Chapter 51

fifty-one

MADDOX

We're all suiting up for practice on Saturday morning when Coach storms into the locker room. His face is red with fury, his eyes spit fire, and he's got a stack of papers clutched tightly in his fist. "You got shit for brains, Graves?"

Every eye turns to me, bounces to Coach, then zeroes back in on me. I pause what I'm doing, dropping the laces of my skates to meet Coach's glare. "Excuse me?"

"I told you at the start of the season that everything anyone writes about you reflects on the team. Everything." He throws the papers at me and I instinctively grab for them. They're printed news articles pulled from online blogs, magazines, and news outlets. And all of them feature me in less than flattering ways.

There are articles featuring photos of me with female fans, including the one where the woman had perched herself on my lap. One article talks about how I've become a grade-A agitator in the past few games. How I've started more fights this season than the last two combined, and we're still in the early stages.

And then there's the article that details the fight I almost got in with a fan. What it doesn't say is that the guy asked about Isla and whether she was open for new business now that I seem to have grown tired of her.

I may hate what she's done to me, but that was a bridge too fucking far.

"No one is talking about your playing or the games we've won," Coach continues. Steam will start pouring out of his ears at any moment. "And our legal team just heard that you're being dropped from consideration for that sponsorship deal you've been working on for months."

Fuck.

"According to their legal team, you're too volatile. They're concerned about your recent behavior damaging their family-friendly brand."

Well, shit. Shit!

"What do you have to say for yourself, Graves?" Coach crosses his muscular arms over his barrel chest.

"Coach, I didn't do anything with any of those women, and as far as the fights go, the fans love it."

"It doesn't matter if you did anything with those women," he shouts. "Don't you get that by now? I don't care if you're fucking half of Minneapolis as long as you keep it out of the tabloids." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "And what about the fight you almost started at that bar, huh? I suppose you have some excuse for that, too."

"That prick said some disgusting things about my girlfr—my ex. I won't stand for that."

Coach throws his hands in the air. "So the twit's not even your girl anymore and you're trying to start fights over her? Jesus fucking Christ, Graves. How many times do I have to tell you idiots that no pussy is worth hurting your career over!"

"You gotta stop referring to women as pussy , Coach," Wright grinds out. "They're fucking people."

"I don't care!" Coach roars. "I care about this team and the game. And that's all any of you should care about, too." His head swivels as he levels all of us with the kind of stare that shrivels your balls before settling it on me. "Pull your head out of your ass and get your act together or you're benched."

"What? That's bullshit, Coach." I stand, the damned news articles crumpling into balls in my fists.

"That's business, son." He turns and storms through the locker room. "You morons have five minutes to get out on the ice or you'll be skating suicides until you puke!"

My teammates pat my shoulder and offer words of support as they file out of the locker room and onto the ice. Except for Navarro, Wright, and Byrne. They hang back.

"What?" I grunt. "Whatever you want to say, say it."

"We're going to your place after practice," Navarro informs me. "We're talking about whatever this is before you leave tonight to get your sister." He waves his hand in my direction when he says this. Like I'm some kind of problem to be solved.

My eyebrows rise. "Oh, we are, are we?"

"Yeah, man," Griffin says seriously. "We are."

I stare the three of them down. But if they even have Logan on board with this little intervention, there's no way I'm getting out of it .

"Fine," I grumble. "But my flight is at six, so you have until four to speak your piece."

"That will work," Bash says, clapping me on the back. "Now let's get out there before Coach rips us all new assholes."

I feel like I'm walking toward a firing squad, but I follow them onto the ice.

"Spill it," Navarro demands after I hand out the last beer and flop back onto the couch.

"Why do you assume there's anything to spill?"

"You called Isla your ex in the locker room," Griffin says. He frowns deeply. "What the hell happened?"

God, this is humiliating. I don't want to tell them what I overheard. I feel like a big enough loser without them knowing. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I try to get them to back off. "Life happened. It didn't work out. Can we let it go?"

