I stared in horror.
The camera zoomed in on the celebrating Minnesota players, then switched to the Aces bench, where they sat dejected. Chase dropped onto the bench, head bent, shoulders slumped.
“Where the hell was your defense?” I shouted at the Aces through my TV, then closed my eyes. No yelling.
How much time was left? It had been less than two minutes last time I’d noticed. Yes, they’d announced the last minute of play, so…when the clock reappeared on the screen, my heart dropped to my toes. Thirty-two seconds.
The horn sounded to end the game. Another loss for the Aces.
They weren’t out of the playoffs yet, but they had an uphill road to make it through this first round. They’d have to win the next four games in a row.
Chapter 21
Chase
MINNEAPOLIS
I sat in the dressing room, the atmosphere somber and heavy. Nobody was saying much and that wasn’t a good sign. We were a tight group usually, able to talk through things and lighten the mood even when we’d lost. Not that we didn’t take things seriously, we did, but this feeling was different. Painful.
Maybe it was just me. I was blaming myself for this loss, when we’d badly needed a win. I kept reliving that moment in my mind. I couldn’t believe I let that happen. And when I’d tried to recover the puck, I’d hesitated because I was afraid I was going to hurt my wrist if I dug for it.
I was ashamed. Embarrassed. And so fucking angry…at myself.
Chin on my chest, my elbows rested on my knees, hands dangling. My throat felt thick and my gut churned. I kept swallowing. I didn’t want to look at anyone. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I sure as hell didn’t want to talk to any of the sports reporters who’d be swarming in here.
I pulled a long breath into my burning lungs and let it out.
I was done.
I started taking off my equipment. Helmet. I wanted to hurl it across the room, but I refused to give in to that loss of control. Jersey. Shoulder pads. I bent over to unlace my skates and pull them off.
I felt the looks the other guys were giving me. Tension pulsed in the room. My eyes burning, I focused on getting the hell out of there. Some guys were stretching, but today, I didn’t have a single fuck to give about stretching or staying strong. I was done.
I went to Tony, the head athletic therapist. The trainers were busy gathering up the equipment, bustling around the visitors’ dressing room. “I’m done.” I said it again. I forced myself to meet his eyes. “I need to have that surgery.”
He set a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “Yeah. Good decision.”
Fuck. My insides were on fire. My legs felt stiff and clumsy. We went to talk to Coach.
“I feel like I’m letting everyone down,” I said, barely able to meet his eyes. “I wanted to keep playing to contribute, but in the end I let you down anyway.”
“Chase, you know that a loss is never all on one person. We play as a team. We win as a team. We lose as a team.”
I ducked my head in agreement, but he was just saying those clichés to make me feel better.
A while later I was on the bus to the hotel with everyone else. I slumped in a seat in the back of the bus, in the dark. The mood was still sober, the bus quiet.
Brick dropped into the seat beside me. “You okay, man?”
I took in his expression—genuine concern. If he was pissed at me, he was hiding it.
“Not really.”
Brick, to his credit, didn’t push me. He just sat there.
“I have to have surgery on my wrist.”
He straightened. “Huh?”
“You know it’s been bugging me for a while now.”
“Yeah. Shit, Chaser. What’s wrong?”
I gave him a short version of events. “I was trying to wait until the season’s over. But tonight…Well, it’s obvious I’m not helping the team. In fact, I’m hurting the team.”
“That’s not true.”
“Thanks, man, but yeah, it is.” I sighed. “You know what’s even worse? Jordyn tried to tell me I needed to have the surgery, and I blew her off. Didn’t want to listen to her. Got pissed at her for interfering and trying to tell me what to do and basically broke up with her over it. And now this. What a fucking idiot I am.”
“Shit.” Brick rubbed his face. “You got me there.”
I gave an amused snort. “Right? You can’t even argue that.”
“That’s why you broke up? That’s why she’s back in L.A.?”
“Yeah. And the only reason I know she’s there is from her Instagram.”
“You sound more busted up about that than about the surgery.”
I didn’t say anything for a few minutes. Just let those words sink in. “Yeah. You’re right.”
“Things got serious with you two?”
“I guess.” Hell, I was so confused.
“You know how lucky you were to be with her, right?”
“Fuck yeah.”
Brick nodded. “Well, I got the feeling she felt pretty lucky to be with you.”
I turned to him, my face scrunching up. “Really?”
He shrugged. “Just a gut feeling, that night at the party. She looked really into you.” He paused. “You know…it wasn’t your fault we lost.”
“Yeah. It was.” Coach had tried to say the same thing, but I knew the truth.
“Don’t fucking blame yourself, okay?”
I nodded, staring out the window into the darkness, the bus slowing in front of our hotel.
I was done with hockey. I was done with Jordyn. What the fuck did I have left? Not much.
I went to my room alone. Tomorrow I’d fly back to Chicago, while the rest of the team stayed here for game four.
I turned on the lamp on the desk. Then I took off my suit jacket and my tie, tugged my shirt out of my pants, and stretched out on the bed. My phone sat next to me. I eyed it. For some reason I wanted to pick it up and find Jordyn…
Man, I’d thought it hurt when I moved my wrist the wrong way. When Dr. Engram had pushed on that spot and sent me through the roof. But that was nothing compared to how I’d felt walking away from Jordyn that night.
I’d been so pissed off when she’d tried to push me into having the surgery.
That was what happened when I got too involved with people. Everyone had expectations. My parents only approved when I did what they wanted—played hockey and played it well. The one time I’d tried to quit, life had been hell. When I’d been going out with Amanda and I’d been drafted by the Islanders, she’d pushed me to turn pro right away, even if it meant playing in the minor leagues. I’d known it hadn’t been the right thing to do, and I’d decided to go back to the Spitfires in the OHL for another year, knowing it would make me a better player in the NHL eventually. And she’d been so disappointed in me she’d dumped me because of that.
I should have known this would happen with Jordyn—we’d get involved; she’d get all mad because I wasn’t doing what she wanted me to do. People only cared about me when I was perfect. When I did what they wanted.
I tried to be perfect. But I wasn’t. I had a fucked-up wrist, and I’d been playing shitty, and the team and the fans all knew it, and they were giving up on me too. Everyone had been criticizing me and judging me, and they didn’t even know the whole story.
I wasn’t going to be manipulated by guilt and shame and having love withdrawn. That was why I’d walked out, because I’d known that was coming.
My breathing became rough; my hands curled into fists. My face tightened and heat flushed through my body. Intense pressure rose inside me, hot and throbbing.
I knew better than to get involved with someone. To care. Maybe I’d been all starstruck by the fact that it was Jordyn Banks, the gorgeous, sexy, talented pop singer I’d had a crush on from afar, and I’d let my guard down. I’d fallen in love with her, goddammit.