Coach Ryan's whistle cuts through the scrimmage for the third time in ten minutes. I skate to a stop, breathing hard, trying to figure out what I did wrong this time.
"Huxley!" Ryan's voice echoes across the ice. "You trying to put your own teammates in the hospital?"
The rest of the team circles back, looking between me and Ryan. Thorne rolls his eyes. Jett shakes his head like he saw this coming.
"Just playing my position," I call back.
"Your position isn't human wrecking ball." Ryan skates closer, his expression tight with frustration. "That's the third clean hit you've thrown in a scrimmage. Against your own guys. You keep playing like that and you're going to wind up hurt. Or worse, you're going to hurt someone who matters."
Heat crawls up my neck. "I'm an enforcer. That's what I do."
"No. What you do is protect your team. You’re demolishing them in practice." Ryan jerks his thumb toward the bench. "Take five. Cool off."
Skating to the bench feels like a punishment I don't deserve. My job is to be physical. Hit hard. Make the other team think twice about touching my guys. That's what enforcers do. That's what I've always done.
Ryan's right about one thing though. My hits are getting sloppier. More desperate, as if I’m trying to prove something with every single play.
My phone buzzes during cooldown.Enzo. I let it go to voicemail.
He'll want to know why I missed the endorsement meeting, why I'm not returning calls. The truth is that I don't care about another protein powder deal.
He calls again. I decline. Then a text pops up.
Enzo:We need to talk about your attitude problem.
I stare at the screen.
Enzo:Unless you want Page Six to hear about some interesting family financial issues?
The threat sits there in black and white. He's been doing this for years without ever saying it outright. My mother's crimes hang over my head while he keeps me in line.
The big endorsements would probably survive. Nike, Gatorade. The smaller deals would vanish, and he knows it.
Scout's voice echoes in my head.You can't let him hold that over you forever.
She's right. But knowing it and doing something about it are two different things.
I delete the message. One problem at a time.
Practice continues without me. Watching from the bench, I see what Ryan means. The scrimmage flows better when I'm not in it. Plays develop naturally instead of getting interrupted by my constant physicality. My teammates move with more confidence, not bracing for impact every time I'm near.
Watching them play without me pisses me off. It makes me feel useless.
When the final whistle blows, Ryan catches my eye and jerks his head toward his office. A one-on-one talk. Just what I fucking need.
His office is small and cluttered with game footage, playbooks, and empty coffee cups. Ryan drops into his chair and gestures for me to sit. I stay standing.
"You want to tell me what's going on?" Ryan leans back, studying me with that coach look that sees through bullshit.
"Nothing's going on. I'm playing my position."
"You're playing scared."
The words hit like a punch to the gut. "I'm not scared of anything."
"Not scared of getting hit. Scared of being irrelevant." Ryan picks up a pen, tapping it against his desk. "You think if you're not throwing your body around every single play, you don't have value. That's not how this works, Huxley."
My jaw clenches. "I'm an enforcer. If I'm not being physical, what's the point of me being on the ice?"
