I managed not to fall on my face—a miracle, really. I usually hit the ground three or four times on my way to the locker room.
Tossing my gloves in the direction of my stall, I spread my fingers along the bench to make sure I wasn’t going to sit on anything before plopping my ass down and peeling away my pads. I tried not to grimace at the smell.
I was used to it, but being in a locker room nevergot easier. Jonah once told me the first time he and Alexio had fucked had been in their locker room, and to this day, I could not understand it. How the fuck did someone get hard surrounded by the smell of ball sweat and that funky musk that would eventually become athlete’s foot?
But whatever floated their boat, I guess.
And not that anyone knew, but I struggled to get hard at all, so maybe I was the freak here.
“Yo, Gomez!”
I turned my head toward the sound of Lavoie’s voice. He was the alternate captain, and having been on the Fury for about as long as I had, I hated him a bit less than the rookies. “Yes, Danny-boy?” He made a noise, reminding me he hated that nickname. But I hated mine, so…
“ESPN wants a word.”
I fucking knew it. I knew they would. The reporters still hadn’t gotten used to disabled hockey in spite of the fact that we’d been around longer than a decade, and they always acted like playing good hockey was a party trick.
But we had to do this bullshit anyway.
We had to smile and nod and answer dipshit questions.
“Five minutes,” I told him.
He scoffed. “Mais qu’est ce que t’es con! You know they’ll keep you as long as they want.”
I groaned and passed a hand down my face. “Are they going to let me shower?”
He burst into laughter. “Non. But I’m sure you look pretty.” He gave me a pat on the cheek, then shuffled off, and I did my best to dry my sweat with a towel before I smelled the very familiar cologne Ben always wore.
“Don’t make that face at me,” he bitched.
“You don’t know what kind of face I’m making,” I countered. Ben was the only fully blind coach in the league, but that was a recent development, so he probably knew exactly what expression I was wearing.
“Trust me, I do. But suck it up, buttercup. This is part of the job. You know, that nice little contract you signed for seven figures.”
I couldn’t argue there. I was the highest-paid player on this team, and I knew what I was getting into.
“See if I bother playing well on Thursday,” I muttered, shoving my pads aside and feeling around for my slippers. My feet thanked me as I stood up and let them sink into the cushioned soles. Ben found my hand, and I took his elbow, listening to the clink of his dog’s harness, and tried not to think about how itchy my throat was going to be soon. “I’m gonna let in every fucking puck.”
“Filthy fucking liar!” someone called from across the room. I was too tired to parse out who was speaking.
“Kiss my ass, boys!” I called as Ben led me out of the locker room and into the hallway, which was a lot less humid.
We took a few steps, and then he paused. “You played like you had something to prove tonight.”
I said nothing. How the fuck was I supposed to respond to that? Wasn’t that my job?
“We’re twelve games into the season, Micah. You don’t need to be so intense this early.” Says the guy who was up my fucking ass after one practice where I wasn’t at the top of my game. But I had to admit he had a point. I just couldn’t tell him why I was feeling this way. “What’s going on?”
Everything in me ached to spill my guts. The truth was a fucking live wire in my stomach, popping and crackling and burning. But what would it solve? What would it prove other than my inability to handle my own messes?
And that everyone was right: I really was a disaster who couldn’t seem to stay out of trouble. Maybe I wasn’t getting my hole reamed every week by different guys, but everything else they said about me was true.
I was a hot fucking mess and ruined everything I touched, which was exactly why I couldn’t be with Vanya.
“Micah,” he said quietly. “You know you can talk to me. I ran into Maximov yesterday, and it seemed…” He stopped for a second. “He made it seem like maybe something was wrong. And after that shit-show practice?—”
I let out a breath. “Look, things have been kind of weird lately. I don’t know. It’s easy to take that shit out on the ice, I guess.”
