Page 3

THREE

jack

“You’ll have nothing.”

The words I fear most in the world.

And judging from my play tonight, I’m damn close to that now.

Hockey is the one thing that keeps me going.

The only thing.

Not that Carter knows it.

Nobody does because I never let anyone in that far.

I watch him stalk down the corridor in the direction of the locker room, his back stiff.

He angrily rakes a hand through his hair.

Sweat prickles the skin on the back of my neck, heart freefalling into my skates as a deep sigh rattles my chest.

It was stupid of me to think Carter would just ignore the elephant in the room when we showed up here in Oakland together.

Once I started my professional career and put my junior hockey days behind me, I figured the past would stay there.

Looks like I made a damn big mistake accepting this offer.

But the truth is, I’d felt so isolated after Sam and I broke things off.

New York never felt like home, and I didn’t connect with the team the way I’d hoped.

They all thought I was stealing the spotlight from them.

They didn’t understand that without it, I had absolutely nothing.

I’m not a fame jockey.

I didn’t crave the fame and accolades to feed my ego or make myself feel like I was better than everyone else.

I needed it to feel like at least someone out there gave a shit about me.

And hockey was always the only means to that end for me.

Stardom meant I could escape my shithole childhood home, my abusive father, and the constant reminder that my mother didn’t give a crap enough to protect me from him.

So I did everything I could to make sure the focus was on me and me alone.

It was a one-way ticket out of the hell I’d managed to survive for the first seventeen years of my life.

I’m not proud of the fact that I bulldozed teammates to make myself look better.

I made a lot of enemies in the process, Van Kleef included.

He saw through my mask and I lashed out because I misread his concern for something else.

Something I wanted badly.

Something I quickly realized I’d never have.

It was the one fucking time I tried to open myself up to someone.

Not even Sam knows the truth about my past.

Blood rushes between my ears.

I came so close to losing everything, to being stuck in hell forever.

Too close.

I had to get out so I did whatever I could to guarantee my future.

Things I’m not proud of.

Things that could fuck up my career if it ever came out.

I sure as hell wasn’t gonna stick around and let anything or anyone jeopardize my chance to play in the NHL .

Squaring my shoulders, I walk through the darkened halls until I get to Coach Enver’s office.

It’s right next to the weight training room.

He likes to be close to the action, so he barely ever uses his fancy office on the upper level of the arena, except when he’s signing deals or taking meetings with prospects or management.

I hold up my fist and pause for a second before knocking, a familiar thought slithering through my brain like a venomous snake.

I fucking hate my life.

Gritting my teeth, I knock on the heavy metal door.

The sound echoes in the desolate space.

“Come in.” Coach Enver’s gruff voice, slightly muffled, hits my ears and with the weight of lead chains wrapped around my shoulders, I twist the handle and push open the door.

He adjusts his cap, glaring at me from under the brim.

Nodding at a metal chair in front of the desk, he grunts, “Sit.”

My blade guards thump against the floor and he raises an eyebrow.

“Didn’t make it to the locker room?”

I give a half shrug.

“Got attacked by the press before I could get inside.”

His lips pull into a tight line.

“I hope you didn’t give ’em anything I’m gonna have to address at the press conference. I already have enough to clean up because of that stunt you pulled at the end of the game. Care to explain what the hell you were thinking?”

I bring a hand to the back of my neck.

The stress knot tightens under my fingertips like a stubborn little bitch.

What the hell am I supposed to say?

I did it to prove that I’m a star, that fans should still love me even though I left New York, that I’m the only chance the Raptors have at claiming the Stanley Cup?

Or maybe, that everyone should love me because the people who are actually supposed to love me don’t give a good goddamn about me?

Hell fucking no.

That’s my baggage and I don’t unpack that shit for anyone.

I came close once and it was one time too much.

“I was trying to make a good showing for our first game against New York.”

Enver raises a thick eyebrow.

“And you think steamrolling the guys on your own team in front of your old team was a good way to make that happen?”

My shoulders sag.

“I saw a shot and I took it.”

“Wasn’t your shot to take. It was Van Kleef’s puck.”

And here we go.

“I know you guys played junior hockey together back in the day, and I know there was talk of some rivalry, bad blood after you got drafted to San Mateo. But I took a risk by offering you guys these spots on the team, figuring all of that was in the past.” Enver comes around to the front of his desk and sits on the edge.

He folds his beefy arms over his chest. “Don’t give me a reason to regret my decision. I don’t need any past bullshit to cause damage to my team. I want it fixed.”

My head snaps up and I narrow my eyes.

“So why am I the one in here? Why not him? Yeah, I stole a shot tonight, but why’s it up to me to fix things for you? Me fixing my end doesn’t mean he’s gonna forget whatever he’s hanging onto.”

“Look, Larson, I paid a lot of money for you to be here. I want you to be the star you are without taking glory away from any of the other guys. VK was a fan favorite in Washington, and him being here has our fans excited. People love him. They know he’s a good guy, a strong leader who always puts his team first. They’ve followed his career and they love that he’s part of Oakland now. You need to figure out how to work with him. I want you to show VK and the rest of the team that you’re not gonna pull that one-man show bullshit that you did in New York.”

He scrapes a hand down over his chin.

“You wanna be a star? You need the team to work with you. That’s how you shine out here. And just to make my point, you’re gonna room together with VK for all our games on the road. The team needs to see you’ve both put whatever issues you may have had in the past.”

I almost choke on my next breath.

Is he fucking joking me?

Room together?

My mind trips back to the last time we shared a room together.

“I really don’t see how that’s?—”

Coach leans forward.

“You don’t need to see it, Larson. I do. The team does. And my decision is final. Next week, you two will share a room when we fly out to Ohio. Nobody on my team gets special treatment. I’m paying you to play, period. I don’t owe you a damn thing other than a spot on my roster. Understand?”

I sit back in the chair, the hard metal pressing into my spine.

“I guess I don’t have a choice.”

“Nope. You don’t. And if you want another ring, you’ll learn to accept my rules.”

I slowly rise out of the chair, eye to eye with Enver, my lips pulled tight.

He lifts an eyebrow.

“Even gods can bleed, Larson.”

I stare at him for a long second before leaving his office, a deep ache assaulting my chest.

Enver thinks his words scare me.

But he has no idea how close to the truth he actually is with that statement.