitate to ruffle my hair. “We have a few more people to impress.”

I love how these guys always have my back.

* * *

“Holy pucking shit,” Mishka squeals as she collides with Maddox. “Guess what, guess what, guess what?”

“What, Baby Girl?” Maddox chuckles. “And welcome back.”

“Thank you,” she gleefully states impatiently before she hugs him from the side. “Guess who officially signed a contract to be a team nurse for the Strattonville Stadium Organization?”

That has all of us gasping as we gather closer to Maddox, who’s hugging Mishka in seconds.

“Shut up. You’re fucking lying!” He’s so damn proud, he can’t even hide it.

I notice a few attendees are watching us, but we don’t give a fuck.

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