Chapter 44

forty-four

MADDOX

I knew there'd be fallout from what happened at last night's game, but knowing it's coming and seeing it come to pass are entirely separate beasts.

"Jesus." Mira shakes her head, a frown twisting her lips. "What the hell is wrong with people?" She's reading the comments on an article slamming the Rogues for our loss last night. And unfortunately, Isla's mentioned by name as my unconfirmed girlfriend. Because, of course, they had to cover my altercation with the assholes sitting near her.

"Don't read the comments. You know this."

Her familiar green eyes lift to meet mine. "This is different. You need to know what people are saying about Isla so you can figure out how to best support her. All of this attention is new to her. You may be used to brushing off asshole-ish comments, but she's not."

Shit .

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I give my sister a nod. "All right. What are they saying?"

"The kind of garbage you'd expect. That she's a distraction. She's the reason the team lost, and you didn't play your best. People are commenting on her looks, her weight, her hair… basically picking her apart. Then there are the guys commenting about how they'd fuck her, or calling her a gold-digger, or a slut or whatever." Mira's face twists in disgust. "Same shit, different day, Maddy."

Rage bubbles in my gut. I'll never understand what makes people think their opinions matter. Or why these armchair assholes believe they have anything to contribute when they wouldn't last five minutes in a rink. Candace always loved attention. Good or bad, it didn't matter as long as her name and face were splashed across the internet. But Isla? She's different.

Mira's right. I need to help her navigate this, or I could end up losing her.

Maybe we need to keep a low profile for a while. At least until the team is playing more consistently. The last thing I want is for Isla to be subjected to jeering assholes with unwanted opinions.

But shit. I promised I'd take her to that fall festival. She was excited about that.

I'll just have to think of something fun and romantic to do at my place. Hell, we could have a candle-lit dinner and carve pumpkins. Make our own fall festival. One where she's safe and able to let loose.

My phone buzzes with an incoming text.

Isla

Everyone's looking at me funny. When I grabbed a coffee before school this morning, some guy called me a bitch. What the hell?

My fist clenches and it's a struggle not to crush my phone.

Me

I'm so sorry, Short-Stack. Are you okay? He didn't touch you, did he?

Isla

No. But it did kinda scare me.

Do you want me to pick you up from work today?

There's a pause as Isla types her response.

Isla

No, that's okay. Thank you. I'm pretty beat. Would you be mad if I went home and slept today? I know tomorrow is Mira's last day before she goes back to grab her stuff, so I'll definitely hang out tomorrow. I'm just tired.

"She okay?" Mira asks, looking over my shoulder.

I shake my head. "I don't know."

Of course, I won't tell Isla I'll be mad if she doesn't come over tonight as planned. I know this has been a lot for her. But the creeping, crawling sensation of dread that skitters around my stomach makes me consider it.

I don't want her to pull away. I need to ensure that whatever I plan for her in place of the fall festival shows her how much I care. How much I'm falling for her. That I'll do anything to protect her.

Me

Of course, I won't be mad. Are you sure you're okay?

Isla

Definitely. GTG. The next period is starting.

Okay, baby. Miss you.

Miss you, too.

I stare at my phone for a moment, lost in thought. When my sister's hand rests on my shoulder, I shake my head and snap out of it.

Everything is going to be okay. This is just a little bump.

"All right. Let's make a plan to get you moved in with Wright. Do you need someone to help you pack up a truck in Chicago?"

One of Mira's eyebrows lifts, but she doesn't call me on my abrupt subject change. "Nah. I don't have much. I got rid of a lot of stuff before I moved in with Jared."

"Okay. What day do you want us to move you into Wright's place?"

I can't fully banish the low-level anxiety crawling around my stomach, but I do my best. Everything will be fine.

Things aren't fine. We have our first official home game the week after Mira leaves. When I asked Isla if she wanted to go and sit in the box with the other wives and girlfriends, she declined. Not that I blame her. The bullshit comments about her haven't stopped. In fact, I've made it a part of my daily routine to check her Instagram account just to make sure no trolls have made their way onto her followers list. The last thing my girlfriend needs is some knuckle-dragging dipshit making gross comments about her on her own feed.

She's getting enough of that on everyone else's.

That's how I come across a couple of comments from her ex.

