Page 14

Chapter fourteen

Colton: Stay or Go

I sat on the bench outside the locker room, elbows on my knees, staring at the floor. The rink was dark, just the soft blue glow of the emergency lights against the boards. No music. No skate blades. Just me and the hum of the vending machine down the hall.

My gloves were still in my lap. I wasn’t sure why I grabbed them—I wasn’t planning to skate. Wasn’t even planning to sit here. But after the gym, I just started walking. Ended up here like I always do when I need to think.

I press my thumb against the seam of my gloves, working at the frayed edge.

She said we’d figure it out. That she’d help me learn.

"What if I can't get it right?"

The words bounced off the rafters and came back at me like a puck off the boards.

I care about her more than I’ve ever cared about anything.

Maybe she’d be better off if I weren’t part of this.

I tighten my grip on my gloves, fingers pressing against the worn leather.

I’ve messed up more in the last year than most people manage in a lifetime. I tanked my career. Trashed my image. Dragged her rescue into the spotlight—and she’s still here. Still standing.

Me? I’m just trying not to screw things up worse.

So maybe it’s time I stopped trying to make things right here. Maybe the better move is just… leave. Get traded. Start fresh somewhere else before I drag anyone else down with me.

I exhale hard and lean back, spine hitting the cinder block wall with a dull thud. The cold bleeds through my shirt and settles into my skin.

There’s a playbook for hockey. You make a bad read, you reset, shift your lines, run the drill again. You fix it.

There’s no playbook for this. Not for her. Not for… whatever this is.

“I should ask for a trade.”

Saying it out loud makes it feel like a plan.

And a plan feels safer than hope.

***

Coop walked into the players lounge. Standing, tossing a puck from hand to hand as if this was just another night—not the one where I might blow up my life again.

I didn’t sit. Didn’t talk. Just stared at the floor.

"So," Coop finally said, flipping the puck once more before catching it flat. "You gonna tell me why you texted me to meet here just to stand there like an idiot?"

I rubbed a hand over my jaw, exhaling slowly. "Thinking."

"That’s terrifying." He smirked, but his voice was quieter now. Waiting.

I walked over, dropped onto the couch, leaned forward, forearms braced on my knees.

"I’m thinking about asking for a trade."

The puck hit his palm and stilled.

"Why?"

I shrugged. I shifted my weight, pressing my thumb against the seam of my glove—the same habit, the same spot.

"Clean break. Start over. Give the team one less thing to babysit."

Coop just turned the puck over in his hand.

"You think that’s what this is?" he asked after a beat. A babysitting job?"

I huffed out a short breath. The vending machine hummed.

"Isn’t it?" I looked over at him. "Ryan dumped me on his sister. The coach barely tolerates me. Vanessa’s still sniffing around. I’m a distraction."

"You were a distraction," he corrected. "Now? Guys are starting to follow your lead."

I let out a sharp laugh. "What lead?"

"Mason’s killing it in practice. You’ve been running drills with him for two weeks and now the kid’s flying. Finn started mentoring the new goalie. You know why? Because he saw you doing it first."

My head jerked slightly. Eyes flicked toward the muted TV.

"Didn’t realize they noticed."

"They noticed."

Coop sat on the couch across from me, leaned back, kicked his feet up onto the table. "You’re not just doing donuts out there anymore. Guys see it. You’ve stopped coasting."

It felt good to hear. Which only made it worse.

"Doesn’t change what I did before," I muttered. "Maybe this is just damage control."

"Maybe," Coop said, standing, grabbing his jacket. "But even if it is—you’re still here. Still putting in the work."

I pressed my thumb deeper into the seam of my glove. A loose thread curled at the edge.

"I don’t want to mess this up," I admitted.

"Then don’t."

Coop shrugged, then tossed me the puck. I caught it reflexively, the weight settling in my palm before I could process it.

"But don’t pretend bailing is the noble move. That’s not leadership. That’s just quitting with a nicer label."

Coop got up, grabbed the remote to turn off the TV and turned toward the door.

"You’ve already changed the room, Hayes."

The door swung open, then shut.

