And I admit her words burn. I open my mouth to tell her off.
But the truth is…she’s a thousand percent right.
And not one fucking soul has ever called me out on it. Not like this.
I exhale, the comeback dying on my lips.
“You’re right,” I tell her instead.
Another tug of her ponytail. “Do you know why you do that?” she asks me.
“Uh-huh.” I lightly bang my stick against the boards.
She scoots closer to me, taking the stick out of my hands. “Why? You don’t have to say if you don’t want to. But maybe I can help.”
I raise my eyes to meet hers. And the connection between us—fuck. I swallow and lean back.
“Savannah, look. My dad wants me to be a hockey star. Me? I don’t give a shit about it.”
“So this is your passive-aggressive way of winning the war with your dad—play just shitty enough to lose so you won’t get brought up.”
“I know it’s not a good plan,” I say defensively. “And it’s not the only way I’m spending my time. I’m using contacts from my sales job to build a custom furniture business so I can quit for good, but I’m not quite ready. So I need time.”
Savannah tilts her head and assesses me in silence. “I get it,” she finally says, her tone softer than normal.
“You do?”
“Of course. And if you decided to quit today, I would fully support you.”
I stare at her. “Really? Even if I left the Cannons in the lurch?”
“Cam,” she says with certainty. “I want you to be happy. And if leaving hockey makes you happy, then you should.”
Without thinking, I reach over and grab her hand. Her eyes widen as she pulls away from me.
“The thing is,” she says quickly. “As long as you’re here, I don’t think losing is going to make things work out for you any better. You’ll just get traded again or moved to another league, and that’s always stressful. And then your dad’s on your back even more.”
“That’s true.”
“So. If this is going to be your last year playing, why not go out with a bang?” She raises her eyebrows at me. “Play your ass off.”
Before I can answer her, Craig pokes his head into our conversation. “Vannah, did you take a look at the team stats for this month?”
“I did,” she says. “They’re definitely up from the previous month.”
“We need more wins,” Craig mutters. “The seats are selling better, but they’re still nearly half-empty. And you know what that means.”
He gives her a stern look, one I can’t decipher, and turns to me. “Back on the ice, Wild. Your little tantrum’s lasted long enough.”
He heads back to the middle of the rink, and I reach for my helmet.
“What was that about?” I ask Savannah.
“Nothing important,” she says, but her tone tells me otherwise.
“I know this is technically above my pay grade,” I say to her. “But you’ve gone pale. What’s Coach’s angle?”
She shifts awkwardly on the bench. “Money’s tight. He may not be able to pay my salary next year, not unless…”
