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“Then we won’t lose it.” He slaps me on the back. “Shake it off, man.”

I nod my agreement, trying to do exactly that…only for Jamison to collide with me right before the end of the period, sending me into the boards. My skates tangle and I go down again, landing on my ass.

“Motherfucker,” I growl, my temples throbbing. I suck in one deep breath after another, fighting not to lose it on him. Every eye in the stadium is on us, like they’re just waiting for me to snap. I can’t, though. Not now. Not when I know Sutton is watching, worrying her ass off.

“My bad,” her brother mutters, holding out a hand to help me up.

“Fuck off,” I snarl as Archer skates up to us, his eyes full of worry.

“Fuck off, Peters,” Archer growls, bumping him out of the way. He holds out a hand, hauling me to my feet. “You good, brother?”

“Yep, fine.”

“Jordan,” Jamison says.

I ignore him, just like always, biting my tongue so hard I taste blood. I don’t want to hear what he has to say.

“Fuck off, Peters,” Archer snaps again, putting himself between the two of us as Jamison tries to talk to me again. “And tell your fucking lapdogs to back the fuck off. If they keep coming at him, you and I are going to have a serious fucking problem.”

“I didn’t set them loose on him.”

“Right,” Archer snorts.

We skate past Jamison. But I see the look on his face. Regret.

Goddammit. Sutton was right.

I expect Coach to have shit to say when we get back to the locker room, but he’s too busy chewing Logan’s ass to worry about me for once. I don’t know where our goalie’s head is at, but it’s clearly not in the game.

“Fuck,” he mutters, bouncing his head against the wall like that’s going to help get it in the game or something.

"You good?" I ask, glancing over at him.

"Fucking fabulous."

"Right," I snort. "You hit your head against that wall any fucking harder, Coach isn't going to have to pull you out. You're going to knock your own dumbass out."

"Maybe that's the plan."

"Whatever. Have a fucking ball."

Logan’s eyes narrow. "What's up with you?"

I think I have to talk to the one motherfucker in this world I hate more than anything.

"Not a damn thing. What's up with you?"

"Not a damn thing.”

"Well, at least we're on the same fucking page,” I mutter.

He snorts, shaking his head before taking a big drink of water.

"You pissed about your girl being all over the news?" I ask after a moment.

He shoots me a death glare, which is answer enough.

"Figured. Want some advice?"

"Fuck no."

"Too bad. I'm in an advice-giving mood."

"Since fucking when?" Logan eyes me like I’ve grown a second goddamn head. And shit, he isn’t wrong. I don’t give advice. I don’t get in anyone’s business. I mind mine and keep my opinions to myself.

I guess shit is changing.

"Since now." I stare at him for a moment, putting my thoughts in order.

"Don't be another asshole in her life who lets her down because you're feeling sorry for yourself over whatever bullshit you're telling yourself over there,” I finally say.

“You dragged her into this. She's counting on you to lead her through it.

Get your head out of your ass and lead."

I wish like hell someone had given me that advice before I fucked everything up.

I can sit here and blame Jamison for the way my life turned out all I want, but at the end of the day…

I made my own decisions. I attacked him.

I didn’t tell Sutton the truth when it counted.

I just…fucking rolled over and let the hits come, told myself it was the right thing to do.

But shit doesn’t look the same now. I guess time and distance do that. It changes our perspectives. Allows us to see what we miss while in the thick of it.

I can spend a lifetime hating him. It won’t change the fact that I made my own choices. He’s a fucking asshole for what he did. But…so am I. Because I gave up. I walked away. I let him win.

I can’t undo that now. All I can do is better. And maybe I can keep this big idiot from making the same damn mistakes with his girl. It’s not his fault she’s all over the news right now, not matter how much he tries to tell himself it is.

"I'm not feeling sorry for myself," Logan growls.

"Really? Because that puck went right between your legs. Literally right between them." I demonstrate with a whistle. "And you were off in another world, thinking deep thoughts about the goddamn lights."