My teammates laugh and talk as we get ready for tonight's game. I'm already dressed and in my skates, so I'm doing my daily scroll through her feed. She hasn't posted anything since the preseason game, but there are new comments on a photo of Isla and her friends from the silent auction dinner and a smiling selfie Isla took in her classroom the day she finished decorating it.

LawBro19: You always looked beautiful in that dress. Remember when you got it and how I peeled it off of you that night?

LawBro19: The room looks great. But you've always had a knack for decorating.

Blood roars in my ears. Remember when you got it and how I peeled it off of you that night? What. The. Fuck? Fighting the urge to chuck my phone against the wall, I click on the username. His bio tells me this is Alex. Isla's ex, Alex.

Why is he commenting on her photos? Especially comments like that ?

"You okay?" Sebastian lowers himself onto the bench beside me. His pads bump my knee. "You look like you're about to murder someone."

"Might be," I grumble.

"What's up?"

Unable to form the words, I flip my phone over and point to the comment Alex left about Isla's dress. Bash's brow knits into a frown.

"Deranged fan?"

I shake my head. "No, man. Her ex."

My friend and goalie studies me. He takes in my ticking jaw, the fire in my eyes, and my clenching fist. "Is he bothering her? Do we need to beat this guy's ass?"

I want to. After everything he did to her, he's going to comment trash like this? Why hasn't she blocked him? And why hasn't she deleted the comments?

"I don't know. Maybe? I didn't even realize they were still following each other or in contact. When he showed up the other day, she was pretty shaken. It just doesn't make sense."

Bash claps a hand on my back. "Talk to her. I'm sure there's an explanation. Don't let this psych you out, Madds. We need to win this game."

"Right." I lock my phone and toss it in my duffel bag. "Don't worry. I'll keep my head in the game."

"You better." Bash stands right as Coach storms into the locker room.

"All right, men. Everyone ready? This isn't the preseason anymore. I expect each and every one of you to play like the professionals you are. Play your best, kick some ass, and"—he looks at me—"keep your personal shit off the ice. Got it?"

Everyone shouts their agreement, even me. The problem is that sometimes divorcing yourself from your life when your blades hit the ice is easier said than done.

We lose the game by one goal in the third. Everyone played hard, but that doesn't stop the fans from pitching a fit at the end of the game.

Nothing like skating off the ice to boos and jeers.

Coach rips us new assholes for a solid twenty minutes before storming out of the locker room, red-faced and fuming.

I feel responsible. I had the perfect opportunity to score in the second, and I bounced the damned puck off the iron. If I hadn't missed, we would have tied and had a chance.

"Dude. This isn't your fault." Logan bumps me with his knee while I mope on the bench. I need to shower and change, but can't seem to find the motivation.

"I missed that shot," I growl.

"Yeah, and I missed three," Sebastian says, drying his hair with a towel as he ambles toward his locker to get dressed. "It wasn't our best game. But it's only the first of the season. You can't win them all."

I rake my fingers through my sweaty hair. "Yeah, but people were already giving Isla shit. It's going to be worse now. She wasn't even here, but you know they'll blame her."

"Maybe." Navarro tugs a henley over his head. "But you can't control random assholes on the internet, Madds. The best thing you can do right now is shower, get dressed, and go make sure your girl knows you care about her."

"I know," I say. "I just… fuck. I can feel her pulling away ever since that preseason game and I'm freaking out."

"You've got your issues, and she's got hers. If I had to guess, I'd bet she's freaking out, too. Go to her place. Show up with dinner and ice cream or something. Spend the night making love to her. Tell her you're not going anywhere and that you don't buy into any of the garbage those trolls are saying." Navarro pins me with a serious look. "Tell her you love her."

My heart skips a beat, and I suck in a deep breath. "It's too soon for that."

"Bullshit," Griffin says. "Love doesn't have a timeline." With his hands on his hips, he stares at me. "Is she the first thing you think about in the morning when you wake up and the last thing you think about at night before you start snoring?"

"Yeah," I say. "But I don't snore."

Wright rolls his eyes. "Do you have to keep yourself from beating the crap out of anyone that looks at her the wrong way or hurts her feelings?"

I nod.

"Do you break out in a cold sweat at the thought of her leaving? At the idea of her ending things?"

I nod again.

"Call it whatever you want, Graves, but it sounds a helluva lot like love to me."

Griffin's words slam into me like a freight train running at max speed. Because he's right. I think maybe I do love her.