Page 40

HAYES

The locker room a chaotic mix of victory chants and clattering gear as reporters shove microphones in our faces. I’m still catching my breath when someone calls my name.

“Hayes, Jacob, Shawn! Over here!”

I turn as Julia Conran, a reporter renowned for questions that spear, flanked by her camera crew, approaches.

“Big win tonight, boys. How does it feel knowing you’ve silenced the critics who say you’re living in your father’s shadow?” She’s looking directly at Jacob, her mic in his direction.

My jaw tightens, and I glance at Jacob, but before he can answer, she presses on.

“And speaking of critics, there’s been a lot of buzz about your relationship with a freshman, Riley Johnstone. Is it true you’re all dating the same girl?”

“Riley’s not a girl,” I say. “She’s a woman. And we’d ask that the media and hockey fans respect her right to privacy and keep the speculation to a minimum.”

“So, you’re not going to confirm or deny your relationship.”

Shawn steps forward, grabbing the mic. “Riley is beautiful, intelligent, kind and funny, and we’re proud to call her ours. Now, do you have any questions related to hockey?

The reporter grins like a crocodile, all teeth and cunning. “Any comment on how that’s impacting your focus on the game? Are you as competitive in the bedroom as you are on the ice?”

The tension in the room spikes and Jacob makes a grinding sound in his throat. “We’re focused on hockey,” he grits out. “That’s all we’ve got to say about it.”

“Really?” the reporter presses, her smile widening. “Because some fans are saying this relationship is a distraction. Do you think it’s fair to say it’s affecting your performance?”

Shawn steps in before Jacob loses it like he did on the ice. “Jacob’s goal just won us the game. If that’s what distraction looks like, maybe everyone in the team should start sharing girlfriends.”

There’s a ripple of laughter, and the reporter backs off, but the tension doesn’t leave our shoulders. This is just the beginning and none of us are okay with running defensive plays where our private lives are concerned.

***

I keep the guys talking in the shower, focusing on elements of the game, so we have time to let our high emotions wash away. We dress and the team keeps the jokes flowing so, by the time we leave the locker room, we’re ready to get home to Riley and leave all this bullshit behind.

I’m focused on getting outside without coming across any other reporters, so when a man pushes off the wall into our path, I’m taken by surprise. His face is familiar, but I can’t recall who he is immediately, putting me on the back foot. Then his name pops into my head.

Barry McDonough, one of Dad’s old teammates.

“Draytons.” His face is heavily lined and his eyes drift over us with an assessing approach.

“Barry,” I say curtly. He’s aged a lot since Dad’s funeral. Drinking will do that to a person, and hard living. He’s another player that struggled after age forced him to leave the game.

Barry looks me over, his lips twisting into a frown. “Hell of a game. But I’ve gotta say, boys, I’m disappointed.”

“Disappointed with a win? With a goal? With strong defending and only one goal passed the goalie?” I snap. Who the fuck is this douche to crawl out of the woodwork and bring up disappointment?

“You’re risking what your dad gave you. The name. The legacy. Everything he sacrificed so you could be here.”

I stiffen, my fists clench, as my brothers do the same.

Barry shakes his head. “All this drama, this circus you’ve got going on... It’s a damn shame. Carl’s name shouldn’t be dragged through the mud like this… he deserved better.”

“Careful,” Jacob growls, stepping forward, but Barry makes no move to back down.

“Your dad would be disgusted by what you’re doing. Throwing away his sacrifices for a woman—”

Oh, he didn’t.

“You don’t know shit about our dad, and you don’t know shit about us,” I growl. “So how about you back the fuck up and get out of our way?”

Barry looks taken aback, but I don’t stop.

“You think you knew him because you played a few seasons together? Because you saw him on the ice?”

He shakes his head, his jaw tight, but I continue.

“You didn’t see what he was like when the games ended. You didn’t see the damage hockey did to him. The damage people like you let him carry alone so long as he kept churning out the goals, game after game.”

The silence is deafening.

“You don’t get to tell us what to do with our lives,” I continue, my voice leveling. “And you sure as hell don’t get to use our dead dad to do it.”

I turn to my brothers, and with a quick gesture, encourage them to walk away. We leave Barry with his mouth half-open like he’s trying to figure out what happened.

Outside the arena, the air is crisp and cool, a sharp contrast to the burning heat in my chest. All the fight leaves me, as dad’s journal entries return to me. His pain. His regret. His anguish. I rub my hand over my face, wishing I could wipe away emotions so easily. Wishing I could talk to my brothers about what I know without bringing more stress to our already overburdened table.

“You okay?” Shawn asks, his voice low.

I exhale, my throat grinding out a frustrated groan. “I’m just sick of people acting like Dad was some kind of saint. Like he didn’t have flaws. Like we’re supposed to live our lives for him and not ourselves.”

He claps a hand on my shoulder, his usual smirk replaced by something softer. “Screw them, eh, Jacob?”

“Yeah,” Jacob says, but he just sounds defeated for a change.

We’re Draytons, and for all the good the name has bought us, living with the ghost weight of a flawed father with exceptional talent doesn’t get any easier.

“We’re creating our own legacy.” I throw my arm around Jacob’s tight shoulders, willing him to hear me. “Fuck the past. The future is ours.”

Jacob rubs his temple and sighs. “Yeah,” he says. “Our own legacy.” But rather than it sounding like a good thing, his statement sounds bleak.