Page 20 of Scoring Position

They lost 4–1 with Nico sitting on the bench for the last four minutes, trying to ignore the yawning pit of dread in his stomach and the way Vorhees was glaring at his back.

He avoided everyone’s eyes in the locker room. He felt like he might actually throw up, and maybe it showed, because the PR coordinator took one look at him and told him to stand down. She sent Wright out to the wolves instead.

Nico contemplated the merits of drowning himself in the shower.

He opted for a supply closet instead, where he could sit for five minutes and breathe and pretend he didn’t care that his team hated him.

His self-imposed limit was barely up when someone knocked on the door. “Kirschbaum, come on. I know you’re in there.”

Fuck. Wright was the last person Nico wanted to see when he was behaving like a brat. The more he looked back at the game, the more horrified he became. When was he going to grow up? He’d snapped at a rookie for a mistake he’d made himself hundreds of times. He’d spent so much time dwelling on what he did wrong that he made more careless errors—enough of them that Coach had benched him like a toddler. And Nico couldn’t even argue with the decision. He deserved it. He should just stay in this hole forever.

The worst part was that he was starting to suspect he’d have been better off sucking it up and talking to Wright like management wanted him to in the first place. It couldn’t make him feel any worse than the way he played tonight.

“Nico, if you don’t come out, I’m going to come in. I haven’t been in a closet since 2007. Don’t make me do that.”

Even in his current state, Nico couldn’t help but be horrified by the potential jokes from their teammates. He pushed off the wall and opened the door, hoping to all the hockey gods that Wright was alone.

He was. He stood in the brightly lit corridor in his game-day suit, wet hair sticking up in spiky clumps. “So,” he said. “We should talk.”

AFTER THEgame, it wasn’t a question of whether someone was going to confront Nico—it was a question of who.

So when Ryan saw Nico duck down the hallway, head low, and slip into a closet to finish the breakdown he’d started in warmup, he pulled Yorkie and Kitty aside and filled them in. Grange also wore one of the team’s As, but Ryan had noticed he didn’t exactly seem warm toward Nico. He didn’t know if it was a rivalry thing, or if he saw too much of himself in Nico, or if he couldn’t relate, or what. Maybe he was just a douchebag.

“He’s gotta talk to somebody,” Yorkie said. He looked like Ryan felt. “I know he’s dealing with some shit, but he can’t keep doing this.”

Kitty shook his head. “Bad game. But Yorkie’s right. I think we let this go too long.” Then he glanced at Yorkie. “But you gonna be busy tonight. Rookie needs the captain.”

Normally Ryan would’ve taken him—he spent more time with Chenner on the ice than Yorkie did, and a lot of the time, rookies needed a slightly older peer more than an authority figure—but a game this bad called for personal attention.

Which left Kitty, who at least seemed to like Nico. But Ryan was iffy on whether that feeling was mutual; Nico never seemed comfortable around anyone.

Or Ryan, doing the one thing he’d promised himself and Nico he wouldn’t do.

Fuck it. He literally could not watch Nico suffer anymore without reaching out. It hurt to see someone spiral like that, especially when he knew he could help.

And after his conversation with his sister, he needed to prove to himself that he wasn’t a quitter. He wasn’t going to stop trying to help Nico just because it was hard.

“I can try talking to him if you want,” he offered. “Uh, is there somewhere here I can take him? Neutral ground seems like a good idea.” No one needed to take that kind of baggage home with them. “And Kitty, maybe you can stick around in case he’d rather talk to you?”

“Da,” he agreed. “I clear out the players’ lounge. You text me if you need me.”

Yorkie met Ryan’s eyes. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“I’m sure he needs somebody to talk to.” And somebody to talk to him. Jesus, what had he been thinking? “At this point, what can it hurt?”

Yorkie blew out a breath and gave a reluctant nod. “Okay. Good luck.”

He was going to need it.

When Nico finally opened the closet door—seriously, he was not doing himself any favors—Ryan’s irritation and consternation melted into sympathy. Nico looked like he’d spent the past three hours repeating to himself every mean thing anyone had ever said about him until he believed them all. “We should talk,” he said. Then he remembered their agreement and made himself amend that. “Unless you want me to get Kitty instead.”

Nico looked pretty small for a guy who was over six feet tall and outweighed Ryan by twenty pounds. “No,” he said quietly. “This is fine.”

His tone rang with defeat.

Great.This would be so much fun. Ryan shot off a quick text to Kitty and led the way to the players’ lounge, ducking down a lesser-used hallway to avoid running into anyone else. His luck held—they didn’t see anyone, and the room was empty when they got there. He directed Nico toward a sofa and closed the door behind them.

Where did he evenbeginuntangling this mess?

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