Page 18 of With the Assist

He cuts me off. “Being here isn’t enough right now. Not with where we are in the standings. Not with your contract expiring at the end of the season.”

The words hit with the weight of a cross-check to the ribs.

“If you don’t turn this around, we’re going to have to make some tough decisions,” he says, firm but not cruel. “And as much as I like you, that includes your extension.”

My lungs seize up.

“You’ve got some time,” Coach continues. “Figure it out. Because the way you’re playing is not sustainable, and it’s not enough.”

The chair creaks as I push up. “I’ll figure it out.”

“I want to keep you here, but the league won’t wait for you to get your head right.”

I nod once and walk out, the door shutting behind me with a soft click that feels like a gunshot.

The locker room is quieter when I push the door open again. Most of the guys have cleared out, leaving behind the lingering smell of sweat. I don’t say a word, heading straight for the showers.

I’m not the captain, but the team still looks to me as a leader. That’s what happens when you play in one place longer than most. The Nathan Wilder they know is confident, if not a little cocky. He doesn’t feel lost. He doesn’t feel weak. So, I take ten minutes in the shower, shaking it all off.

Hot water pounds onto my skin, but it doesn’t do a damn thing to loosen the coil in my shoulders. Coach Rylan’s words replay, circling like vultures.

I brace my hand against the tile and let the steam blur everything. For a few minutes, I let myself feel the disappointment and fear that’s been building for months before cracking open tonight.

Then, I shut off the water, ready to plaster a fake-ass smile on my face. When I step out, only three guys remain.

Liam is sprawled on the bench, still shirtless, scrolling on his phone. Grayson is perched on top of a stall like some kind of gremlin because he has zero regard for normal etiquette. And Wyatt is leaning against his locker with his arms crossed.

All three look up when they hear me.

Liam whistles low. “Well? Are you dead? Do we need to plan a memorial?”

I toss my towel at him, sliding my suit back on. It smacks him in the face, and he pretends to gag.

Wyatt’s gaze is steady. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

I sit on the bench and drag a hand through my hair. “Yeah.”

“What’d he say?” Grayson asks, sliding down to sit properly for once.

“He likes me,” I mutter with a humorless laugh. “He thinks I’ve got talent, but if I don’t turn this around, my contract’s gone.”

Silence fills the room like smoke.

Liam’s joking expression falls completely, the reality setting in. “Damn. He actually said that?”

“Word for word.”

Wyatt curses under his breath. “Shit.”

I shrug even though every muscle in me is knotted. At least my friends agree that it’s bad news, because my parents would be thrilled.

“He’s not wrong.” I sigh, shoving stuff into my bag.

“You were getting it back,” Grayson says. “After that charity thing, you looked different for a couple of days. Like the old you.”

“You did play well against Tampa.” That’s Wyatt practically writing me a sonnet.

I laugh despite myself. “Thanks, man. Inspirational.”