FIVE
tate
My entire lifeis spiraling out of control and the worst decision of my life has a goddamn front-row seat to watch the carnage.
The hot water from the shower isn’t washing away the humiliation of the worst practice of my professional career.
I stand under the scorching spray longer than necessary, letting the heat beat against my shoulders. I don’t want to get caught talking to anyone. Not when my game just unraveled in front of everyone like a cheap rug. I just want to wallow. Alone.
Clutching the sides of my head, I try to block out the words I said to Zane. They keep echoing in my head, taunting me.
I can’t do it. Not with you.
Dammit. It was raw honesty that I should have kept buried. Professional suicide delivered in those fucking words.
But it’s the truth. I thought I could compartmentalize, but I was wrong, just like I’ve been wrong about everything else lately.
I turn off the water, grab a towel, and sling it around my waist. The locker room is quiet. Maybe I can get dressed and get the hell out of here without having to explain myself to anyone.
When I reach my stall, my phone buzzes with a text from Mark.
Mom called. She’s worried about you. Says you sounded stressed when she talked to you last week.
I stare at the screen, something squeezing my lungs tight. Of course my mom’s worried. Mothers have radar for when their kids are struggling, even when those kids are twenty-six-year-old professional athletes who should have their shit together.
I type a quick response.
Tell her I’m fine.
My phone rings before I can stuff it back into my bag. Mark’s name flashes on the screen, and I squeeze my eyes shut. I should let it go to voicemail and call him later. But I know my brother and he won’t leave me alone until he finally gets to me.
I take a breath and stab the Accept button. “Hey,” I say. “What’s up?”
“Don’t ‘hey’ me. Mom says you sound like hell, and you send me that text? What’s going on? Because I know you’re notfine.”
I press my palm against my forehead. “Nothing’s going on. Just hockey stuff.”
“What kind of hockey stuff?”
I pause, trying to figure out how much I can tell him without revealing anything real. “New goalie coach. We’re working through some adjustments to my game.”
“And?”
“And it’s been rough. My game’s been off lately.”
That’s true, at least. My game has been off. What I can’t tell him is why.
“Tate.” Mark’s voice goes from interrogator to concerned older brother. “You know you can talk to me, right? Whatever’s going on.”
The offer hangs like a lifeline I’m too scared to grab. Mark’s always been my closest confidant, the one person who knows me better than anyone. If I could tell anyone the truth about who I am and what I’m struggling with, it would be him.
But I don’t want to unload on him. He’s happy with Tessa. Adores her kid. They’re talking about moving in together, maybe getting engaged. He doesn’t need to be burdened by my shit. I’m a big boy. I can handle it by myself.
“Yep, I know. And I appreciate it.”
“Okay. I’m here anytime.”
“Thanks.”
