Chapter 6
Grayson
THEO IRVING who the hell put a stick up Coach’s ass?
HUDSON MITCHEL why? Are you jealous?
THEO IRVING never, dipshit
LOGAN JOHNSON
what happened now?
JACK LEWIS the bull is out. Coach’s neck veins are throbbing and everything
LOGAN JOHNSON Irving, what the fuck did you do to piss Coach off?
THEO IRVING why does everyone automatically assume I did something?
KIERAN ASHFORD where there’s smoke there’s fire
LOGAN JOHNSON I second that
THEO IRVING it’s not always me
JACK LEWIS
you demanded a pet mascot and then lost it within six hours LOGAN JOHNSON what about the time you were caught screwing two puck bunnies
in the locker rooms?
THEO IRVING you’re the reason we have beef with the Chicago Satans HUDSON MITCHEL you drove a woman insane enough that she trashed the facilities
to get back at you GRAYSON you screwed his niece in the bathroom during his sixtieth
birthday party
THEO IRVING point taken
his is bullshit,” Theo spits, his blue eyes blazing, his nape-length blond“T hair rustling as he shakes his head in disgust.
Asher mirrors Theo as he shoves the ball cap down on his shaking head. “Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I agree with Irving. This is bullshit, Crawford.”
“I’d take offense, but I’m too fucking pissed off to focus on you,” Theo retorts, pushing off the locker bench.
My best friend comes up beside me and claps me on the shoulder. “Told you none of them would take it well,” Kieran gloats, his smug smirk doing nothing but getting on my nerves.
“As if we’d take it any other way,” Hudson fires off, his tawny skin glistening with sweat as he points a finger in my direction. “I respect Coach, but this is stupid. I refuse to acknowledge anyone else as my captain.”
Heat crawls up my cheeks as the locker room explodes with cheers of agreement.
Logan strolls in, his large hulking frame taking up so much room everyone takes a step back to give him space. “What’s got everyone’s panties in a twist?” he drawls, dumping his bag next to his closest teammate, Asher.
“Coach revoked Crawford’s captaincy.”
Logan spins, shocked. “You’re fucking joking. Why?” he spits.
“Why?” I blurt, silencing the team I’ve adored since day one. “Guys, I
love you and the support you’re showing me right now, but we all know why I don’t deserve the title of captain.”
Logan shakes his head. “That’s bullshit. If anything, we all know why this
is such a colossal fuck-up.”
“Cap—”
“Crawford or Grayson,” I correct, earning a glare from Asher that somehow makes me feel smaller.
My hackles rise. Logan Johnson and Asher O’Connor are the only two men on this team that could truly intimidate me, even with Asher and I both standing at six foot four.
“Captain,” O’Connor reiterates, his forest green eyes still staring into my soul. “Doesn’t matter who he appoints. They won’t accept the title and we won’t either.”
My team rises around me, dipping their heads in agreement.
“Don’t piss Coach off any more than he already is. I’ve put him through hell —”
“Because you’ve been put through hell,” Logan interjects.
I point at him. “We’re not talking about that.”
“That’s why we’re in this mess in the first place,” Kieran whispers under his breath beside me.
Shooting him a scathing glare, I spin back toward my team. “I don’t want to hear it. I fucked up, I stopped showing up, he revoked my title, and he has every right to make that decision.”
“I don’t think you’re hearing us, Cap.” Hudson steps forward.
“I am, it’s you lot that aren’t hearing me. It’s Grayson or Crawford. If you call me by anything else, I’ll ignore you.” Turning my back on my team, I lace up, for once not hungover for practice. “This is the way it has to be from now on.”
I put my headphones on as everyone speaks around me, about me…and Drew.
I appreciate the support, more than they would ever know, but Coach Anderson had every right to revoke my title. I haven’t been a team player, and when I’ve showed up, it’s been me just puking from the previous night’s shenanigans.
A clap on my shoulder has me turning to Kieran. There’s such worry in his gaze I shrug off his touch. “I’m fine.”
And with those parting words, I ignore my team’s stares, their whispered
words of the mistake I made that led to me not only ruining my life but killing my brother. As I step onto the ice, I hope that I’ll feel something other than guilt over his death, but like the night I begged my brother to live, my prayers are ignored.
Sweat drips down every crevice of my body. My hair sticks to my face, my feet ache, and my lungs burn because I haven’t been training outside the ice.
I have fallen so far from where I used to be as an athlete it stuns me speechless. I truly didn’t realize how unfit, sloppy, and tired I had been playing until I was sober enough to listen to my body.
No wonder Coach has been pulling me into his office as often as he has.
Drew would be pissed at me, so unequivocally pissed that if he was still here he’d kill me.
