Page 171 of Jaded

My throat goes dry. I almost ask for a water bottle, but remember I’m on camera and everyone’s watching and attention is just so limited these days.

We all got ADHD popcorn brain.

“I’ll be honest with you, though. Some days, I skate good. I give it my everything and support my team and maybe that makes me easy to cheer for. But other days—” I pause to pull in a few calming breaths. “Other days, it’s not so easy. Some of you know that I’ve been traded around a lot in my career. Usually, my coaches cite inconsistency or unreliability.”

My words catch again, and my eyes sweep through the small crowd gathered around me, watching with patient, rapt attention. But when my gaze lifts to the man in the corner, his mask rolled up to let his black hair slip down around his face, that’s when I find the courage to keep talking.

“I’ve had depression and anxiety most of my life,” I say, and the words are like a weight off my chest. “I go to therapy on a weekly basis. I’ve tried different medications in the past, but ultimately have opted for med-free routes for the sake of my game. And that means . . . Yeah. Sometimes I’m inconsistent. Some days, I can’t show up like I want to. Some days, I can’t get out of bed.

“But I know—and I want everyone in this locker room to know, I want everyone watching right now to know—that I’m always gonna come back. Always. That the dark days aren’t forever. That there is always light at the end of the tunnel.”

My gaze fixes on Nat.

“And sometimes, it’s okay to ask for help. To let someone else be your light when you see only darkness.”

“Damn,” someone murmurs from the bench.

“Um, yeah. That’s all. I also write really emo poetry, so there’s that.” I rub a hand over the back of my neck, grin awkwardly at the camera—full-on Olli mode again. “And I’m the most awkward person ever. The end?”

Andy Everton stands up. And he claps. Slow at first, and then Skyler’s beside him, clapping. And Holls. And Dev. Slowly, the rest of the team climbs to its feet around them, clapping.

All of them, clapping. And Syd’s grinning behind the camera, giving me a thumbs-up. And even Nat’s smiling. Wide and white and beautiful.

And in this moment, I think I am exactly where I’m supposed to be. In this league, in this town, in this game, with this team. In front of this camera, showing the whole world exactly who I am—all my broken pieces aligned.

And I think, at least for now, maybe this teamismy dream. Because while it’s great to reach for the stars, at the end of the day, you gotta love what’s gonna love you back.

You gotta love where you are, right now.

Chapter 44

Nat

Iperchontheedge of the chair in front of Coach’s desk. I know why I’m here, why he’s watching me with expressionless eyes from across his immaculate tabletop. “Taylor.”

“Coach.”

“You know I know what you did.”

“No idea what you’re talking about.” I cross my arms, stare him down. Dare him to call my bluff.

Coach sighs. And to my surprise, he doesn’t fight me. “So, tell me about Avery Bennett.”

“See, I knew you were watching high school games.” I let my expression soften into an almost-smile.

He huffs, and his black brows furrow low. “He’s a high school superstar, and a loose cannon. Always in trouble. You know the type?”

“I do.” I hold his gaze. “He’s eighteen, and he’s a Day River boy through and through. In it for the long haul. Wants this as bad as he’s ever wanted anything.”

The silence hangs between us as we both consider.

“I know you saw him at the Ice Out,” I murmur.

Coach sighs. Of course he did. HeinvitedAvery to the tourney, didn’t he? And he’s literally made a career out of judging skaters; he knows who was beneath that mask.

“You’ve known me for a long time,” I press on. “So you know that when I say you can hold me accountable for this kid, I mean it.”

Coach stares at me. And I let him—don’t dilute the strength of the words I’ve spoken by adding more. I need him to know that I believe in this idea, the way I haven’t believed in anything for a long time.

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