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As the door closes, Evan’s words drift into the hallway. “Good night, Parker.”

Fucking hell.

Chapter 9 – Evan

The final seconds of the game against Chicago are ticking away, and victory is assured. Still, my line runs one more attack. Extending a five-to-three lead is better than barely scraping by with a five-to-four win.

The final buzzer sounds, and before we wrap things up, a murmur ripples through the home team’s fans. Relief that we didn’t score another goal, or disappointment that they lost. It’s not my problem. I’m elated. Blake falls into my arms, and my teammates storm the ice.

Damn, that’s the high I keep chasing. The win, of course, but also the teamwork. I haven’t felt this good in a long time. My problems are still the same, but the sound of the skates on the ice rings clearer in my ears today.

Sid crashes into my side and roars with joy. “We’re going to the playoffs.”

It’s not quite certain yet, but we haven’t always been in such a strong position at the end of February over the past eight years.

“So, this is what you’re capable of when you have a girlfriend,” Spears yells in my ear during our relaxed cool-down laps on the ice. Everyone laughs, and a shiver runs down my spine.

Sid seems to share the same sentiment because he breaks away from the group with a wry grin.

We glide toward the exit, and I don’t get a chance to answer Spears.

I try to console myself with the thought that Valentina played a significant role in the ease, which got me through today’s game. “She’s great,” I mumble to myself, and Spears gives me another friendly shove.

Damn, all this deception is driving me crazy.

In the lockers we immediately rip off our gear. I’m dripping with sweat.

Coach Denner comes running after us and claps his hands. “You guys are unstoppable. That was amazing. If you keep this up and stay focused, no one can take the Cup away from you.”

Everyone roars with joy and relief.

Denner comes over to me and pats me on the shoulder. “No matter what happened yesterday, keep it up. We need more of that.”

My teammates, especially the ones who were at Sid’s birthday party, are doubled over with laughter. Only Sid is holding back.

Coach Denner walks over to him. “And whatever was going on with you today, let it go. Sinclair has his eye on you. His passing was spot-on, but you were holding back.”

“One goal—” Sid tries to interject, but Denner shakes his head. “It could have been two or three.”

Sid nods and grimaces. “Okay.”

“Did you end up celebrating your birthday after all?” asks Munns, our goalie.

“No. And you know that perfectly well,” Sid grumbles.

Most of the guys are already heading to the showers. As always, I take my time and wait until the first ones come back. I got into this habit early on and have stuck with it ever since. As if that would help me avoid any accusations. Accusations that no one would ever voice because they don’t know anything about me.

I quickly get ready, and in our suits we all head to the bus that’s taking us to the airport.

On the bus, Blake sits next to me. “Great game.”

“Thanks. You too.”

He nods. “Can you keep this up?”

A fair question from him. My highs are legendary. But so are my lows, which happen regularly. Luckily, they’re only brief. But I’m hoping for a consistently solid season.

The headline about Joaquin and me could have been a trigger. Instead, I’ve remained composed on the ice. Until now.