Page 7

Rovvy would be better off talking to Monroe. They’re both about as excitable as each other. It’s sickening.

When I don’t respond, Rovvy rolls his eyes and bounds toward the dressing room, leaving me to stomp along after him.

I’m about to pass the trainers’ room when the door is suddenly ripped open and a fully dressed player marches out.

Only, he’s not paying any attention, because he walks straight into me.

My teeth clench as I suck in an irritated breath through my nose.

“Watch it,” I grunt, glaring at the man who's now in my way.

Kodie’s gaze collides with mine before his eyes narrow slightly, filled with nothing but disdain.

Once upon a time, we wouldn’t have looked at each other with contempt. Our time spent together used to be full of fun and laughter.

But that was before.

Hell, it’s a time I can barely remember. A time where there weren’t responsibilities and pressures and the requirement to perform.

That was when lacing up a pair of skates came with a side of adrenaline and hope.

Pulling pads on elicited thoughts and dreams of the future.

The promise of years full of friendly competition, pushing each other to be better, and all the possibilities ahead of us.

That all feels like another lifetime ago now.

“Sorry,” Kodie mutters before finally taking a step back, allowing me to continue toward the dressing room.

He falls into step behind me, his eyes drilling into my back, two daggers slicing through my skin and embedding themselves into my chest.

I force the memories down with everything else I don’t want to think about before a game.

Nothing good comes from that.

The only thing I can control now is the future.

Hopefully, that will look like a Stanley Cup win and then a trade as far away from LA as possible.

I might not want to admit it out loud, but I agreed with my old GM’s idea of me needing a fresh start. This wasn’t what I had in mind, though.

I put myself at risk in Vancouver. I made mistakes.

Mistakes I should have been smart enough to avoid.

But I was powerless but to cave to temptation.

A temptation that could ruin my life.

I clench my teeth so hard, I’m not sure how I don’t crack one as I lower my ass to my cubby.

The fucking hip hop still blares, and when I glance over, I find Reeves standing over his stupid speaker, rolling his hips to the beat as if he’s in a fucking nightclub, not an NHL dressing room about to play a game.

Asshole.

Dragging my eyes away, I stare at a spot on the wall ahead of me and try to get myself under control, forcing every single thought from my head that isn’t hockey related.

My fists clench and unclench as I picture the faces of the guys I’ll be up against tonight.