Page 74 of Ruled Out

I pushed at his chest, and he stumbled back from me, fire burning in his eyes.

“I don’t think you realize how much Jenkins did for your sorry ass. He believes you’re the best. And I’m not just talking about a generation; I mean the best ever. Period. But you know what I see? I see an average player. A rookie too scared to shoot for his potential, combined with a selfish prick consumed by addiction. Yeah, that’s right; I know about your little secrets. Too wrapped up in finding your next drink to give a fuck about anyone. When Graham called me last night, he told me how gutted he was to lose you, even after everything. You know what I told him?”

“What?” I spit.

Reaching out, he fisted a handful of my orange-and-black hoodie. Spitting on my Destroyers logo, contempt overwhelmed his features. “I told him he’d dodged a bullet. ButMia had avoided a fucking land mine. You’re not destined for greatness, only the fucking sewer.”

I thought about what it would feel like to connect my fist with his nose as he released his grip on my top. “Say all you want about me. But never speak Mia’s name again. You don’t know shit about us.”

Tate huffed out a sarcastic laugh. “Good luck with the Scorpions. Coach Burrows will eat you alive, and Jon Morgan makes me look like the fucking fairy godmother.”

He turned on his heel and headed through a door to the right, no doubt back to Graham’s office.

I’d lost everything—the people who believed in me the most.

As soon as I pushed out the back door to the private parking lot, I leaned on the hood of my black Mustang and emptied the contents of my stomach onto the ground. Tears rolled down my cheeks, and my body shook as I brought my fists down on the metal over and over again.

I’d done exactly what I had known I would. I’d taken her happiness and selfishly absorbed it until there was nothing left to give and my dark world seeped into hers. The only saving grace was my dad would never know the real reason behind my trade, and therefore, he’d never find out about Mia. I could keep her at a safe distance.

When there was nothing left in my stomach to puke up, I raised my head and saw the image of Mia leaning against my windshield, a memory from when we had gone stargazing in the cornfields. Her black hair was swirling around in the freezing winter air, held down only by her fluffy earmuffs. Her smile was brighter than the summer sun beating down on my clammy skin.

“Always?” she’d whispered, her eyes full of hope.

I beat my fist once more on the hood, and pain shot through my wrist. I ripped my phone from the back pocket of myjeans and brought up the pictures app, opening the password-protected file with the photos we’d taken during the months we snuck around. One by one, I deleted them, desperate sobs punctuating my actions.

When I got to the final photo of us, one I’d taken when she slipped into the locker room after I deliberately stayed late for practice one night, I paused over the red button.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” I said, bringing my thumb down until the screen turned black.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

JESSIE

It’s been a week of this—me absolutely killing it on the ice. I’m the first to arrive and the last to leave practice sessions. Unleashing my game has never felt so natural.

Especially when I haven’t touched a drop of alcohol since the night Mia turned up at my apartment with flowers. It’s easy to break the habit when the reason you chose to drink is remedied by the return of the greatest thing to happen in your life. Mia doesn’t just numb my pain or make me feel like life is worth living. She makes me want to live the best life I can. Not just for her and for us, but for me too. I just hope I can keep holding it together when the difficult times inevitably find me.

We’re right in the middle of a power play when our center steals the puck, passing it straight to me. We’re deep in the third period and zero to zero at home with Colorado. We need this win to stay within our playoff hopes, and so does the opposition. The game has been tight all night, neither side giving an inch.

I assess my options; there’re at least three defenders between me and the goal as I travel with the puck down the right wing. I can wait for backup or take them on myself.

“Bring it.”Zach’s words repeat in my mind.

When I slow my speed slightly, it gives one of our forwards a chance to catch up with the play. But I’ve zero intention of sending him the puck. His assist in this goal will be as a decoy.

I take the Colorado center out when I cut inside and open up my body, faking to pass with an inside move. He takes the bait and positions himself, ready to intercept the puck, giving me the perfect chance to spin away and hit the jets, sending the crowd a few decibels louder.

Maybe the last two defenders think I’m at top speed when they come barreling toward me, one on either side and ready to take me out.

Their assistant captain makes the first mistake, driving in to steal the puck, but he only finds his ass when I throw a backhand to forehand move.

Kind of humiliating.

I take out their captain with a slip straight through his legs. Powering away from him, I hit top speed as I set eyes on their goalie. I can’t remember the last time I traveled with the puck at this kind of speed; my hazy brain has never been able to keep up. But today, I see it all unfold in front of me. I know exactly what the goalie is going to do as he backs away toward the net and hits the splits, showing his cards first.

Tucking the puck away upstairs, I hit the brakes just before I hit the boards, sending a wave of ice up in front of the crowd.

I turn to see Zach and the rest of the team flying toward me, his stick tucked under his arm and fist outstretched to congratulate me on what I know is the finest goal of my career so far.

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