Page 192 of On the Breakaway

“Can we circle back to there being a ‘thing’ with Avery in the first place?” Liam interrupts, just to have Nathan smack him in the back of the head.

“It doesn’t matter. Because whatever ‘thing’ we had, I’m pretty sure just ended.” My voice cracks. “So there’s nothing to talk about.”

“Oh.” Nathan’s voice is softer.

Liam’s grin disappears.

And Wyatt’s face shifts from anger to honest concern, in the way only family would do.

“Grayson…”

I shake my head. “Don’t. Please just fucking don’t. I don’t deserve anyone’s sympathy right now.”

My chest feels like it’s caving in, and the way they’re looking at me isn’t helping. When Avery stepped away from me in that hallway, something inside me started unraveling. I haven’t figured out how to stop it.

The office door opens, and Coach’s thundering voice echoes through the room.

“Shaw. Now.”

My legs feel heavier than they should as I cross the room. Everyone quiets down as I pass them because they know as well as I do that I’m a dead man walking.

Maybe the suspension will only be a game.

Maybe we’ll still win Game Five.

Maybe we’ll still make the Cup Final.

Maybe none of this would matter in a month.

But worrying about any of it feels hollow because everything stopped mattering the second Avery looked at me like it was over.

I step into Coach’s office to find him sitting patiently behind his desk. The tension in the room is suffocating as I slide into the chair across from him.

Finally, he exhales through his nose. “What happened?”

“I lost my temper.”

Coach waits, but nothing good comes from explaining. It doesn’t change anything. When it becomes clear I’m not going to elaborate, he leans back in his chair.

“That’s not what I’m asking.”

I know, but every answer just sounds like a shitty excuse.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Coach studies me. “Doesn’t matter?”

I shake my head. “No. I fucked up. I know that.”

My eyes finally stop scanning the room and land on his face, expecting to find anger. Instead, he looks genuinely concerned.

It pisses me off. I deserve his anger, not his concern. Not Wyatt’s sympathy. Not Nathan’s pity.

I deserve for everyone to be as angry with me as I am with myself.

“You have played over five hundred professional games.” He lets out a long breath. “You’ve been Captain for years. And you’ve been ejected once. So, forgive me if I’m having trouble believing that whatever the hell happened on my fucking ice was nothing. That wasn’t just someone getting under your skin.”

I swallow but stay silent. Eventually, Coach leans forward.