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I won’t go down without a fight, though. I draw on my frustration, filling my veins with fire. By the time I skate onto the ice, I’m ready for battle.
Nick Durham, Seattle’s most obnoxious player, starts shit with me before the puck even drops.
“Hope your cold streak continues tonight,” he quips. “Since you don’t give a shit about scoring for your own team, feel free to put a puck in our net tonight.”
“Is it true your own teammates wear earplugs so they don’t have to hear your grating, whiny voice, Durham?” I fire back.
It is true—I heard it from one of his teammates. They all either love him or hate him.
His smirk is gone, but he keeps chirping. “I get it, man. Why bother anymore? Can’t get fired when you’re fucking your owner.”
The puck drops as he ends the sentence, our team getting possession. I run into Durham’s shoulder as I rush down the ice, not letting myself fall further into his trap.
I block out all personal thoughts, focusing only on the game. Seattle’s defense is playing me light, probably because they’ve watched film of our recent games. I use that to my advantage, sending a pass from Beau into the back of the net.
My teammates surround me, arms in the air. It’s the first time in a while that I’ve smiled. I glance up at the owner’s box, where Mila is sitting in her usual spot, her gaze on me.
Her smile reminds me how relaxed she was when we woke up together in my bed. Now that I’ve seen both sides of her, I can’t think of her only as a ball-busting, no-holds-barred team owner. I see the woman, too. The woman who was brave enough to be vulnerable in front of me, more than once.
I’ve been too much of a pussy to do the same. Mila really is fearless. She owns the weight that comes with her family’s name, not proud of her grandfather’s and father’s actions, but also not ashamed to try to make her name stand for something better.
Seattle scores right before the end of the first period. Coach lays into us in the locker room, his face getting red as he draws on his whiteboard while yelling over his shoulder.
Ben scores in the second period. Not to be outdone by the kid who took his spot, Dominic also scores.
Seattle manages a goal in the third period, but we still take the game 3–2. I feel lighter knowing I contributed something tonight. My teammates clap me on the shoulder, the mood in the locker room relaxed.
“Mountain Top?” Ford asks me as we’re both walking out of the shower area.
“Not tonight. I need to go home.”
I dress in a navy suit, light blue dress shirt, and forest green tie, reading a text from Heath as I leave the locker room to walk to my car. Mila hasn’t met me outside of the locker room in a month, and I can’t blame her.
Heath: Great game. Proud of you.
I send a quick response and put my phone in my pocket, eager to get home.
One of our longtime ushers, Henry, stops me as I’m about to walk out the door.
“My son and his family are in town from Miami. Any chance they could get a photo with you?”
“Yeah, of course.”
Henry’s a good dude. He’s in his sixties but still likes to kick a soccer ball around with us before games, and he’s pretty good.
I pose for photos with Beau, Ford, and Henry’s son’s family, signing autographs for them and making small talk before heading toward the parking lot again.
My Range Rover is already in the garage when I get home just after midnight. The house is quiet when I walk in and set my keys on the counter.
I take off my suit jacket and hang it over a chair, then remove my tie, and roll up the sleeves of my dress shirt. My stomach is churning nervously. I could put this conversation off for tomorrow, but I won’t take the chance of pussing out.
Opening the fridge, I take out a beer and pop the top off, taking a long drink. Then I set the bottle on the kitchen counter, blow out a breath, and walk upstairs.
Mila’s been sleeping in the guest room at the end of the hall. The door is cracked, so I push it open. I see her form in bed and consider leaving.
She’ll never see me the same again. I need more time to think about this.
I’m about to leave when she gasps and sits up in bed.
“Colby?” There’s a tremor in her voice, like a hint of panic.
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“What’s wrong?”
Everything. I want to crawl into bed next to her and show her I’m sorry in the only way I know how. That won’t work this time, though.
