Fantastic. Now I’ve got a pep talk to look forward to fromCoachandKing Con.
Third period. Coach doesn’t put me back in. I watch from the bench as the game slips away—another Firebirds goal at 8:34,then an empty netter with thirty seconds left when we pull Wyatt for the extra attacker.
We lose 3–2.
The final buzzer sounds like a death knell. The arena empties quickly, disappointed fans filtering up the stairs, leaving behind scattered popcorn containers and crushed beer cups. The ice is torn up, scarred with the record of the game.
In the locker room after, nobody looks at me. Guys strip off their gear. Shin guards hit the floor. Jerseys get tossed into the laundry bins. The usual post-game energy has been drowned out by tense silence. The only sounds are zippers, Velcro, and the occasional muttered curse.
Derek glances at me from two stalls down. “Congrats on the new girlfriend, Kane. Interesting timing.”
I look up, my chest tightening. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” He pulls off his jersey, revealing the compression shirt beneath, dark with sweat. “Just noticed you’ve been off your game for weeks. Then suddenly, you’ve got agirlfriend.”
“My personal life is none of your business.”
“It is when it affects the team.” He crosses his arms. “And when it involves my fiancée’s sister.”
Oh, this will be fun.
“Maya showed me the photos. From Ironclad.” He’s watching me too carefully. “Funny thing…Chloe’s never so much as mentioned dating. And now she’s your girlfriend?”
The question hangs in the air between us, loaded with suspicion.
He walks away before I can respond.
I finish changing in silence. Pull on my usual tailored look—tonight it’s a Gucci crewneck sweater, pressed slacks, and a wool Burberry jacket. I thread my Rolex through my cuff.
The parking lot is nearly empty when I finally head out, the January wind cutting to the bone and my breath clouding in the security lights. Frost crackles as I pry open the door of the Shelby and slide in. The leather seats are freezing even through my slacks. I sit in the dark and defrost the windshield while the engine warms up.
I pull out my phone, the screen nearly blinding me as the contract fills the screen.
Section 7 stares back at me, the words highlighted.
Two-year non-compete clause.
Do I really want to do this?
Someone knocks on my window.
I jump, nearly lose my phone.
Conrad’s standing there with his fiancée, Penny Pepper, beside him. Penny Pepper…the murder podcaster.
Fantastic.
If anyone can see through me, it’s her.
Maybe it’s not too late to peel out of here, make a break for it before she picks up on anything. If I stick around, it’ll be the murder of my career she covers next.
I roll down the window. Cold air rushes in, stealing what little warmth had built up.
“Everyone’s heading to Sammy’s,” Conrad says, his breath creating clouds with each word. “You coming?”
Sammy’s, the team’s usual haunt, sits about three blocks away. It’s usually a great place to down some wings and a couple beers. Not tonight.
“Not really in the mood.”
