Page 56 of Scarred

But no one says a word, leaving the blame unspoken and impossible to miss.

I opt for the ice bath today, wanting to feel the physical pain—the needle-prick bite of the frozen temperature. Anything is better than the heavy weight of costing us a game.

“Blade, you have press in thirty,” Coach says, stopping in front of me.

“Great,” I mutter.

“You too, McCormick.” He looks in Thane’s direction and gets a scowl in return, along with a quick nod that he understands. Press isn’t high on anyone’s list, but it comes with the territory. It especially sucks ass after a loss, and I know I’m going to be the focus of it all.

Coach leaves us to get ready, but I know from the concerned look in his eyes that if I don’t get my head back in the game, I’ll be in his office soon. He’s letting me off the hook tonight, chalking it up to one bad game, but I have no doubt I’ll be working with the goaltending coaches extra hard tomorrow.

Thirty minutes later, we are iced, showered, and dressed, making our way to the press room.

McCormick is silent by my side, and I appreciate how he gives me my space, understanding that nothing he could say would ease the disappointment and frustration I have toward myself right now.

“Let’s get this over with,” he grumbles, opening the door for me.

“My thoughts exactly,” I grit out.

Taking seats in front of the room, I lean forward and brace myself for the first round of questions.

“Tough loss tonight, Blade. What are your thoughts on the game?” the first reporter asks as I force myself to remain cool and collected when I really want to say…

How the fuck do you think I feel after a loss that happened because I couldn’t be present? All because a woman has gotten under my skin, and I feel like I’m being torn in half between a life I had and the one I’m terrified to want.

Instead, I reply, “I had an off night, and I own it. I let my team down, and I let myself down. It happens.”

“For the record,” McCormick says, leaning back, his intense grey eyes staring at the reporter in front of him. He’s a forbidding force with his tattoos peeking out of his dress shirt and his large frame mirroring mine. “Blade didn’t let us down tonight. We win together, and we lose together. Off nights can happen to any one of us. He’s given us a hell of a lot more wins this season than losses, so our team is far from being let down tonight.”

I swallow down the emotions that want to rise. Our team has always been about brotherhood, and tonight is no exception. Glancing over at him, his expression makes it clear he won’t allow me to carry this loss alone.

Clearing my throat, I take a sip of water and compose myself for the next question.

“Going into the next game, Blade, what’s the mindset?” I shift my attention to the reporter and look him right in the eyes.

“Do whatever it takes to bring home a win,” I deadpan, showing no emotion other than the one I’ve gotten good at letting people see…the one that keeps everyone out.

More questions follow, but they blur together—stats, plays, the same recycled bullshit after every loss. McCormick answers most of them, stepping in where needed, giving me room to keep my responses short and controlled.

I’m a professional, and that’s exactly what they expect from me.

By the time we’re dismissed, I’m already halfway out of my chair, not wanting to wait around and linger.

I just need out.

The hallway outside the press room is quieter, the noise of the arena fading into a dull hum as I drag a hand down my face.

“Blade…”

I stop but don’t turn around. Letting out a slow breath, I keep my gaze focused straight ahead.

“You know that was bullshit, right?” McCormick asks quietly. “You don’t get to take this on all by yourself.”

My jaw tightens as a beat of silence stretches between us before I glance over my shoulder at him.

“Thanks for having my back in there,” I finally say, completely ignoring what he just said.

He sighs heavily, knowing it’s no use trying to convince me that it’s not my fault we lost tonight.