23. Weston

I spend the entire night not sleeping because of the woman next door. When morning comes, I’m more annoyed with myself than I’ve been in a while. Since Eva, the witch who ripped me apart. Since I left myself open and she tore my fucking heart out of my chest.

It’s a mistake I swore I’d never make again. No matter how much I think of Renee, no matter how many nights the thoughts of her keep me up, I won’t go back down that road. Last time nearly killed me.

Repeating those mistakes with Renee… that would annihilate me completely.

I have a couple hours to burn before I have to be at the arena. I spend those hours ordering replacements for what was taken from me in the robbery and trying my best not to dwell in the past, even though memories of the last time keep rearing their ugly heads in my mind’s eye.

There was no sign of life from Renee’s apartment as I passed by. And although I put my number in her phone, I didn’t get hers. I could knock and check if she’s okay, but I don’t think I want to encourage whatever this is between us. My plan—the more reasonable 3 A.M. one that supersedes the fuck-her-out-of-my-system fantasy I devised at 2 A.M.—is to ignore her, forget her, be done with her forever.

So I didn’t let myself stop at her place on my way to the elevator no matter how bad I wanted to. I just went to work.

That’s the only safe place.

When I get to the arena, Hud is waiting for me. He diverts me on my way into the locker room and waves me into his office. “Have a seat, Scott.” He nods to the chair opposite his desk.

On the walls are pictures from his player days. One of him hoisting the Stanley Cup while he wore a St. Louis uniform and another of him holding it during his Colorado days. For a while, the Cup followed him around. Four years in a row, he made that thing his baby.

Then he got hurt. What happened after that is a tragedy that he still won’t talk about.

For a few seconds, neither of us speaks. But Hud Johnson isn’t a man who can stay quiet for long. He’s a big presence. “I’ve been looking over your practice and preseason stats. I need you to step up your game if you want to be a co-captain with Decker.”

I blink in surprise. Co-captain… I had no idea that was in the cards. “I think?—”

He holds up a hand to stop me. “Just listen. You’re a great player, Scott, but you need to be a better leader. I need you to show you’re as stand-up off the ice as you are on it.” He shakes his head. “It’s the only thing lacking. We have a lot of young guys on the team, a lot of guys who could use someone who’s as seasoned as you are to help them learn the ropes.”

I swallow. “Got it.”

He eyes me over the top of his clipboard. “There’s a good man in you, Weston Scott. I’m determined to drag it out of you, whether you like it or not.”

He nods once and that’s that. I’m dismissed. Didn’t even get a word in edgewise.

My head is spinning on my way out of his office. Renee already had it going, but Hud’s unexpected challenge is tripling the speed. Step up your game off the ice. What the hell does that even mean? Am I supposed to organize the team sleepovers? Do I pick the nail polish color for each of the rookies?

I should talk to Decker. Obviously, he knows what it means. He’s been a captain on every team he’s ever played for. We call him “President” when he gets his serious face on, but there’s no denying that the man knows how to lead a team.

I get dressed and make my way to the weight room. As I push the door open, a sound down the hall catches my attention.

When I turn to look, Renee is walking down the hallway toward me. It’s too late to pretend I didn’t hear her—we’ve already made eye contact. Although her eyes are bloodshot and she looks a little bit green around her edges.

“You look like hell,” I remark. “Late night?”

“Bite me, puck boy.”

It takes me a moment to realize I’m grinning ear-to-ear. It takes me a moment more to realize that what’s burning a hole in my chest is that I want to tell someone so, so badly about the incredible news that Coach Hud just dropped in my lap.

Co-captain. Me, Weston Scott, a co-captain. Can you believe that shit? Is that not the craziest thing you’ve ever heard?

I want to tell her so I can see that shy smile of hers. I want her to roll her eyes and tell me I’ll fuck it up and she’ll be there to document every misstep.

I want her to be a part of this journey.

I open my mouth to tell her everything I’m dying to say—but before the words can leave my lips, I stop.

I can’t do this. Any of it. Last night’s vulnerability was a mistake and doubling down would be exponentially worse. Renee DuBois is dangerous. She’s a danger to my life, to my self-control, to every promise I’ve ever made.

We aren’t friends, she and I. We can’t be. Because one drunken confessional doesn’t change what she is: a threat to everything I’ve worked for.

“I just want you to know,” I begin, “that last night doesn’t mean shit. I saw you drinking like an idiot, I took you home, end of story. It was a favor you’ll never get again.”

Her face falls. Maybe that was hope in her eyes, too, unless it was nothing more than a cruel trick of the overhead light.

I watch her throat bob as she swallows. “You don’t have to worry, Weston. You’re not my type, anyway. I like my men to be men.”

“Oh? And what am I?”

“Just a pain in my fucking ass.” Then she turns and walks away.

I let her go. My future is in the other direction. In the weight room. In the locker room. On the ice.

Whichever way Renee is walking, I’m headed opposite. If she thinks I’m an asshole, it doesn’t matter. Not to me, anyway.

Not anymore.