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I did the right thing for both of us then, but it’s like glitter. A solid decision with lots of regrets. He doesn’t understand the complications of including me in his life now. Even if his current team is accepting, it doesn’t mean others will be.

The best plan: do nothing. He got caught up in the memories of me and wants to reverse time to when we were innocent. It doesn’t work that way.

I’ll keep my distance, and hopefully the picture of me with his teammates gets buried before someone notices.

Mav is not my responsibility, and I’m not his.

Anything more than civil exes will lead to more heartbreak.

And I am not subjecting us to that.

Final decision.

Chapter 7

Maverick Maher

Staring at my phone doesn’t conjure a message from Sky. I sent him a funny meme to start a conversation, but he’s left me on read. For five hours. It’s not like I texted after we hung up. I waited a respectable three days.

Brant says I should take the hint, and I shoot him a glance as he gets his gear on. He’s right, but I’m not giving up at the first stumbling block.

The noise in the visitors’ dressing room seems unusually loud. There are rumors that teams do weird things, such as messing with their opponents’ locker rooms and the acoustics to give themselves an advantage.

I stuff my cell away, uneasy about being creepy and entitled, questioning the line between fighting for him, for us, and crossing Sky’s boundaries.

I sneeze, and Griff dramatically jumps away.

“Don’t be gettin’ sneezy germs on me.” He crosses his forearms as a shield against the germs.

“I’m not sick,” I retort.

“Mav, quit while you’re ahead, for real. Stop talking ’cause you sound like ‘I’b nod sick.’ ” King smirks.

“Keefer is rubbing off on you,” I complain.

“I certainly am.” O’Keefe waggles his eyebrows and thrusts his pelvis in King’s direction.

“No kissy-face in the locker room!” Benz yells.

“Don’t be jealous in the locker room,” Brant sings.

“Benz, get the dance party started,” our captain, Ace, hollers.

The music blasts, but I can’t bring myself to dance. My head hurts, and dressing is such a chore that it’s taking three times as long. A pity party for myself is not on today’s calendar. I gotta get my shit together and show up for my team.

“Mav.” King shakes my shoulder. “Seriously, you okay?”

I’m sitting with my head in my hands. “Yeah,” I lie. “Trying a new meditation for focus.”

King’s face gives away that he doesn’t believe me, but he doesn’t push either. We’re hockey players. We skate with broken fingers, bruised ribs, bum knees, and strained muscles, so a little heartbreak won’t take me out.

I mentally stick Sky in the cubby with my phone and prep for the game.

My balance is off, and I’m slower than a toddler. The game flies by me, and Coach pulls me. Grayson Ward, our trainer and the captain’s fiancé, rushes over to check on me.

“I’m fine,” I say, before he can question me.

“Of course, but if I don’t do my job, they’ll have my ass, so humor me, eh?” He doesn’t wait for my answer as he takes my pulse. “It’s high, and you’re warm.”