Page 89 of With the Assist

“Also makes you harder to read,” Liam says. “Defense doesn’t know what to do with you right now.”

I like hearing that.

Playing the left changes everything against a team like Chicago. The angles come faster, and the pressure hits from the blind side instead of straight on. On the right, I used to drive wide and cut in on instinct. On the left, I have to think half a second earlier about where the puck will be, not where it is.

We move through another set, the rhythm familiar. The room fills slowly as more guys trickle in, the quiet giving way to lowconversation and the occasional laugh. The clatter of weights, the scrape of shoes on rubber mats, and the distant beep of timers all blend into a soundtrack that reminds me why I love this chaos as much as the calm from earlier.

“So, any word on your contract?” Liam asks, a little quieter now.

I hesitate, fingers tightening around the bar. The question lands heavier than any weight I’ve lifted today. My agent, Ryan Elliot, has been cautiously optimistic, but nothing is final. The switch to left wing, the extra goals, the increased ice time; it all counts, sure, but until the ink is on paper, it’s all hope and strategy.

“Ryan’s been more upbeat,” I say carefully. “Nothing concrete yet, but he thinks the switch and the production are helping.”

“That’s huge,” Grayson says. “Told you. You needed a little shake-up.”

The past couple of weeks, it feels like everything is clicking when it needs to. Every successful shift feels like a tiny piece of proof that I still have value. Anxiety still gnaws at the edges. One bad game or careless move against a team like Chicago, and it can all evaporate overnight.

I can’t seem to think about my success on the ice lately without thinking about the brunette who seems at least partly responsible for it. A heavy pull settles in my chest at the thought that wanting her might be misplaced gratitude.

Wesley circles my mind until I’m thinking about her in my apartment. On my couch. Wearing my shirt as if it belonged to her.

I fight my way back to the present. “I’m not counting on anything until it’s signed, but it’s better than it was a month ago.”

Grayson claps my shoulder. “If you keep playing like this, they'll have no choice.”

“Yeah, so don’t fuck up.” Wyatt takes a swig from his water bottle.

“Fuck you, Knox.” I throw my towel at him.

The pressure is there tonight. Not only because of the contract, but because Wesley will be in the stands. I know she’s watched ourgames on TV, but she’s never come to a game before. I want to impress her.

She drew the line at wearing my name on her back, but her being here is enough. I got her last-minute tickets in the stands since she refuses to sit in the box. She claims to want to be in the thick of things, but I think she’s worried about the attention she’d inevitably get with the WAGs.

I’ve already scoped out her section, so I know where to look tonight.

“Is she coming tonight?” Wyatt asks as if reading my mind.

We’re in the final stretch now, wiping down benches and re-racking plates. Sweat clings to my skin, and my muscles feel loose in the good way, worked but ready. Game-day lifts are always like this. We lift only enough to wake everything up without taking anything away.

“If he has anything to say about it, I’m sure she is,” Liam says, waggling his eyebrows.

Grayson smacks the back of his head without breaking stride as he reaches for his towel.

“Don’t go there,” I warn, voice flat. “Yes. She’ll be at the game tonight.”

That gets their attention.

Liam pauses mid-stretch. The looks they exchange are quiet but loaded, the kind of shared skepticism you only earn after years of being forced together for hours on end every day.

“How deep are you in?” Liam asks.

I don’t think about it, denial ringing as the answer flies out of my mouth.

“I’m not. We’re fake-dating to get her coach off her back, and she’s helping me with some cross-training. That’s it.”

Wyatt snorts, grabbing his water bottle. “I didn’t realize her coach was at your house at almost midnight two weeks ago when she showed up looking like she wanted to rip your clothes off.”

Grayson chokes on his water, and heat creeps up my neck. I open my mouth to argue, already lining up the words, but Liam cuts in first.