"I was thinking about you, actually, you prick. You know how much I love that pretty face of yours."

"Take my advice or leave it," I say, flipping him off. "Doesn't matter to me either way. You'll be the one who regrets it if you leave it, though."

Logan stares at me for a long minute, shaking his head. "I liked you better when you sat over there and didn't say anything."

I smirk at him, amused. "Maybe I'm a changing man."

"Yeah, that's bullshit. You've been in a pissy mood all night, and that's saying something because you're always a cranky motherfucker. What the fuck is going on with you? Since you're all up in my goddamn business, I'm stepping into yours."

"Nothing."

"Right. You're just extra fucking cranky and weird for no reason. That makes total sense."

"The past is a bitch," I finally mutter, my voice soft.

"Oh. Oh, shit." His eyes widen. "We're playing the Bucks."

I jerk my chin in a nod.

"I'm an asshole."

"You expecting me to disagree or something?"

"Fuck." He scrubs a hand down his face. "I'm sorry, man. You good?"

"I'm fine," I growl, arching a brow at him. "Why does everyone always ask me that shit?" It’s not like I’m going to snap and hospitalize the prick again. I mean…I probably won’t do that again.

"Uh…you mean aside from the obvious?"

This time, I scowl at him.

"Mostly because people actually give a shit," he says quietly. "Peters is a dick, but we like you. We ask because we're ten toes down, standing behind you. If you decide you need to hit the prick again, we'll throw elbows and cause a scene. They can't boot us all."

"He's right," Archer says, picking his way across to us.

We both look at him.

"We ask because we care," he murmurs, his eyes on me. "And we ask because we want to know if we're playing nice or starting a riot. Either way, we've got your back, fucker. Get your shit on. It's time to hit the ice."

"Jesus Christ," I mutter, glancing between the two of them, only to realize they’re dead serious. If I asked, they’d start a riot on the ice tonight, for no reason other than that I’m one of theirs. A teammate…and a friend.

I sit quietly for a minute, humbled in a way that feels really fucking good. This is loyalty. This is respect.

"We're playing nice," I say, grabbing my shit from the bench. Not for Jamison’s sake. Surprisingly, not for Sutton’s either. But for mine. Because it’s time to move past it.

It’s time to talk to this prick.

Somehow, we manage to rally after the first period and tie up the game. Grayson and his goons lay off, and we pull out a win in the second overtime when Archer nets a backhand goal. By the time I finish showering, I feel good. Better than I have all day.

My hands shake as I pick up my cell, shooting a text to a number I never thought I’d use again.

Me: We need to talk. Hallway. Five minutes.

It doesn’t even take thirty seconds before he responds.

Jamison: On my way.

I take a few minutes to pack my shit up, letting my teammates loud ass voices wash over me. Diego is in rare form, dancing around like a jackass, annoying the fuck out of everyone.

I slip out into the hallway, passing by Logan and his girl, who are talking right outside the door.

I stop at the end of the hall nearest to the Bucks locker room, waiting for Jamison. He appears sixty seconds after I do, sauntering toward me like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

I inhale a breath, reaching deep for patience.

He watches me like he did all game, and I briefly wonder if he knows about me and Sutton. If he ever realized that I was in love with her back then, or if he was so blinded by jealousy that he really convinced himself that I wanted his girlfriend.

He stops in front of me, hands shoved in his pockets. “Hey. How have you been?”

“Don’t act like you care now, motherfucker,” I say. What? I said I’d talk to him. I didn’t say I’d be fucking nice about it, not when he’s playing in my face, acting like he gives a shit.

Nash and Logan spot us and hurry down the hall, stopping a few steps away, as if to make sure he doesn’t pull any bullshit. I appreciate the hell out of them for it because I don’t trust this asshole at all.

“I always cared, Jordan.”

Logan snorts loudly, earning a frustrated look from Jamison.