Everyone left practice an hour ago but I couldn’t in good conscience step off the ice. The best thing I’ve done for myself since Drew died nearly sixteen months ago was stay on this ice and run through drills to assess just how far I’ve fallen down the ladder. The new season starts in two weeks and the last thing I want to deal with on top of what’s happening in my heart and mind is the press hounding me on my horrendous playing.
Hell, Coach can’t even put me in my usual first forward line when I’m in this condition.
Three months after Drew died in the summer of 2023, I forced Coach Anderson to keep me playing, forced him to allow me to try and go on as usual. It was the wrong choice. And it only took Coach two games to realize I shouldn’t have ever stepped back on the ice. He ordered me to take a year off to grieve, but I still haven’t stopped.
I don’t think you ever do. No one can put a time on grieving. I don’t even think the pain ends; you just get used to it.
Needless to say, when he told me to grieve, I think he had something else
in mind than my drinking. I’m shocked how I’ve handled everything. Who I was before Drew died and who I am now is so irrevocably different, I don’t
recognize myself in the mirror anymore.
I hate who I’ve become.
I hate what my life looks like.
And I hate that all of it is my fault.
“Crawford.”
The female voice cuts across the ice, halting my skating.
Ice sprays the air as I come to a screeching halt at the board before Olivia Foster, the assistant forward coach and the woman that’s a pain in my ass.
Not because she’s a bad coach—she’s anything but. I can see her quickly moving up the ranks to head coach one day. Because unfortunately for me,
she won’t let me bury my feelings.
“Hey, Coach.”
Her brow quirks. “You sober for once?”
I give her a flat smile. “Three days now.”
She dips her head, the corner of her lips lifting. “Good. How does it
feel?”
“Like shit.”
She barks out a short, quick laugh. “And that surprises you?”
“No.” Why do you think I never stopped drinking?
It’s like she can see right through me, as if she watched the thought pop into my mind and settle. She leans against the boards, her baggy IceHawks jumper hanging down to her thighs. Some of the guys on the team talk about how attractive she is, but I’ve never looked at her as anything other than a coach.
With her blonde hair slicked back today, the guys had prepared themselves for a grueling practice. We’re not sure why, but slicked-back hair correlates to hard practices. It’s like a bad omen.
“I didn’t come out here to invade your privacy. Just wanted to check that
you were in a good headspace.”
I side-eye her. “Why?”
She clicks her tongue before pushing off the boards. “Come with me.”
Something in the pit of my gut churns, a foreboding feeling, as I follow her down the tunnel and into her office. I’m surprised to find it empty. I’m not sure what I was expecting but that feeling won’t go away.
“Sit,” she commands.
I’m on autopilot. The voice she takes on is her coach’s voice and my body obeys. That’s when I notice what she’s reaching for, the red light
blinking on the machine.
Jumping from my seat, I snap, “No!”
But I’m too late.
“Allie, I’ve got him in the room.” She clicks a button as she puts the phone handle down. Clapping me on the back, she says softly on her way out, “Talk to her before she feels like she’s lost two sons.”
Her parting words blare through my mind until the voice I’ve been
dodging comes over the speakerphone.
“Grayson?”
My blood roars in my ears as I whisper, “Hi, Mom.”
She inhales a sharp breath. I can tell instantly she’s holding back tears. I can practically taste the sadness coming over the line, and this is the reason I’ve been dodging her and my dad’s calls since Drew’s funeral.
How am I meant to look them in the eye when I killed their baby boy?
“Grayson, honey…” She trails off, no doubt a thousand questions wanting to explode off her tongue. But then she settles on, “Can you come home? For dinner this weekend?”
A family dinner where there will be three placemats instead of four?
A family dinner that will end with my mom in tears?
A family dinner with my dad staring off into space where Drew used to sit?
A family dinner where it’s quiet because my baby brother brought laughter, light, and sound into our family?
As much as I love my mom, I cannot put myself through that.
That will break me. That would be my breaking point. One I know I couldn’t return from.
I have to lie. “I’m sorry, Mom. I have pre-season training this weekend.”
“Coach Foster said there was only Sunday morning practice.”
Fuck.
I’m pretty sure I curse out loud because a small sound comes over the
line.
Fucking Foster.
Doubling down, I push out, “I haven’t been playing well. I have extra sessions to make up for what I’m lacking.”
“Why aren’t you playing well, honey?”
Her sweet voice is almost my undoing, almost the thing that makes me scream, Because I killed my brother and I can’t allow myself to breathe when he can’t!
I decide to settle on a half-truth. “Because my best friend isn’t here to help me anymore.”
My voice cracks at the end, igniting a chain reaction that has my mom sniffling on the other line. After a sharp inhale, my mom’s muffled voice, tinged with emotion, fills the room. “Please let me see you, Grayson. Please.
