Page 35 of Hard to Handle

“Things okay with your brother?” he asks, his voice lowering as sympathy edges his gruff tone.

“Of course,” I lie. Because what else can I do? Tell him, no, things are shit? That Jonah’s struggling more and more, getting sick time and again and doctors think his time is limited? That I’m the reason Jonah’s there, and dealing with it is more bullshit than he could ever imagine? I walk toward the window and back before he can see the reality of my thoughts, before he realizes that this sport I’ve been blessed to play has single-handedly saved me and ruined me simultaneously. “He’s fine. It’s my teammates pulling crap like they did this morning that isn’t exactly helping.”

“And what about the crap you’ve pulled the past few months? The lashing out. The fights. The thumbing your nose at the people who sign your checks? The you’re too good—”

“I’ve never said I’m too good!” I shout and take a step toward him, realizing more than ever that everyone around me doesn’t understand, and it’s making me feel even more suffocated. I lace my fingers at the back of my neck and exhale a loud sigh in frustration.

My exhale fills the room as he settles in his spot against the counter again. “You’re too valuable to be fucking up like this. It looks like you don’t give a shit about anyone but yourself.”

I’m the last person I care about, I want to scream. The last person. Don’t you see that? Don’t you see I’m punishing myself? Don’t you see that no one gives a fuck about me, and I’ve never felt so goddamn isolated in my life?

“I’m not going to bench you, Maddox. Whatever you’re dealing with needs to be dealt with though, or else I’m not going to be able to protect you from the people signing that gigantic check of yours or the teammates who can make you look even worse if they start talking to the press.” He holds his hands out to the side. “It’s your call.”

I nod, unsure what else to do or say because my head feels like it’s not connected to my body. The thoughts are there but the normal emotions I should feel—shame, grief, chagrin—aren’t attached.

“That’s all.” I can’t get out of there fast enough, but the minute my fingers are on the door handle, he speaks again. “Hey, Cap?”

I turn to face him. “Hmm?”

“You need anything, I’m here, okay? It’s never as bad as it seems.”

Yes, it is.

“Thanks.”

“I’d avoid the main exit on the way to the team bus. I’ve made the locker room off-limits from the press tonight. Wasn’t sure what was going to happen in here and we like to keep our fights within the family. But uh . . . the press is out there in droves, clamoring for answers.”

“Noted.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

HUNTER

Dad: Such a waste to have ability and potential and refuse to use it.

Dad: Disgraceful. Absolutely disgraceful.

Dad: You get a chance that should’ve been your brother’s and that’s how you play?

Dad: You’re lucky they don’t boo you out of Jersey when you get home.

I STARE AT THE TEXTS. At the criticism and negativity and am reminded, as I am after every game, how I’ll never be Jonah.

How I’ll never live up to my father’s standard of perfection even when I bust my ass day in day out and he criticizes from the sidelines.

With a swipe of my thumb, I clear the display. I know the words will eat at me as I fall asleep tonight.

Sleep.

That’s what I want. To fall into an oblivious sleep and to put this fucking piss-poor night behind me. To try and forget. Just fucking forget.

I take a glance around the locker room. Most of the team has cleared out by now. Thank God they left me alone after Jünger’s dress-down. I’m in no mood to talk to them, or anyone, so I head to the back tunnel just like he suggested and hope everyone continues to stay away.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

DEKKER

“I HAD A FEELING YOU’D be coming through this side of the tunnel,” I say the minute I see Hunter walk out of the doorway. His head is down, his sweatshirt hood pulled out to shadow his face, and his posture can either read absolute defeat or unfettered anger.