35. Zane

35

ZANE

It's opening day, minutes left in our first game of the season, and we're tied.

The score is knotted up at two apiece, but even worse, Carson and I are each responsible for one of those goals. Beating the other team is great and all, but beating FuckFace Deluth would be even better.

He must be feeling similarly, because the smug bastard hasn't passed me the puck once all night. Even after Jace called him out between the second and third periods, Carson is willing to be driven straight into the boards rather than pass to me.

"Zane was open!" Jace roars after Carson fires another wild shot at the net and missed. "You might as well have just fuckin' handed it over to them. Better yet, put the puck in our goal for them, Carson."

"I didn't see him!" Carson seethes.

"Keep playing like that and you won't see any of us this season," Jace spits. "It's hard to see from the bench."

The ref gets into position for the faceoff and my eyes cast out across the crowd. It's the first time I've actually looked around all night.

I breathe a lot easier knowing Mira and Aiden aren't hiding in the stands somewhere. Even if I hadn't told Mira to keep Aiden away from the games, there's no way they'd be here tonight. Not after last week. Not after I backed her into a doorway and threatened her job.

She's barely looked at me in days and I don't know what I'm more pissed about: that she disappointed me and fucked up or that she won't fucking look at me.

I've never been in this position before. When shit went sideways with Paige, I was the one who pushed her away. That decision always came with weeks—sometimes months—of her begging me to take her back. Over and over again, I did.

Until the last time.

But Mira isn't begging. She isn't even mad. It's like she's hit the switch on her emotions. The tension—both real and sexual—I felt between us is gone. It's empty air instead. Flat, dead, empty air.

That should make living with my nanny and fake girlfriend a fuck-ton easier.

I guess, in some ways, it does. I'm just not sure it's better.

The puck drops. Jace wins the faceoff and slices it to Carson. Then it's off to the races. Carson finds a hole and shimmies through, streaking toward the enemy goal, but I still curse under my breath as I catch up.

He loses the puck for a second in a scrum, but he anticipates the Thunderstrokes' pass and steals it right back.

Then he charges for the goal.

The Portland defenders are charging toward Carson, getting closer every second. They've got one of the biggest back lines in the league and they've walled off the goal, nearly six hundred pounds of burly defensemen between Deluth and the promised land, but that doesn't do a damn thing to dim his confidence.

Zero shot he has any kind of angle to score, but he refuses to look for Plan B. His eyes stay locked on the net.

I haul ass to get in position. For all that his bravado is pissing me the hell off tonight, this could actually work out if he just does the right thing. With all eyes on the puck hog, no one is paying me the respect I deserve.

The last thing they think Carson is going to do is pass the puck to me. Which is exactly why Carson needs to.

"Come on," I hiss, trying to spot the puck through the melee. "Come on."

The clock is bleeding seconds. The buzzer is going to sound any moment now and Carson is still trying to play hero.

The crowd is roaring. I swear I hear someone behind me screaming for Carson to "Pass the fucking puck!" At that exact moment, Carson finds a gap between the defenders' legs and…

I'll be goddamned. He passed it.

The puck comes soaring over the ice to me.

The goalie follows the pass, shuffling to the right, but he isn't fast enough. I wind up, I swing, and the puck soars into the top corner of the net just as the buzzer sounds.

Phoenix, 3. Portland, 2.

We win.

I win.

I have half a second to enjoy the sight of the stunned goalie before I'm swallowed by a sea of red and white. Nathan and Reeves both dive for my legs and hoist me on their shoulders.

I hold my stick above my head, pumping it in the air as the crowd cheers. Carson isn't part of the celebrations. He's drifting miserably towards the bench, a scowl etched deep on his face. If I was a better man, I'd shout his name and get him up here, too. He made the assist, grudgingly or not.

But he can go fuck himself.

I'm not a better man—but I'm still better than Carson fucking Deluth.

The party continues even once my feet are back on the ground. Fans thrust jerseys and posters they want signed at me as I make my way off the ice. My teammates clap me on the back while I give a few interviews, not mentioning Carson's name even once.

In the locker room, Daniel is nowhere to be seen, but Davis Ray is standing on the bench chugging an energy drink. When he sees me, he spits it into the air like a defunct fountain and starts chanting, "MVP! MVP!"

"We got off the ice five minutes ago, Davis. How are you already drunk?" I call up to him.

He cackles. "I'm not drunk yet, but give me an hour. We're all going out, yeah?"

Everyone cheers in full-throated affirmation, but I bump through the throngs and make my way to my locker.

Mira told me she'd send me a picture of Aiden wearing my jersey before every game. I haven't had my phone all afternoon, but I've been thinking about it for hours. He thought I was a hero on the ice when I played like shit. What's he going to think after my team carted me around on their shoulders?

I'm smiling as I chuck my supplies into the bottom of my locker and find my phone. There is a text from Mira, but it isn't a photo of Aiden.

I read it and my smile falls.

I read it again and almost crush the phone in my grip.

Don't forget I need you to come back here after the game. I have that date tonight.

Mira has a date.

She never told me. She hasn't told me anything in days, but she should have told me some shit like this .

Suddenly, a hand clamps down on my shoulder. "Well, are you coming out with us, Whitaker? You're the cool kid tonight. Everyone wants to party with you."

I read Mira's text one more time before I toss it in my duffel bag. I can't forget something she never told me, can I?

I turn around and throw both hands in the air. "Let's fucking go!"

The locker room erupts.