Page 2 of Your Biggest Downfall (Ravens Hockey #3)

austin

One Year Later

“Austin Hart, got a second for an interview?” a paparazzo hollered outside the hockey arena as I slung my bag over my shoulder.

I’d just won the Conference quarterfinal game and was ready to get home. Yes, it was a big win, but I was spent.

“Yeah, man. Make it quick,” I snapped, barely hiding my exhaustion.

The last eight months had been brutal with relentless practices and games.

But I had stepped up as the team’s superstar when my new stepfather retired.

After spending hours putting in the work, I was coined the league’s youngest top scorer with close to sixty-three goals and more assists than I even remember.

“How do you feel leading up to the Stanley Cup? You’ve been on a two-game win streak, but do you think you’ll be able to pull it off against Minnesota next week?”

I let out a dry laugh. Who was this guy? Of course I was going to pull it off. I didn’t build my reputation by not being ready for this. I had something to prove.

That had always been the story of my life—constantly proving to my mother, grandmother, and kids my age that I was bigger, better, smarter, and worked harder than anyone else. The pressure was relentless.

I was fucking exhausted all the time, and the only moments I felt alive were when I was either fucking or partying. Not even winning a game was affecting me anymore.

“Fuck, yeah, I’m ready,” I said and nodded before turning back toward my car.

I remembered what my mother used to say to me in situations like this.

She would chastise me as if I were still a kid, relentlessly reminding me that she moved out here to help my career.

Yes, she married the team captain and was now at home nursing their newborn, but she never let me forget the sacrifices she made for me.

Her constant reminders were both a burden and a motivation, pushing me to succeed even when I was overwhelmed.

It was her way of showing love, though it often felt suffocating.

My mother had been through a lot in her life, and I rarely blamed her for anything.

But after it being the two of us for so long, Ledger’s arrival made me feel a bit sidelined.

Maybe this space was healthy, and the way she babied me wasn’t, but it all happened so suddenly, and I still hadn’t processed it.

It seemed like no one was in my corner and she’d stopped loving me.

Last year, I’d tried to use a fake ID at a bar.

I hadn’t even played a single game yet. I was eager to fit in and join my teammates in their nightlife, but things went south quickly.

I got caught by the bouncer, arrested, and had the fake ID chopped up right in front of me. The whole incident was humiliating.

I did get another fake ID afterward, but the fear of getting caught again lingered.

It was easier and felt safer to rely on whatever booze my teammates would bring me.

They understood the risks and were more than willing to help me out, keeping me supplied without the need to step into a bar and risk another run-in with the law.

After the incredible win we had tonight and knowing I didn’t have to play for another week, the bar at home was calling my name.

I could practically hear it begging for my attention, and I couldn’t get home fast enough.

The adrenaline from the game was still coursing through my veins, and I needed a way to unwind and celebrate.

The thought of pouring a drink, feeling the burn of the alcohol, and letting the tension of the past few months melt away was all I could focus on.

I dialed Perez, one of the right wingers who played for the Ravens, and he picked up on the second ring.

“Bring me a brunette tonight. Maybe two?” I said without a hello.

“Roger that,” Perez responded and then hung up.

I got in the car and let out a pent-up breath.

Before turning onto the road toward my apartment building, I closed my eyes and rested my head against the headrest. I was chasing a high, and truthfully, I didn’t even know if there was an end in sight.