Coop was gone.

***

The gym was quiet this morning, just bar clanks and my own breath. I tried to lift it out of my system. Coop’s voice. Riley’s face. The weight in my chest.

I’d been here long enough to soak through my shirt and outlast the cleaning crew.

By mid-morning, I was still thinking about what Coop said.

I’d already made the call in my head. Now I just had to say it out loud.

The hallway outside Ryan’s office smelled like rubber mats and burnt coffee. I stood there, one hand on the doorframe, watching him through the narrow window.

He was hunched over the desk, flipping through scouting reports with that look he always wore when he was trying to make five things happen at once. Clipboard in hand, coffee untouched beside him—steam long gone.

I could still turn around. Say it was nothing. Go back to the weight room, pretend I was just passing by.

Instead, I knocked twice.

Ryan looked up, eyes narrowing a fraction before he nodded. "Yeah. Come in."

I stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind me.

He leaned back in his chair, pen still in hand. "What’s up?"

I stayed standing. Cleared my throat. Swallowed the part of me that wanted to stall.

"I think I need to ask for a trade."

Ryan didn’t speak right away. He set the pen down slowly. It clipped the edge of a folder and skittered an inch before stopping. Then he leaned back, studying me.

"Didn’t see that coming," he said finally.

I shifted my weight, thumb dragging across my glove seam.

"I think I’m just a distraction."

Ryan’s brow barely moved, but I felt his attention lock in.

"I think it’s better for everyone if I leave."

Ryan sat back, one hand resting on the arm of his chair. "Huh," he said. "I thought maybe you'd come in here asking what the brass has been saying. About your chances of getting called back up."

My jaw tightened. I hadn’t expected that. Not from him.

I shifted my weight, "Didn’t think there was much to say."

He tilted his head slightly. "This isn’t adding up for me." He gestured toward the chair across from him. "Sit down."

Ryan leaned forward a bit, elbows on the desk arms crossed - it must be a sibling thing.

"I gotta say, Colton—you’ve been working great with Finn. Tight communication, clean screens, and giving him a chance to see pucks. It’s making a difference."

I lean forward, unconsciously matching his posture. "Yeah! You know, I was thinking—he responds best when we keep the pressure off his glove side early. Gets his confidence up. Maybe we adjust the warm-ups so he sees those high shots first—let him settle before we start ripping them blocker-side."

One of Ryan’s eyebrows raise, "Uh-huh…"

I’m on a roll "And hey, if we tweak the defensive rotations a bit, we could give him cleaner lanes. Less traffic, better reads. We should—"

Ryan holds up a hand, grinning "Colt."

I stop short "Yeah?"

Ryan smirks, "Are you… coaching me right now?"

I laugh and rub the back of my neck. “I got carried away, huh?"

Ryan chuckles and pushes back from the desk. "A little bit."

Now I’m laughing and shaking my head, "Sorry…. Coach”

Ryan rests his elbows on the armrests, folding his hands together. "Don’t be. It’s good to see the Colton spark again."

"Yeah, it's good to feel it again.”

Silence.

Ryan doesn’t say anything, doesn’t push.

That’s the thing about him—he knows when to talk and when to just... let you sit with it.

“That’s why I think I should leave." I exhale, running a hand through my hair. "I know I can get myself back on track. I mean I wouldn’t have gotten this far without everyone here. But…"

I pause, trying to find the right words.

"I’ve made too many mistakes. Too much damage. And I think… maybe it’s time for a fresh start."

Ryan sits up a bit straighter. "You said it yourself—that wouldn’t have gotten this far without everyone here. How do you think everyone will react to you leaving?”

I can’t look at him, so I look at the whiteboard behind him. "They’ll be fine without me. I mean, I think you could pair Mason up with Finn. Mason’s solid, just needs confidence, and Finn could help with that."

Ryan is silent but gives a small nod.

I shrug, "And honestly? Giving Finn that kind of mentorship role could boost his confidence, too."

Ryan leans a bit more forward “Colton, I wasn’t talking about the team. I was talking about Riley”

I know exactly what he means.

