Page 54

Then I looked at the phone still clutched in my hand.

Or I send it to him first.

My father couldn't destroy something I didn't have, and the realization hurt badly enough that it took me a moment to answer.

“I don't think I can tonight.”

Max was quiet for a moment, and when he finally nodded, the disappointment in his face was impossible to miss. “Right.”

“Max—”

“It's okay. I'm not going to push.”

It wasn't okay, and we both knew it, but he walked away before I could decide whether to call him back.

Every instinct I had screamed at me to stop him, tell him everything, and trust him to stay, except I'd seen the video and Max hadn't. I knew exactly what it showed, and if I wanted to keep him from ever seeing it, I had until midnight tomorrow to find five times the amount I'd been paying my father every month since I was drafted.

I looked down at the message again and finally understood that I'd been wrong about the threat I'd lived with for most of my adult life.

For years, I'd believed the worst thing my father could possibly do was tell the world what I'd done because there had never been anything he could threaten that mattered more than the life I'd built for myself.

Somewhere between Vegas and Denver, that had changed.

I'd given my father something new to use against me, and for the first time, what terrified me most wasn't losing hockey, my reputation, or the life I'd fought so hard to build.

It was losing Max.

Chapter eleven

Neutral Zone - The center section of the rink between the two blue lines.

Ash

I slept for maybe two hours, although calling it sleep was generous because most of that time involved staring at the ceiling while my brain calculated numbers I already knew, checking my phone even though I would've heard it vibrate from the other side of the apartment, and trying very hard not to think about Max.

The last part hadn't gone particularly well.

He'd texted me shortly after I left the arena.

Home. Hope you're okay.

That was it.

No demand for an explanation, no What the fuck happened? and no attempt to guilt me into coming over after I'd changed my mind. He'd done exactly what he'd promised and given me the space I'd asked for, which would've been considerably easier to appreciate if I hadn't spent half the night wishing he'd ignored me and shown up at my door anyway.

I hadn't answered.

I'd typed three different replies, deleted every one of them, and eventually put my phone face down on the nightstand as though not being able to see it might somehow stop me thinking about him.

It hadn't.

By six, I'd given up on sleep completely and made coffee strong enough to qualify as a controlled substance before opening my banking app again.

Five times the usual amount.

I had the money, technically. I was an NHL player, not a college kid trying to scrape together rent, and pretending otherwise would've been ridiculous. The problem was that Dad had been taking money from me since I was drafted, and over the years, I'd deliberately kept those payments within an amount I could move without anyone asking uncomfortable questions.

Five times that amount was different.