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Jagger sniffs the air and makes a face. "Smells like old socks and ass."
"That’d be his favorite scent." Caspian stabs his thumb in my direction.
"Speak for yourself," I drawl.
They take up position in different corners of the room, and I realize I’m surrounded. I flick my gaze to the door when Finn growls, "Don’t even think about it."
I scratch my chin. "What do you all want?"
"We haven’t seen you at practice," Jagger rumbles in a voice that could emerge from between the jaws of a meat-grinder.
"The season’s over, didn’t you get the memo?" I raise a shoulder.
"We’re still practicing—together," Caspian reminds me.
"I’m not." I yawn.
"The team sticks together through thick and thin," Jagger reminds me.
"I’m not part of the team anymore."
"The fuck you mean?" Finn turns on me. "We won because of you."
"I agreed to lead the team into the finals and win the League. I did it. Now, it’s time for me to move on."
"You talking about the team or about her?" Caspian drawls.
"Don’t fucking talk about her."
His lips curve. "So there’s some fight left in you yet, old man."
I open my mouth to protest I’m not old, then firm my lips. I am old. I feel like a thousand years old right now. Since I asked her to leave the light has gone out of my life. The music out of my every day. The taste from my food. The scent from— No, not true.
I started sleeping in my guest room because I could smell her on the sheets. I was finally forced to wash them, but if I close my eyes, I can still smell her scent. I imagine I can almost feel her in my arms. Yep, that’s the sad state I'm in. Plus, her room is the only one that's in any semblance of order.
My own room has become a closet. I grab fresh clothes—when I remember to shower—and throw my used ones on the bed in my room. I'm living like a frat boy on a bender, and it's not what I want, but I don’t have the energy to get up from sleep every day, let alone clean the space. The trip from her bed to the couch this afternoon—that's right, I'm spending most of my time in bed—wore me out. If I didn’t have my phone on speed dial to get food delivered, I might have starved by now. When your pizza delivery guy—who's the only living person I’ve seen in the months since she left—mentions he's worried about you, perhaps, that's an indication your life has gone off the rails.
I brush past Finn, head to the oven and pull open the door, before straightening with a bottle of whiskey. I uncap it, and am about to take a sip, then hold it up. "You guys fancy a drop?"
Finn frowns. "You don’t need that."
I scoff, "You have no idea what I need."
"You need her," Jagger says in his gravelly voice.
I chuckle. "Thanks, but you’re the last people I’m going to take advice about my love life from."
"'Love life?" Caspian makes air-quotes with his fingers.
"I mean, personal life." I narrow my gaze on him.
"You said 'love life,'" Jagger admonishes me.
"Admit it, you love your wife," Finn snaps.
I stiffen. It’s no secret Gio and I are married. The team knows. The Seven and the Sovranos know. All of my friends know, but not a word had appeared in the press about it. That’s how loyal these guys were. Luckily, the end of the season meant things quieted down on the media front. Not to mention, we don’t have a PR manager to keep the press fed with information. Knight told me he's not going to hire a PR manager until the season starts up in September.
Not that I care, either way. I'm done with the game. It's too painful to play on the ice when my memories of the game are so intertwined with her. Apparently, she replaced the one passion I had in my life.
