Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

“ I t’s the first fucking day, and you’re already getting into it with Nilsen?” my brother complains.

Coach Applegate already tore me a new one, and now I’ve gotta take it from my little brother who, despite his designation and age, has everything I've ever wanted. He’s a champion, he has a pack, and he’s fucking happy in a way I didn’t think possible.

He’s always been jealous of me, but it was always him who had everything. Yet I’m the one biting my tongue and wearing deodorizers to make him more comfortable. My scent has always been a point of contention with me and Owen. I know the hatchet has mostly been buried, but I’d rather just avoid that issue all together.

Plus, with my scent tamed, it should help with my little PR problem.

It doesn’t matter how I feel. I’m known as some playboy, asshole, bachelor. But willing Betas are the only thing that has kept me company for the last few years. With my schedule, nothing has stuck, but at least for a night or a few weeks, I don't feel so hopeless.

I’ve been so alone for so long. I’d hoped that coming and playing for the Foxes was going to be the thing to help fix our relationship and possibly help with this unending loneliness that’s been following me around for years.

“Max, are you listening to me?” Owen asks, shoving my shoulder.

“Nilsen and I go way back. I don’t know what his problem is,” I tell my brother honestly.

I truly don’t know why Bram Nilsen hates my guts, but on the other hand, he doesn’t seem to like a lot of people in general.

“Nilsen is loyal as hell. Whatever you did, you need to make it right. This is going to be a rebuilding year. If we want to make the playoffs, you’ve got to be in sync with the rest of the defense.”

I hate being chastised and consoled by my younger brother, but I just nod my head, not wanting to pick a fight. I also just wish he would pick my side. Why does he automatically think the issue between me and Nilsen is my fault?

“I’ll work on it,” I tell him.

“You better. I pulled strings to get you here,” he says.

Like I needed the fucking reminder. I grab my helmet and skate back to the goal, wondering if this is all worth it. When my contract with the Sharks ended, I was a free agent, and no other team wanted to pick me up based on my overabundant presence in the press. But the Foxes were desperate for a goalie with playoff experience, and my baby brother vouched for me.

The brother who has always hated me for being an Alpha and playing in the NHL is the reason why I’m here.

Isn’t that some shit?

That whole time, he’d been jealous of me, pushing me away because I was a reminder of the things he wasn’t so easily given. I worked hard to get where I am, and more often than not, I find myself wanting exactly what Owen has.

I’d say the tables have turned, but there was never a time that I didn’t want to be a part of Owen’s life or have some jealousy over the close relationship he has with our mother.

I groan, hating that I feel like a depressive sack of shit.

Despite my inner turmoil, I get through practice without another altercation, but I do have to deal with my brother critiquing every single fucking move I make.

This is going to be a long season.

Going back to my undecorated, overly gray, lonely apartment just didn’t feel right. With the need to improve my image, I don’t go to a bar. Instead, I find myself at a mom-and-pop diner that blessedly sells alcohol.

The combination of omelet and a Jack and Coke is a depressing one, but it’s better than going to a bar, drinking too much, taking home the first person who touches my arm, and then waking up the next morning to see my face plastered on the internet.

It’s not that I don’t want anything deeper with anyone, it just seems like no one is truly interested in getting to know me. I’m a good lay, but I’m not sure if I’m worth much else.

I look around for my waitress to get a refill, and when she doesn’t come by, I wave a hand at the man working on the nearby tables.

“Hey, can I get another?” I ask him as he turns around. He looks strangely familiar, but I can’t put my finger on it.

“Max? What are you doing here?” he asks, looking down at my pathetic excuse for a meal. “Ethan,” he says, and I furrow my brow, trying to place him. “The mascot,” he sighs out.

“Right,” I say, snapping my fingers. “You work here?”

“Believe it or not, mascots aren’t rolling in money,” he replies.

“But here?” I ask, and he nods.

“It’s my dad’s place. I’ve worked here for as long as I can remember. The tips are nice and help me pay my bills while still being able to work for the Foxes.”

I blink at him, and he stares at me a moment before taking my glass and getting me a refill. I suppose I never really considered what a mascot makes. Really, I never considered the mascot at all.

Ethan replaces my drink and sits it on the table. I sigh, and the man just plops into the booth across from me. I look around the half-full diner, wondering what the fuck is happening right now, but he just gives me a soft smile.

