Chapter 14

I'm in a bad mood, and I have been for days.

I could lie to myself and pretend our back-to-back home losses are to blame, but this isn't my first rodeo. Form on the ice comes and goes, and despite Coach ringing us out in practice earlier, my mood reflects an issue closer to home.

It's clear Felicity is determined to position me firmly in the friend zone. She said it herself on Monday night—she wants to "spread her wings." I spent all six periods over the last two home games unable to keep my eyes from her and Jack. She threw me the occasional smile, but after I dropped her back at her place, I know she's pulling away. The kisses we shared in her office and then at my place were indescribable. I've kissed many women in my lifetime, but none have ever made me feel the way I do with her. It feels so easy and natural with Felicity, yet she seems determined to deny what I know she feels, too, and it's frustrating the shit out of me.

"Morgan, my office, now." Coach Burrows's harsh tone ricochets across the locker room, interrupting my thoughts. I stand from the bench and throw on some sweats and a hoodie, ready to face his wrath.

"What did you do now, Jon?" Jensen drawls in a teasing tone, but I'm in no mood for joking around.

"Just worry about your own game," I bite, grabbing my bag and storming out of the locker room toward Coach's office.

I stop outside his door when my watch buzzes violently. I glance quickly at the screen telling me my resting heart rate is one-twenty beats per minute. I'm not surprised; it feels like it"s about to crash through my chest and my body temperature is ablaze.

Dismissing the notification, I take a few centering breaths just as I've practiced with Ben over the years and try to recall my go-to calming visual: Me lying on a beach in Mexico, the sound of the ocean waves lapping at my feet. But lately, every time I close my eyes, all I can see is Felicity, smiling at me in my kitchen, and with each second I recall her perfect smile, my heart rate slows. The palpitations noticeably subside, and the anxiety attack I know was brewing eases far more quickly than I've ever known it to in the past.

How can the woman who sees me as no more than an unreliable playboy be the source of my turmoil yet my antidote all at the same time? She wields the kind of power over me that has the capacity to make or break me at the snap of her fingers, and the truly scary part is, I don't think she has any idea.

"Sit down, Jon." Coach points to the black leather chairs opposite his desk. I drop my bag and take a seat, resting my leg over the opposite knee. I might as well get comfortable because when Coach uses first names, you know shit's got serious.

"How can I help you, Coach?" I try to keep my tone relaxed as I grind my molars.

"I'll get straight to the point. You and I have worked together for long enough to know your mood stinks right now. Your performance has been off, and that's putting it fucking mildly. And your teammates? Well, they see it, and it's bringing the entire locker room down."

I think he's finished when he takes another deep breath, leaning back in his chair, his eyes glued to mine.

But then he goes on.

"However, it"s not necessarily your volatile form on the ice that worries me, it"s your mindset. I'm seeing a pattern emerge, and I don"t like how it looks. When was the last time you went out with the team post-game?"

He raises a hand to shut me down before I can even begin to answer. "And I don't mean turning up for an hour and then clearing off back home or to your hotel. I mean as the Jon of old, out for the duration, bringing the rookies into the team and making them feel welcome. Sure, you still sink the puck and have the odd strong game every now and then, but honestly? You've lost your way. So, tell me, what the fuck is going on."

My stomach twists at the truth in his words. He's right, and being honest, I thought I'd done a better job at hiding it. How the fuck am I supposed to tell the man who's invested so much into my career, made me captain, and stood by me when I mentally broke, that I'm struggling with my love for the game? That despite this sport making me the highest-paid player in its history, showing me the world, and opening every door to my dreams, that I've started to resent it. I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees, and drop my head between my shoulders, shaking it slowly as the tremors start in my hands.

I know I'm not captain material any longer; in fact, I'm probably the last choice for the coach and GM right now, but they've stuck with me purely out of loyalty. I know that based on my current state of mind, they should hand the C to someone else. They should also bench my ass and give someone more deserving a chance. But the cold truth is if they do that mid-way through a season, my career is toast, and after years of pouring my soul into this game, I'll finish up exactly as my nightmares predicted: a washed-up, lonely-as-fuck, former playboy with nothing but a garage full of cars and a stack of cash to show for it. At thirty-four, I should be heading back to my girl and curling up on the couch with her, watching movies and talking about our days.

I finally find the energy to speak but keep my eyes on the ground; no way am I letting him see the wetness that's blurring my vision. I clench my jaw and pinch the inside of my thigh, hard, trying to get a hold of my emotions. "I don't know what to say, Mike."I blow out a shaky breath. I don't think I've ever used his first name before, but this conversation is far more personal than just hockey. "I can't argue with anything you've said. You're dead on with your assessment of my game and head space right now."Resigned to my fate and depleted of fight, I continue. "So, I guess all I can tell you is I'll respect whatever decisions you and the GM make. I'm committed to my contract and giving this team the best I have, and that won't change."

There's a stretch of silence between us.

"Look at me, Jon." Coach's tone is softer as he addresses me as Jon the person rather than the player. "Look at me."

"I can't," I say. "Just let me keep this to myself, please." I don't want him to see me like this. "I'll talk with you again when I can."

"Jon, you are a true professional, and everything you have done for this sport is unmatched. I don't know how much longer your career is set to last, but no one knows your game like I do, and believe me when I tell you that when you do decide to hang up your skates for the final time, your name will be spoken along with the likes of Gretzky. But you need to take time to care for your body and mind. I've watched you fight mental health battles before, and I'll stand by you again, but I really hope it doesn't come to that."

A few beats pass, and I finally have the courage to look up at him, my eyes slightly drier and my emotions back under some sort of control.

"I don't want to see you at practice tomorrow. Take the day, go see Ben, talk with your family, do whatever you need to get your head on straight for Saturday because I need you against Dallas, and we need to get our home record back on track."

I nod and don't even fight him on the practice. Other than through injury, I can count on one hand the number of practices I've missed, but even my hazy, spinning-out brain can see that I need this reprieve."You got it, Coach. I'll see you at early morning skate on Saturday," I reply.

He nods and stands from his chair, shrugging on his jacket. As I grab my bag and turn to leave, he catches me once more."And Morgan?"

"Yes, Coach?"

"I'm not going to take this conversation to the GM. But know that he's noticed your shift in mentality, and I don't just mean on the ice. You and I both know he's not afraid of pulling the trigger, so I'm giving you this time and Saturday to show me that I was right to keep this conversation in this room. But I can't hold him off indefinitely. If he thinks the captaincy and starting center belong elsewhere, then he'll do just that."

His words hit me like a thousand knives, but I steel my resolve, tip my chin up, and say, "Understood, Coach. I appreciate your loyalty."

As I step out into the hallway and head straight to the parking lot, I don't once look up at staff, players, or anyone else who crosses my path. I just need out of here as quickly as possible. It's not lost on me, and I know it definitely won't be on Coach, that I didn't assure him I wouldn't let him down because, frankly, I never make promises I can't keep.

Yanking my phone from my pocket I unlock the screen and scroll right to the bottom of my contacts. There's only one person I can think to call right now.