“No. You cared about your goddamn career,” I say. “It’s exactly why you convinced the whole team to tell management that I was making it up.”

“Jesus Christ,” Nash mutters.

Jamison grits his teeth when he hears him, but he doesn’t turn around and say anything. “It didn’t have to be that way, man.”

“ You made it that way! You concocted a whole bullshit story about me fucking your girlfriend just to cover your tracks.”

“I know,” he sighs. “I fucked up.”

“Yeah, you did. You regret it?”

“Of course I do!”

“But not badly enough to tell your sister the whole truth, right? You told her you lied about what happened, but you damn sure didn’t admit that you filmed her best friend without consent and shared the videos with the team.

You sent her to me to do the dirty work for you, and I’m guessing you did it because you knew I wouldn’t fucking tell her. ”

“Sutton doesn’t have anything to do with this,” he says.

“She has everything to do with it,” I snap. “Vanessa was her best friend.” I stare at him like he’s a bug. “Do you even fucking care that you cost her that friendship? Vanessa hasn’t talked to her in years because of you, and she still doesn’t know why. She’s still hurting over it.”

Guilt flickers in his eyes. “Of course I care.”

“Right. Just like you cared about Vanessa, huh?” I shake my head at him, disgusted. “Anything to save your own ass, I guess.”

“I… Christ,” he mutters. “I told Vanessa the truth. She left me over it.”

“She should have pressed charges,” Logan mutters.

“Yeah, well, she left your sister behind, too. Couldn’t stand to keep that friendship because of what you did.”

He grits his teeth, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I didn’t know she was going to do that.”

“You think that makes it better? Jesus Christ, Jamison. You told her I was in love with her best friend. Do you know what that did to her? What it cost her?”

Guilt flickers in his eyes.

“Jesus Christ.” I rock back on my heels, stunned. “You knew she had feelings for me, and you did it anyway.”

“I thought it was just a crush she’d get over. I didn’t realize–”

“What? That you were breaking her heart, too?”

“Yeah,” he admits. “I didn’t realize I was breaking her heart, too. I didn’t know she was that serious about you.” He stares at me, his eyes narrowed. “You were in love with her back then, weren’t you?”

“Not your business,” I snap.

He nods like he expected that answer. “Thought so. Guess it was right in front of my face all along, wasn’t it? I thought you were always following them around because you were in love with Vanessa.” He laughs abruptly, without humor. “I was a fucking idiot.”

“Yeah, you were,” I agree. “And you deserved what I did. You should have been banned from the game and throwing in a fucking cell to rot. If you’re in hell now, you deserve that shit, too.”

“I know,” he says, his voice a regretful scrap of sound.

“But Sutton never deserved to spend five fucking years believing your bullshit because your career was more important to you. I’ll never forgive you for that.

” I shove past him, knocking him into the wall.

“Stay out of my goddamn face from now on, Jamison. Keep your teammates out of my face. Don’t push me. ”

“What does that mean?” he asks.

“I didn’t tell your sister the truth when she asked for it,” I say quietly. “But keep pushing me, and maybe next time she asks, I will tell her.” I shoot a cold look in his direction. “Think she’ll ever talk to you again once she knows what you did?”

He grabs for me, but Nash and Logan shove him up against the wall before he can get his hands on me. That doesn’t stop him from trying to lunge at me again. “Leave my sister out of this, Jordan.”

“She and I have nothing to do with you. We never did, so go fuck yourself and your demands.” I pause, casting a scathing look at him.

“And get your shit together, you prick. Don’t keep making yourself her problem because you feel sorry for yourself now.

You made your bed. Rot in it with a goddamn smile on your face. You owe her that much.”

“Leave her alone, Jordan!” he shouts as I turn, heading back toward the locker room. “I mean it.”

I hoist my finger up over my head, telling him without words exactly what he can do with his demands. Hell will freeze over before he keeps me away from her. She’s mine, just like she should have been five years ago.