Page 7 of Ruled Out

“No. I mean, not really. Just feeling the aftereffects.”

He huffs out a disbelieving breath. “Jesus Christ, kid. Half-cocked and still the best player out there. Imagine how good you could be if you just got your shit together.”

I don’t say anything because, honestly, what is there to say? He’s right. I know he is.

He sets his elbows on the desk and leans forward, a serious expression painting his face. “You’re damn lucky you still have a career at this point. I thought you’d learned your lesson when I managed to convince the GM that you shouldn’t be traded, that I could get the very best out of you—or at least get you to practice and games on time and not be inebriated. Your career is dangling by a thread, yet you still push the boundaries of my patience. What the fuck is going on?”

To my right, I see the picture of the team when we last won the Stanley Cup. It was Jon Morgan’s—our former center and captain—last professional game before he retired. The season after that, I let the team down. My drinking increased, and much like when I had been at college and then on the Destroyers, I caused more harm than good, making bad decisions in games and mentally checking out in practices.

And I’m doing that again now. We might have won the game today, but I know I’m putting myself and others at risk out there. Hockey is my only constant, and I need it. The days when I was a boy, visiting the local rink with my papa to play for fun and hit the ice for the thrill of it, might be long gone, but the pressure to keep turning up and earning for my family is only increasing.

“Look at me.” Coach tears my attention away from the black frame hanging on his wall.

“I told you”—I roll my tongue across the roof of my mouth, the sensation grounding me—“I lost control last night. There’s some shit going on back home, and it got to me. It won’t happen again.”

“I want you to start back up with the team psych. She tells me you failed to turn up at your last three appointments. Having sessions with Ashley was a stipulation for you to stay with the Scorpions. That and”—he pauses and clears his throat—“not seeingheranymore.”

The sessions with Ashley I can do, even if they achieve fuck all. Staying away from Mia? Now, that’s much harder.

“I haven’t seen her since last summer,” I lie. No one needs to know she turned up in Whistler.

Coach purses his lips together. “You know my friendship with Graham Jenkins goes way back to our NHL days, and you know I did my best to convince him personal and business matters shouldn’t mix, but last season, he refused to complete atrade with us because he’d found out you were sneaking around with his daughter again.”

“We weren’t doing anything,” I reply.

Burrows’s face turns a shade redder with frustration. “Son, you are a good-looking, high-earning athlete and probably the most gifted winger this game has ever seen. You can have your pick of women, but you still met up with her years later. You need to let it go. I know Jenkins, and he will never give you his blessing.”

I push down the urge to tell him no one owns a person, let alone their own daughter, but I know my reply would fall on deaf ears. Instead, I run a hand through my hair and wait to see if he’s finished.

More silence descends on the room as we stare at each other for a few beats.

“I have let her go,” I say, the words tasting like acid on my tongue. “I haven’t seen or spoken to her since you and the GM hauled me into the boardroom and told me the score. So, you don’t need to worry about doing business with Graham Jenkins anymore. He got what he wanted, and you’ll get what you want too. I’ll check in with Ashley tomorrow.”

He nods in acknowledgment and points at his computer screen. “No need. I just fired an email to her. You’ll start sessions again tomorrow at nine a.m.”

I stand from the chair.

“Jessie.” Coach catches me as I turn toward the door.

“Yep?”

“Stay off the booze and stay away from her—got it?”

I nod in appreciation, but I’m confused by his sudden attention on Mia. Does he know about Whistler?

“Why are you so concerned about her now?”

A surprised smile breaks across his face as he leans back in his chair again. “You really haven’t spoken to her, have you?”

“I wasn’t lying, Coach.”

Seen her? Yes. Spoken to her? No.

His smile morphs into discomfort as he shifts in his chair. “I’m not sure if I should tell you this. I assumed you knew, and that’s why you’ve been even more twisted up and absent.”

“Know what?” I bite out.

What the fuck has happened?