Page 60 of Jaded

“You got a kid who I’m guessing is starting to think about college or trade school or whatever, so . . . money. And since working for the man never pays crap, you’re starting your own biz.”

One of his brows lifts in a neat arch. Impressed? “Not too shabby, Florida.”

“Oh, I ain’t done.” I hold up my hand, start ticking off items on my fingers. “Repoing makes the most financial sense, yet you’re still playing Zamboni driver at the Dingoes’ failing rink. Plus, you’re an Ice Out star. You’re stuck in the hockey world, aren’t you?”

“Andyou’rea little scary.”

I shrug, and for some reason choose this moment to ask, “Are you related to Jesse Taylor?”

Nat freezes. He’s halfway through pulling a navy hoodie over his head, and he freezes solid as ice. Only for an instant, a heartbeat, and then he’s dragging his head through the sweatshirt. “He’s my brother.”

“Your brother who’s an NHL superstar.” I yank the zipper of my bag closed. “Who the Dingoes have never recovered from losing.”

There’s a lot of unspoken stuffthere—can’t imagine the mental fuckery of living in that shadow. Having that kind of pressure on you could break anybody.

No wonder he considers himself a fuck-up.

“Yeah, basically.” Nat does stand, shouldering his bag in the same motion. “But now I guess it’syourteam.”

“Indeed.” I wince. Speaking of pressure. “No biggie.”

“If anybody can do it, it’s you.” It’s not his words that surprise me, but the vehemence behind them—like he believes them. “I didn’t know what to think when you first showed up, but honestly, I think you’ve got a shot.”

My brows shoot upwards. Can’t imagine what my expression looks like. “What?”

“I think you’ve got something nobody’s had for a long time.”

He leaves me on the bench with my mouth hanging open.

Again.

Why is he always leaving me like that?

Chapter 16

Olli

Threedayslater—threedaysof practices, of hiking and snowshoeing, a sketchy run across ice-crusted streets that almost ended with me breaking my neck,andanother drop-in where Avery and I prove we have some sick synergy—and I’m still thinking about Nat Taylor.

But now I guess it’s your team.

My truck trundles down the sun-lashed streets of Day River.

How different it looks in the daylight, the skyscrapers sparkling with light and life, the snow nearly blinding with its reflective intensity—sun reflecting off snow and steel in equally brilliant measures.

A city of light, of hope, of potential, whereas in the dark it’s such a deceptive calm.

I turn the truck into the rink’s parking lot, where I’ll be joining the team on a bus ride to our first away game—and my first official game as a Day River Dingo.

Perfect. More socially awkward encounters to further tug at the threads of my darkness, the ones I’ve been trying to keep shoved under the rug with nearly obsessive activity for the past two weeks.

I hop up the steps of the bus. Low classic rock plays in the background, and I’m grateful for Steven Tyler’s vocals—especially as I note that there’s only one person on board.

“Hey, Coach.” I slide into the seat behind him. “Ready for the game?”

“Ready? As we ever are, I guess.” He sighs, like he’s already resigned to losing. No wonder the team and the town don’t believe, if our own coach doesn’t.

Dingoes are yesterday . . . The Ice Out is our game.

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