Page 46 of These Wicked Hearts

“If you want to be on this team,” Grady cuts in. “Then you play the part you were assigned.”

“That might have worked a couple of years ago, but not now.”

My stomach tightens. What is he talking about?

“Andre left, and he and Oli are changing⁠—”

“They didn’t change shit,” Grady barks. “You want to be here? Or do you want to break your contract and owe millions?”

Silence.

I take a slow step back, then another, careful not to make a sound. Rome steps out, nearly slamming into me.

For a second neither of us says anything. His jaw’s tight, eyes burning from whatever he was just talking about. His lips part slightly, but then he shakes his head, knocking into my shoulder as he storms past me toward the locker room. I watch him walk for a moment before passing by Coach’s office.

“Atlas,” he barks.

Shit.

I turn back and duck inside his office. The air feels heavier than it should. The thing is, I used to get chewed out all the time on the Otters, but never once did I feel like this. It’s like the instinct to run screams at me. My old coach was a hard ass, but you knew he gave a damn about you. About all of us.

There’s something that settles here in the quiet of his office that makes my stomach sink.

“Are you all set to play the Otters tonight?”

“Yes, Coach.”

“You remember who you play for tonight. I don’t give a shit what friends you have on that team. You go out there and you leave carnage behind you. Understood?”

“Yes, Coach.” A little intense, but alright.

He watches me for a moment, brown eyes heavy on me like he’s trying to dissect me. He watches me for another unnerving moment then shuffles papers on his desk. “You better be ready.”

“Is that it?”

He blinks at me and whips his glasses off. “You need more?”

I shake my head. “No, Coach.”

“Then get the hell out of here, and shut the door on your way out.”

I step back and into the hall, nearly tripping over myself.

The locker room is louder now. Someone’s playing music. Some guys are already dressed, some are ripping tape or getting ready. Everyone is talking normally.

I look across the room and notice Rome is already at his stall, taping his stick like nothing happened. Knox stands in the middle of the room going over something on a tablet with a couple of guys.

I sit down and start lacing up my skates, my fingers moving on autopilot. I focus on them so hard my vision blurs and burns a little. It never felt like this before, and I’m not saying I need the family vibe to play hockey. The Otters weren’t the only team I’ve played for. The thing is, when you’ve played for a couple of years with such a close group of guys, they become your family.

And I blew all that up.

Right now, I should be listening to Abba. I should be ignoring the way Ryker likes to dance before games, as if any of us want to see his horrible dance moves. Grey would be beside me, getting ready in silence, which I rarely granted him, and Oli would be checking in with each of the guys to make sure our heads were in it. Mental health has always been important to him. Which is one of the reasons why I tucked the ugly truth of mine away in a dark corner so he couldn’t evaluate me.

We play a game, but with them it felt like we played for more.

Oli made sure of that. He built that team up. Everyone respected each other, we showed up.

This feels fractured.