"Listen. You know I'm not a big relationship guy." Logan shivers as though someone just walked over his grave. "But even I can admit you've been a surly asshole since we hit the road. Clearly, there's more to it than it just didn't work out . You two seemed like you were doing so well. What happened?"

Reluctant to speak, I stare at the three of them for a few minutes. They just stare back. They won't let it go. I sigh, leaning forward so my elbows rest on my knees, and stare at the floor. "My picker's broken."

"What? "

"I keep picking the same kind of woman. My picker is broken."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Logan asks. "Isla isn't like the other women you've dated."

"She is though." My ire rises, and so does my voice. "She's the same as Candace and Georgia and all the other gold-digging women who only want us for what we can give them."

Silence meets my outburst. My three best friends look at me like I've lost my ever-loving mind. And maybe I have. It's Griffin who finally breaks the silence.

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

I glare at him. What the hell does he know, anyway?

"Isla is nothing like Candace. Nothing. She's smart and cool and she's completely in love with you, you giant idiot."

Scoffing, my lip curls in a sneer. "Is that why I overheard her talking to her former fiancé on Friday about how she lucked out finding a rich guy to take care of her? Is that why she called me a lucrative catch ?"

Wright's mouth drops open. Navarro and Byrne look just as shocked. Navarro's eyes narrow. "What do you mean, you overheard her?"

"I was surprising her with lunch," I tell him. "I was just around the corner by her classroom when I heard her ex saying all this shit to her. I wanted to storm in there and kick his ass, but I wanted to give Isla the time to defend herself. Instead, she basically confirmed everything the dude accused her of."

"And what did she say when you asked her about it?" Bash asks.

Rubbing the back of my neck, I shrug. "I tried to get her to admit that she saw him over text that night, but she didn't. That tells me everything I need to know."

Navarro's brow pinches. "So you didn't even talk to her?"

"And say what?" I nearly shout. " Hey, babe. Overheard you talking to your ex today about how you're just using me for my money and my dick. Care to explain? " I shake my head. "No way."

"Yes, Graves. That's exactly what you should have said." He levels me with a look I can only imagine a disappointed father would wear. Not that I have one to know. Still, it makes the little boy in me shrivel up a bit. "You're in love with the woman, and you didn't even give her a chance to explain the situation? Did you even see her face when she was talking to him?"

"No," I growl. "Didn't need to. Her words were clear enough."

"You're a fucking moron," Griffin says. "A real idiot."

"I know," I shout, rising to my feet. "I am a fucking moron. Because here I thought I'd found someone who actually cared about me. But no. She's just like the rest of them."

"You were triggered," Sebastian says. The look of disappointment he'd been wearing morphs into one of pity. It's even worse. "It's understandable. But you owe it to yourself, and Isla, to have a real conversation about this."

"Why? So I can hear even more of her bullshit? If I wanted to hear more, I would have stuck around for the end of their conversation."

"Wait." Logan leans forward and squints at me. "You didn't even hear the end of the conversation?"

"Why would I want to? I heard enough. "

"Did you, though?" Sebastian asks.

"Yeah," I snarl. "I did. Just like I've heard enough from the three of you. You should be on my side."

Logan reaches over and pats my shoulder. "We are, man. Which is why we're telling you to talk to her. Because you were never as happy as when you were with Isla. If there's any chance that things aren't as straightforward as you think they are, maybe this can be fixed. But you won't know until you talk to her. Either way, you both deserve closure."

Closure. Right.

"I'm done. I love you guys, but I need you to get the hell out so I can pack an overnight bag and get to the airport."

"Fine," Griffin says. "But for what it's worth, Isla has never struck me as a woman who cares about money and all that."

I scoff. "She's a good actress."

"Maybe." Griffin shrugs. "Or maybe all of this is a big misunderstanding and you're breaking both of your hearts for no reason."

How has this turned into a Maddox is an idiot conversation? I'm the one who was wronged. Isla was playing me, not the other way around.

I thought I'd feel better once I told them what happened. Like it would be a weight off my chest.

So why do I feel like it's even harder to breathe?