Page 2 of Made for Mayhem

I loved them, but I’d also learned the hard way not to expect much from them. Expectation was where disappointment lived.

Maybe that’s why my sister and I hung on so tight to each other, why I always went out of my way to show her how much I loved her with my actions, my presence, even if I sucked at saying it.

But this one… Shit.

This one hurt.

Every time the locker room door opened, I could see all the family members milling about, waiting for their husbands, boyfriends, brothers, sons… whatever these boys were to them. The people who loved them were just outside, waiting with open arms.

But I was alone.

I was always fucking alone.

With a sigh, I clapped Matt on the shoulder, then gave it a squeeze. “I’m great. Have a good off-season. Enjoy the beach.”

He grinned and flicked my overgrown beard. “At least you can get rid of this now. You’re starting to look a little lumberjack-y.”

I huffed a quiet laugh and dragged a hand through the dark scruff covering my jaw. I’d grown my beard out hoping we’d claw our way into a wild-card spot, maybe buy ourselves a little more time. Give my parents more opportunities to not show up for me.

Luck hadn’t been on my side.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m kind of attached to it now.”

I took one last look at the empty stall, the Ty “Huddy” Hudson – 55 label above it there for the last time, then shouldered my bag and walked away. Matt and I walked out together, him chattering on about his off-season plans and me offering polite platitudes until the heavy door swung shut behind us.

The parking garage was bright and cavernous, concrete reflecting the glare of overhead lights. Sound carried here—footsteps, laughter, the distant chirp of a car alarm—everything bouncing back a second too late as my teammates moved on with their lives.

Matt stopped at his SUV and popped the hatch. “Last chance,” he said, nodding toward the exit. “It’s gonna be packed with everybody having family in town.”

“I’m good,” I told him, not needing the reminder that it was just me here tonight. No wife and kids. No parents. No friends. Not even Emmy. “Have a great trip.”

He grinned, shut the door, and rolled out, headlights sweeping across the wall before disappearing down the ramp.

I crossed to my truck, opened the tailgate, and dropped my bag in. The thud it made sounded final, like punctuation. I stood there longer than necessary, hands braced on the edge of the tailgate, staring at nothing in particular.

Engines turned over one by one. The garage emptied in stages until the noise thinned and the surrounding space grew too big, too open. My ears rang in the sudden quiet, each breath coming out a little more jagged than the last.

I rubbed a hand across my chest, feeling like something was squeezing all the air out of the space where my lungs were supposed to expand. My heart kicked harder as tomorrow loomed all at once, uninvited.

No morning skate.

No rehab schedule.

No reason to be anywhere at a certain time.

No one needed me.

Just an empty condo thirty floors up with floor-to-ceiling windows and a view of the water—beautiful, quiet, and oh so wrong.

My grip tightened on the tailgate, the metal digging into my palm enough to break me out of my spiral. Reaching into my bag, I grabbed my black Chicago Storm hat and tugged it down over my hair. My phone vibrated in my pocket as I shut the tailgate a little too hard, but I ignored it.

With each uneven breath, my hands started to buzz with leftover adrenaline that had nowhere to go. I flexed them, then pulled my hood up over my hat, the fabric narrowing my vision and muting the world enough to make it bearable.

The truck was right there.

Home was minutes away and the bar only a small detour.

But the idea of being alone, whether at home or in a crowd, made everything worse.