This is killing me.”
For the second time in my life, I make the most catastrophic choice and choose to be selfish.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper gutturally before hanging up the phone.
ICEHAWKS
ASHER O’CONNOR Who the fuck put a dead fish in my car?
THEO IRVING Why do you automatically assume it’s us?
JACK LEWIS Poor form O'Connor
ASHER O’CONNOR Did anyone see which fucker put the fish in my car?
LOGAN JOHNSON It was Irving
THEO IRVING Traitor! Next time you need me to take a crazy puck bunny off your ass I’ll turn a blind eye
JACK LEWIS very happy to report I was not involved in this one
JACK LEWIS I’d like a formal apology for the assumption, O’Connor
ASHER O’CONNOR There’s still glitter in my carpet from the last prank you pulled, dipshit. Pay my cleaning bill
JACK LEWIS HAS LEFT THE CHAT.
THEO IRVING HAS ADDED JACK LEWIS TO THE CHAT.
THEO IRVING speaking of puck bunnies, team dinner tonight at 8? O’Malley’s bar?
HUDSON MITCHEL Why are puck bunnies and team dinner in the same thought bubble for you?
THEO IRVING duh, because they stalk us
LOGAN JOHNSON and you’re a sick fuck who likes that?
THEO IRVING don’t shame people’s kinks, Johnson. I’m sure your shy ass has some weird kinks
MATTEO VALENTI Why are we talking about kinks in the group chat again?
CALEB ELLINGTON Irving, you didn’t last longer than twelve hours
KIERAN ASHFORD better than last time
everyone meet at O’Malley’s at 9
KIERAN ASHFORD
KIERAN ASHFORD are you going to make an appearance on your own tonight or do I need to drag you out again?
earth to Grayson
Don’t make me kick your door down
BROS
KIERAN ASHFORD Grayson’s gone M.I.A again
CALEB ELLINGTON Valenti and I are driving past. We’ll make a pit stop
KIERAN ASHFORD text me if you need me to come out there
GRAYSON
You know I can read right?
and don’t come to my house
KIERAN ASHFORD so he lives!
I’m very offended you’re dodging my calls so offended, in fact, I’ve taken up Irving’s kink of stalking
GRAYSON
no
KIERAN ASHFORD oh yes
Kieran won’t stop pounding on my front door.
Why is this annoying? Because of the sound, the invasion of privacy, or all the above maybe? No, what’s truly infuriating is this man has a key.
He’s purposely pissing me off.
Flinging open the door, I all but growl as I find Kieran, Caleb Ellington, and Matteo Valenti standing on my front porch.
“No. I’m not coming. Sorry you wasted a trip.”
I move to slam the door in their faces but Kieran’s foot darts out, stopping it. He steps through, clapping me on the back. “I see your three days of sobriety have taken a turn.” He sniffs the air. “Whiskey this time?”
Matteo and Caleb share a look, making me feel smaller than I should.
“What happened?” Matteo asks, finally stepping through the doorway.
Kieran rounds the corner, his hand in a box of my cereal. How the fuck did he get that so fast? “Mommy dearest managed to trap him and get him on the line.”
My back stiffens as my eyes slowly make their way to his face. “You talk to my mom?”
“Of course I do,” he says as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Which in hindsight, if I push through my whiskey haze, I’d realize it is.
He’s been my best friend since my freshmen year of high school. My parents are practically his.
He throws his hands in the air, scattering Froot Loops across the couch.
“Well, since you’re already drinking, we may as well get you dressed and down to the bar.”
“And why would I do that?” I ask, pointedly ignoring the mess he’s created.
“Because your team loves you and they’re worried about you,” Caleb answers before anyone else can.
“You’re freaking people out, dude,” Matteo admits.
“And,” Kieran adds, “the last thing you should be doing is drinking your sorrows away alone.”
Internally, I wince as shame makes my heart shrivel up. Externally, however, I probably look like I don’t give a shit. Which is so far from who I am at my core I’m slightly terrified.
After shoving a fistful of cereal into his mouth, Kieran claps his hands.
“That’s it, we’re going. I’m tired of arguing.” He sniffs me before pulling back with a grimace. “Am I going to have to force you into a shower or can you manage to do that yourself?”
He’s not going to leave until I say yes.
Rolling my eyes, I relent, “I’ll do it myself. Just give me fifteen minutes.”
He shoves the box of cereal into my hands. “We’ll be in the car.” He turns on his heel, saying on the way out, “See? I told you I can get him to do whatever I want.”
Matteo and Caleb roll their eyes and I’d laugh, but unfortunately at this point, it’s true.
