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He’s so good at this, making small talk with the kids, being a superstar. After he signs the program, Twyler offers to take a photo of Reese with the kids.

I start to step away, letting Reese have his moment, when Walker turns to me. “You too, Axel?” he asks, grinning up at me.

“Yeah.” I take the program and flip to my photo inside, scratching my name next to it. Handing it back, I’m surprised to see the line behind him has grown. Fuck. My eyes dart toward the parking lot, the route to my escape.

As much as it seems like I enjoy being the center of attention–and I do, when it’s chicks in tight skirts and fans offering to buy me a free drink–being a role model, or someone to look up to? That’s where I draw the line.

“Don’t even think about it,” Reese says over the kids’ heads, giving me a pointed look. I catch the meaning behind itinstantly; if I walk away from these kids, I’m walking away from my obligation to the team.

“Who’s next?” I ask, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling in my chest.

“Me!” The next kid pushes forward and I can’t help but notice the pink jacket and a knit hat with a sparkly pom pom on top.

I raise an eyebrow. “What’s your name?”

“Greta.”

“You play hockey?” I flip open her program and she nods. “What position?”

“Goalie, like you.”

“You must be pretty tough to play goalie.” I sign my name, and hand her back the program.

“More than my brother,” her chin lifts. “He plays forward.”

“He’s about the glory, huh?” I laugh, taking a little stab at Reese. “I have a little sister, she’s pretty tough, too.”

“Does she play hockey?”

“Nah. She’s not interested in sports.” Although I have no idea if that’s true. I’m pretty sure no one has ever asked Shelby her opinion on anything in her life. Father tells her what to do and she’s always done it. That didn’t mean she was weak. Hell no, she’s the toughest person I know to be able to put up with all of that.

I ran halfway across the country to escape it. She never had that choice.

“Too bad,” Greta says, smiling down at the signature. “She’s missing out.”

“Smile!” Twyler calls, and next thing I know I’m caught up in taking photos. “Make sure you tag the team!”

“I thought you were studying to be a sports trainer,” I accuse once all the programs are signed and the crowd disperses, “not a marketing major.”

“Oh, that was Nadia’s idea,” she says. “Business, communications, marketing…”

Nadia smiles and shrugs. “Never waste an opportunity.”

“But now that you mention it,” Twyler says, focusing on Reese. “You took a pretty nasty hit in the third. Let me see it.”

He rolls his eyes, but when Twyler lifts up his shirt to inspect it, I can tell he loves having someone take care of him.

I flex my hand, then shake it out.

“Hand cramp?” Nadia asks.

“I’m not used to signing that many autographs.”

“Those kids love you.”

“They wouldn’t if they knew about my probation.” I doubt Coach Bryant will be happy to see my face plastered all over social media. So far we’ve kept the violation out of the media, but there’s no need to give someone the opportunity to call me out. “I’m not cut out for being the face of the team.” I hold up my tattooed hands. “They prefer clean cut, pretty boys like Cain over there.”

“That’s not how it looked to me.”