He’s handsome. It’s like he’s a combination of the burnout kid all grown up mixed with the boy-next-door look. I’m not sure how to explain it, but there’s something alluring about him.

No, I’m not fucking the mascot.

“Do you want some advice?” he asks. My immediate response is to tell him to fuck off. But I’m aiming to become a better person—it’s fucking awful.

“I assume you’re planning on giving it anyway?”

“No one notices when I’m around, and therefore I’ve learned quite a bit of knowledge about the Foxes’ players and staff. But if you don’t want some friendly tips from Finnegan the Fox, I can just take my sweet ass elsewhere,” he says, using his fingertips to balance himself on the old worn diner table, and I grab his wrist.

“Wait. I’m listening.”

“Alright, there’s a few things you need to understand,” he says, lacing his fingers together, his forearms covered in black and gray tattoos as his tendons flex. “Owen fucking hated you last year, and a lot of that spilled throughout the team. While you two might be good or working on things now, there’s still a lot of residual resentment. The team loves Owen. I mean, a goalie starting later in the season from a feeder team and helping lead the team to a cup? He’s beloved.”

“I’m well aware of how loved my brother is.”

“Sheesh, no shit. Sounds like there’s some resentment on your end too,” he says, and I glare at him. “I have other shit to do if you don’t want to listen.”

“I’m listening,” I reply, toning down my irritation.

“I know all the teams care about family life and all that shit, but the Foxes? It’s to the extreme. Not only did the team have the first contracted pack, but have since done more to allow players to bond and have packs and lives off of the ice. Coach Applegate himself is a big family man, so this slutty little image you have has got to stop, or you can consider yourself canned for next season.”

“I’ve already met with PR.”

“And I’m sure they gave you the typical rundown to lay low and not get tangled in the press. What I’m telling you is you need to not just have no bad press, you need to make yourself some good press.”

“What? Like find a pack?”

Ethan breathes through his nose heavily and sighs like I’m stupid.

“No, man, do some charitable shit. You need to shed away this playboy image; you need people to forget about it all together. Do something good.”

“They never notice the good shit. It’s not like I’ve been just some sex-crazed asshole running around. I donate money and time, but that’s not the story they want.”

“Then find a way to create your own story,” he says simply.

“How would I even do that?”

He rubs his chin; he has a soft scattering of stubble that I bet feels great against his fingertips.

“Sloane offered to help me improve my image as the mascot. Maybe she can help you too. She’s great with all the apps and shit. She made people obsessed with Alexi last year. Literally, there are so many memes of that man circulating the internet.”

“You really think she’d be willing to help?”

“She loves an underdog. Plus, it doesn’t hurt to ask. We’re meeting at the arena before practice tomorrow. You should join us.”

I take a sip of my refilled drink and look over this Beta who is too attractive and kind for his own good.

“Why do you want to help me?”

“I don’t know, maybe Sloane helping me made me feel like I need to pay it forward or some shit. Or maybe I know what it feels like to be a part of something but also disconnected at the same time.”

I nod my head, wondering if I ever truly had a conversation with any of the mascots of my previous teams. The answer is a simple no, and guilt looms around me for a moment before I outstretch my hand.

“You help me with my image, but what do you get?”

He looks down at my hand and then up at my face.

“You invite me to a team event and include me in other team shit.”

His response makes me feel like a dick, but I hold my hand closer to him.

“It’s a deal.”

“So it is,” he replies, smacking his hand into mine as we shake on our agreed upon terms.

Ethan stands up and is about to head away from my table, but he stops.

“There’s one other thing you should know,” he says.

“What’s that?”

“Bram Nilsen is never going to come around to being friends. That motherfucker holds a grudge like no other.”

“Why? Do you have personal experience?” I ask.

Ethan laughs and shakes his head. “Me? No. He doesn’t even know I exist. But I’ve heard his pregame meetings with other teammates. When he doesn’t like someone, he holds a grudge, and he never lets it go.”

“How reassuring,” I say, digging my fork into my eggs.

“Just don’t waste your energy. He’ll reach a point where he’s not actively trying to punch you in the face, but it’s best to just avoid him until then.”

“Thanks?” I reply, and the mascot smiles.

“Right. Well, see you tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah, see you tomorrow,” I reply.

I don’t know what I’ve done to receive this gift of having some connection to the Foxes, but I’ll take whatever I can get. I can’t let this be my last season, and I surely can’t fuck up my chance with this team while my brother watches from the sidelines.