And worse? I know he’s right.

Riley.

Damn it.

I swallow, exhaling slowly like that’s gonna help me figure out what’s going on. This was supposed to be about hockey—about my future, about getting my head on straight. Not her. Not us.

If there even is an us .

And now, Ryan is just sitting there, watching me. Waiting.

I flex my fingers, tension creeping in, but I stay quiet.

Ryan leans back in his chair, laughing as he shakes his head.

"You know, when you first got here? Riley would blow up my phone. Calls, texts—you name it. Holy cow, Colton, you got under her skin."

He folds his hands behind his head now, still grinning, settling deeper into the chair.

"At first, it was just her venting—long rants about how you never listened, how you were impossible, how she was gonna lose her mind dealing with you. But then..."

Ryan pauses for a second, eyes narrowing slightly, like he’s piecing something together. Then the grin returns.

"I knew things were changing when she stopped texting me so much. And when we did talk? Instead of complaining, she actually started telling me she could see you were trying. Heck, at one point, she even asked me to back off."

He lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "That was when I knew—you weren’t just another problem for her to handle anymore."

I exhale, shaking my head before a short laugh escapes.

"Not for nothing, Ryan—your sister is fiery."

I lean back in the chair, rubbing a hand over my face.

"I swear, I was more scared of her than that psycho coach we had in college."

Ryan lets out a laugh.

"Oh, come on—Coach Marshall? The guy used to throw water bottles at the wall when he got pissed!"

I grin, sitting up a little, pointing at him.

"Oh man, remember that? Riley doesn’t even flinch if I push her buttons. Marshall yelled? You ducked. Riley gets mad? You feel it in your soul. That woman is terrifying."

We both crack up, the tension in the room shifting, easing up.

Ryan leans forward now, resting his elbows on the armrests again, his hands loosely clasped together. His laughter fades, but the amusement lingers in his expression as he studies me.

"But she was effective."

I leaned forward, forearms on my knees, stalling.

"Yeah… she was."

I looked down for a beat.

“I started realizing she wasn’t mad at me… it was more about the way I kept getting in my own way."

Ryan lets out a short chuckle, shaking his head. "Well. You were."

I lean back, stretching my legs out in front of me, tapping my heel lightly against the floor.

"But I’ll tell you this—she had good instincts."

Ryan doesn’t move.

"I think she started realizing I didn’t need someone telling me to change. I just needed someone to show me how."

I look at Ryan, waiting for him to say something, to agree or push back, but he doesn’t. Just that same calm, steady look.

I shift in my seat, exhaling slowly. "I don’t know how to explain it, but... for the first time, it felt like I had someone in my corner. Someone who would be there for me for better or worse."

I glance down, rubbing my thumb against the seam of my jeans, thinking.

"I didn’t want to squander that. I wanted to earn it."

I look up at Ryan now, holding his gaze.

"And I think I have. I mean, I see it—my game’s sharper, my focus is better, I’m making smarter plays. Riley kept me accountable, and I needed that. She didn’t let me off easy, and because of that, I’m playing better. I feel like I actually deserve my spot now."

I pause, hoping Ryan agrees.

Eventually, he leans forward, forearms on the desk, eyes steady on mine.

"You think all of this is just about hockey?"

I shift in my seat. "What do you mean?"

Ryan lets out a short laugh before rubbing a hand down his face.

"Okay, look. I’m Riley’s brother, so I really don’t want to know too much, no I’m begging you not to tell me too much. But, Colton… it’s obvious to anyone who’s spent five minutes around the two of you that something is going on."

My grip tightens on the armrest. "I don’t know, man."

I rub a hand over my jaw, staring at the floor like the answer’s somehow gonna be there.

"I mean… yeah. I care about her."

I exhale, shaking my head.

"But Riley’s…"

I pause, swallowing hard, then glance up at Ryan.

"She’s Riley, you know? She’s smart, and solid, and she deserves better than some guy who spent half the season screwing up his own life."

Ryan’s lip twitched. "Doesn’t Riley have a say in this? You really think Riley’s just gonna sit back and let you make this call for her?"