His words hit me one after another. Most making sense, some not, and I concentrate on who he means by them, but refrain from asking.
His shoulders heave with anger as our eyes hold. The white smoke from his breath disappears.
When I speak, my voice is the antithesis of his. It’s calm, even, unemotional. “That’s not what I was trying to do. All I was—”
“Save it, Kincade. Fucking save it.” He waves a hand at me and shakes his head. “I’ve had enough of this shit. Thanks for ruining tonight when I told you to let it go.”
Without another word, he turns on his heel and heads to the entrance of the hotel.
That whole conversation was a disaster. Total and utter disaster.
And I’m not a single step closer to figuring out what it is that weighs so heavily on his shoulders.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
HUNTER
“WE DIDN’T GET A CHANCE to speak to you after the other night’s game, any comment on the marked difference in your performance or were you just having an off night?”
The game feels like light years ago already. What was it? Only three days? Four? Fuck if I can remember.
Through the blinding lights I can just make out my agent, Finn Sanderson, at the back of the press briefing room. His arms are crossed over his chest, his back is against the wall, and it seems like his eyes never leave me.
Management called in the big guns to control me. Jünger must be worried I’ll let him down and not heed his threats.
Hell, maybe they were smart considering we’re in my hometown and avoidance is at its finest.
“Everybody has an off night. Apparently that game was mine,” I say, giving the company line Sanderson drilled in my head right after his numerous threats about how if I keep my shit up, I’m going to be benched or suspended and lose him as an agent. While I’m pretty sure his warnings about losing endorsement deals are a load of crap said to instill fear in me, the benching me part might be true enough. “Let’s hope I can shake off the bad juju and get back into the groove tonight.”
“Are you worried how that loss is going to matter to the Jacks in the standings?”
I move the microphone back and try to find who asked the question but have a hard time seeing through the lights.
“Every game matters. Every win, every loss. I’ve been playing in this league long enough to know a one-goal loss in the first week of the season can be the determining factor to how your season ends when you never realized it. Lucky for us, the Nomads lost too so we had an even night on paper.”
You’re burned out, Hunter—fucking fried.
Dekker’s words replay in my head for the millionth time since they passed her lips, and I try to shake them off. I know it’s true. Obviously, she knows it’s true.
But goddamn it, the reason why is something I can’t fix.
I’ve tried.
Jesus, have I tried.
“Mr. Maddox, over here.” The female reporter’s voice rings out and knocks Dekker’s voice from my head. I blink a few times into the light and then hold my hand over my eyes so I can look in her direction. “Hello. Hi.”
Rookie reporter. They always ramble when they’re new.
“Hello.”
“Um, yes. Um . . . Vida Henson with Sports Worldwide. You seem to have been on a tear lately. You’re closing in on two NHL records in rapid time. Are you doing anything different this year to make such strong improvements to your game?”
Yeah, my brother’s dying.
“Good question.”
And I helped kill him.
I stare at the lights and shake my head as I fight back the truth that haunts me every day of my life. At the crushing weight of it.
“I’ve been . . . training differently,” I lie. “I added on some new members to my team outside of the club to help bring out my potential, and I—uh—guess they deserve a raise because it seems to be working.”
I say a few more things, but I’m distracted.
Maybe it’s being back in the same city I grew up in.
Maybe it’s knowing I have to go home and face reality.
Maybe it’s because . . .
“Mr. Maddox? Randy Girdley with Headline Sports. You grew up not far from here, are there any places you like to frequent when you get to come back home?”
The stretch of road where my life changed forever.
The cemetery to pay my respects.
Dekker wasn’t completely right.
It’s so much more than being burned out.
I blink a few times as the room shifts and moves around me, and I try to fight those first few terrifying moments when the path my life was on changed forever.
Your game is shit tonight, son. You should be embarrassed of how you played.
Facing my dad.
Yeah, that’s another place I can’t fucking wait to go, home.
I force a smile and let a laugh fall. Anything to draw them away from the truth. “Everyone has their places when they return home.” I scoot my chair back and stand.
“Like?” he counters.
“My schedule is always packed when I come here, so I rarely have time to venture from it. Of course, my training and the team comes first, but then there’s a visit to Boston’s Children’s Hospital, some time spent with the kids at the Elite 9 Rink to answer their questions. A few other things to help pay it back or help the game move forward. Busy. Busy.” Another smile to sell the lie. “Thank you for your time. I hope to see you all at the game tonight.”
I’m through the door to my right as more questions are fired off, my feet moving from one side to the other while I try to settle the discord eating me whole.
Why is this so hard this time? Why does it feel like all the oxygen is being sucked out of every breath I try to take?
Within seconds, Sanderson comes through the same door I just did. “Everyone has their places?” He chuckles. “It came off like you meant a brothel or some shit.”
If he only knew.
“I danced in the dog and pony show you set up, isn’t that enough? You want me to focus on the game tonight and play my hardest, then isn’t it time I go so I can prepare for it? I did what you said and you’re still crawling up my ass.”
“I asked you this the other day when your GM called me and told me to straighten your shit out and you dodged it, and I’m going to ask you again: what the fuck is going on with you? You answered their questions, but your smile said fuck you. The bad-boy act only flies so far. Are you trying to throw away your career, the stats, and records you’ve almost reached?”
“I played nice. Now I’d like to go study films. The Fishers have a new defense they’ve been toying with and I need to make sure I’ve got it figured out,” I say of the team we’re playing tonight.
He nods as he studies me. “Good to see your head is back in the game.”
“It never left it.”
“You’re the face of this team, Maddox. A lot is riding on you.”
My face is, but it should be Jonah’s heart and body.
“So you’ve said,” I mutter and look out the window of the otherwise empty room.
“Mind answering why you seemed so distracted? Why you keep moving around like you can’t sit still? Jünger was concerned the Oxy you were taking for your knee is—”