18. Zane

18

ZANE

Aiden is crying.

I wasn't sure at first because of the echo in the arena. It's just a scrimmage, but Carson's been barking orders at his team since the moment they skated onto the ice like he thinks he's General fucking Patton storming Normandy.

I should probably be giving my team a pep talk. The defensemen are both rookies and they're not moving like a unit. One of them is halfway up the rink while the other is back by the goal, picking his own ass. It's leaving a massive gap in our defense.

But Aiden is crying.

Now that I'm in the hallway outside the locker rooms as we reset between periods, I can hear his crying coming through the security cameras loud and clear.

I swipe out of the video and call Mira.

"I told you to stop texting," she snaps in lieu of a greeting.

"What's going on?" I strain to hear any background noise, but there's nothing.

"We're at the hospital," she deadpans. "Remember when I said I've never locked anyone in a dryer before? Well, that streak ended today."

"I'm serious," I growl. "I can hear him crying on the video."

"Are you seriously spying on me right now?" she explodes. "You're supposed to be in a scrimmage! That's what the insane, minute-by-minute schedule you had your assistant email me this morning said."

"I wanted you to be able to get in touch with me if anything went wrong."

"Well, you did a great job. That thing is so thorough that I know when your bathroom breaks are. Which means," she spits, "I'll get in touch with you if anything is wrong."

I didn't think being away from Aiden would be a problem. I was away from him for the first four years of his life. What's eight more hours?

Turns out, eight hours is a fucking lifetime.

As soon as I closed the door behind me this morning, a kind of worry I've never felt before kicked in.

I planned for this. The entire reason Mira is there with him is so CPS can show up and see that I'm in a functional—albeit completely fictional—relationship with a woman Aiden likes. The fact Mira is the only person he talks to is proof enough that they get along.

I don't have anything to worry about. And yet…

"Clearly, something is wrong, or else he wouldn't be crying. "

"Yes, and as you know, four-year-olds save their tears for only the worst heartbreaks and traumas. I'll tell you why he's crying now, but let me warn you, it's dark and gruesome and twisted ."

I grit my teeth. Maybe hiring the woman willing to call me an asshole to my face wasn't such a good idea, after all.

"Are you ready?" she continues. "Are you sitting down? Here it comes: Aiden is crying because I found mold on the straw of his Spiderman water bottle and I put it in the dishwasher."

Oh.

I tried to put that bottle in the dishwasher last night, but his lip went wobbly and his eyes filled with tears. I have no problems standing my ground when a line of padded-up men charges at me down the ice, but put a whimpering four-year-old in front of me and I fucking buckle.

I should thank Mira for doing my dirty work, but I can't bring myself to say the words.

The door to the rink slams open and Daniel is glaring at me. "Popov is asking where you've been. They're back on the ice, Z. What the fuck are you doing out here?"

"Give me a minute," I bark.

He shakes his head and spins around, letting the door bang closed behind him.

"Zane, go do your job," Mira chides. "And let me do mine."

Everything is fine at home.

That thought should be comforting, but as I stomp back out and skate onto the ice, a new thought rises to the surface. What if he doesn't need me?

I mean, of course he doesn't fucking need me. He did just fine for the last four years. But now, he's back at my house getting attached to Mira.

That Morris bastard said a lot of bullshit the other day, but he made a good point: Aiden has had a lot of people come and go from his life. What will happen when CPS finally puts down their pitchfork and Mira is no longer needed?

It's only been a few days since she moved in, but everything feels different. The condo smells like her vanilla perfume. When I'm home, I can hear her moving around in her room through the wall.

When she leaves, Aiden might miss her.

A whistle blares through my thoughts. I spin around to find Coach Popov scowling at me.

"Someone's in trouble," Carson croons as he skates up from behind me.

Last I knew, he was in front of me. The fact that he got past me without me noticing is probably why Coach is beckoning me over with two crooked fingers and the kind of venomous scowl that only a hardened Russian man can put on.

Ice sprays as I skid to a stop. "Sorry, Coach."

"Don't apologize to me." His jaw is tight as he tips his head towards my teammates. "Apologize to them. They're the ones who are going to be doing sprints after the scrimmage if you can't do your job."

"I'm not doing fucking sprints, Whitaker." Jace is pacing behind me. "I'm too old for that shit."

Popov's scowl softens. Jace is the only person who's ever been able to make Coach smile during one of his tirades. If I make captain, I guess that'll be my job.

I have a long way to go.

"You're still following my orders until the end of the season, Jace," Popov reminds him. "You chose to throw your weight behind Zane. Now, you'll suffer the consequences."

I smack my stick on the ice. "There aren't going to be consequences. I'm here. I'm ready to play."

He crosses his burly arms. "I don't want to hear you say it; I want to see it."

Jace follows me as I push off of the boards. I'm glaring at Carson across the ice. He's screwing around with his defensemen in front of the goalie like he doesn't have a care in the world. They look my way and I know he's talking shit.

He thinks he has the captaincy in the bag—and right now, I'm not giving him a reason to doubt himself.

Suddenly, Jace skates between us. He waves his glove in front of my face. "What the hell is up with you today, man?"

"Nothing." My phone burns in my pocket. It's been ten minutes since I talked to Mira, and I already want to pull it out. I want to know what's going on.

Jace snorts. "Bullshit. Your head is so far up your own ass that I'm not sure you can even hear me right now. Nathan was looking to you for guidance before that last goal, but you didn't fuckin' move. Carson went straight down the middle."

"I—I have a lot on my mind, but I'm here now," I grit out.

For three more hours. I'm busy for three more hours, and then I can go home. Everything will be fine until then.

"Are you? Because you're still looking at the damn clock!" He slaps his hand against the side of my helmet. "I put my weight behind you , Z. But if I thought you were going to offer up captain to the biggest asshole on the team, I never would've recommended you to Coach."

"I'm not handing Carson fucking Deluth anything . I'm going to be captain."

Jace throws an arm wide. "Feel free to prove it."

I hear him add, "… dumbass," under his breath as he skates away.

I pull out my phone for what I promise myself will be the last time and text Daniel. Go check on shit at the house. I blink and then add, Please. Because I'm turning over a new leaf these days, or something like that.

He's sitting in the stands behind Coach. I watch him read my message. A second later, he tosses me a thumbs up as he bounds down the stairs and walks out of the arena.

It's not what I want, but it's enough for now. Daniel's on it. I can breathe and do my damn job.

I toss my phone on the bench and meet Carson in the center of the rink.

"How nice of you to join us," he drawls.

"Shut up and play the fucking game, Deluth."

"You sure you're ready this time?"

I'm holding my stick so tight I think it might snap. Better the stick than Carson's neck. Or, on second thought, maybe not. "Drop the puck before I fucking end you, Carson."

He cackles. "I'd love to see you try."

His wish is my command.

I win the puck drop and, for the first time all day, I feel like myself. I know where Jace and Nathan are going to be before they get there. I see the lazy plays Carson is going to call before he even calls them. When I zip a pass to Jace between Carson's skates and we score the winning goal to end the scrimmage, even Coach Popov gives me a grumpy nod, which is his version of a standing ovation.

Carson's team is dragging when we shake hands afterwards and for the first time—maybe in his entire life—he doesn't have shit to say.

Even better, I get to leave while they're stuck doing sprints behind me.

After days of not knowing what the fuck I'm doing, it feels good.

Hockey has always been the thing I'm best at. Even when every other area of my life was off the rails, hockey was the last domino to fall.

On the ice, I know what I'm doing. I know where I belong.

It's the rest of my world that remains a mystery.