Rhys looks at me for a moment, head tilted. “You mean when Iblew you? Or the time you jerked me off?”
I close my eyes briefly. “Jesus Christ. I’m trying to apologize. If you could stop being such a—”
“Save it.” He holds his hands up, and his voice has shifted — the humor is still there but it’s sitting on top of something flatter. “Whatever shit you’ve got going on in your head doesn’t involve me.”
And that’s the one that lands. I look at my hands because if I watch his face right now I will absolutely lose whatever composure I’ve managed to find this morning.
“That’s exactly it,” I say. “You’re making this into a game. And it’s not a game. It’s my life. My career. My future.” I look up. “Even though you couldn’t give a fuck about this team—”
He’s on his feet before I finish the sentence.
That finger in my chest again.
“Captain.” His voice drops. “Or should I say ex-captain.”
“That’s temporary—”
“It’s permanent unless you get your head out of your ass.” A beat. “Or mine.” He smiles.
I count to ten in my head.
“Let me finish.” I pull back. Let the temper simmer and the stillness come back. The next part comes out softer, which I didn’t intend but can’t help. “I think it’s better for the team if we stop — this. Whatever this is. But I still want to work with you the way Fitch asked. Just that.”
I hold my hand out and Rhys stares at it. Then he presses a hand to his chest. “Jamie Nash,” he says, horrified. “Are you breaking up with me? You’re breaking my heart.”
I count to ten again. He drops the act. Steps forward and takes my hand, and his grip is firm and he holds it a second longer than a handshake needs to be held, refusing to back down. “It meant nothing, right?” His expression hardens in a way thatmakes me nervous.
“Right,” I confirm.
He lets go.
????????
Practice starts off better than it has any right to.
I know Bryce is captain now. On paper, at least. In reality, I still end up taking over half the time. I call guys out when they're coasting, keep practices moving when they start dragging, and somehow everybody still looks at me when something needs to get done, even Bryce.
We run drills without incident. I correct Rhys’ positioning on a defensive zone breakout and he listens without resistance. I watch him move through the play and I’m struck again — not for the first time — by how good he actually is when he’s not fighting everything. How natural. How locked in.
It feels like settling.
It feels like maybe I’ve got this.
The first sign something's wrong comes halfway through the first scrimmage.
Rhys misses the pass.
Not misses it. Completely ignores it. The puck slides right past him.
Fitch blows the whistle.
"What the fuck was that?" I yell at Rhys.
He shrugs. "Didn't see it."
Bullshit.
The next play is worse.
