The caption reads: “Hockey bad boy Tucker Stag living his best life. #PartyAnimal #LivingTheDream #StagNation"
"Classic T-Stag," Howie says, laughing. "You were a legend, man."
"Were?" I hand the phone back, feeling sick.
"Well, you've been pretty tame lately," Spinner points out. "No puck bunnies, barely going out. We figured you were finally growing up or something."
"Or he's got a girl," Howie suggests, waggling his eyebrows. "That's usually what tames the wild ones."
"I don't have agirl," I say, but even as the words leave my mouth, Sloane's face flashes in my mind. Her green eyes, hard with anger and disappointment.People who don't think about consequences. People who take up space without considering who they're taking it from.
"Then what's your problem?" Mayhem asks, his tone more serious now. "Because you've been off for weeks, man."
I stare at those photos on his phone, at the guy I was. The guy who thought being "T-Stag the Party Animal" was something to be proud of. The guy who parked wherever he wanted becausehe never considered that someone might actually need that accessible entrance.
"That guy's a fucking asshole," I say quietly.
The three of them exchange glances.
"What?" Howie looks genuinely confused.
"That guy." I gesture at the phone. "He's a selfish asshole who only thinks about himself. Who treats women like accessories and thinks rules don't apply to him."
"Dude, those were just good times—" Spinner starts.
"No." I cut him off, the words coming faster now. "It wasn't good times. It was shallow bullshit. I was shallow bullshit. I still am."
Mayhem studies me with those thoughtful eyes that always see too much. "What happened?"
"I met someone," I admit. "Someone who made me realize what a fuckup I've become. And she was right." I trail off, not sure how to articulate all the ways I've let myself become exactly what Sloane accused me of being.
I tell them about yesterday—about being at Stag Law, parking carelessly, Mel and Sloane, the confrontation. I leave out the part about Sloane being Grentley's ex-wife.
By the time I finish, even Howie looks sobered.
"Shit," Spinner says. "That's rough."
I pick up another puck, turning it over in my gloved hand. "Someone couldn’t get to their job interview because of me. Because I was too wrapped up in my own shit to pay attention."
"So pay attention now," Howie suggests. "If you don't like who you've been, be someone different."
"It's not that simple."
"Sure it is." Spinner shrugs. "You're Tucker Stag. If you decide to be better, you'll be better. You're annoyingly good at everything."
I want to tell them it's not a fast process. That I've spent years building this reputation, this identity. That "T-Stag the Enforcer” is who everyone expects me to be—my teammates, my sponsors, even my family to some extent. The wild one. The animal on and off the ice.
Sloane went for me because I looked like a fuck-boy. And I was. But I don’t want to be anymore.
"I need to go," I say abruptly, skating toward the bench.
"We just got here," Howie protests.
"So stay. Skate. I'm done."
I'm already unlacing my skates, pulling off my gear with mechanical efficiency. My body is exhausted, but my mind won't stop racing. Those photos. Sloane's face. The way Tim had dismissed me like a child. The realization that I've become exactly the kind of person I never wanted to be.
The drive home feels longer than usual. I park carefully in the garage, dead center between the lines, checking twice to make sure I'm not blocking anything or anyone.
