Knot Her Shot (MVP: Most Valuable Pack Book 2)

Chapter 53

chapter

fifty-three

“Doyou want to talk about it?”

Our Uber driver is a beta guy a little younger than us. He glances up in the rearview mirror when he hears Cassian’s question and quickly looks away when he catches my packmate’s scowl.

I stare out at the bleak gray evening in whatever godforsaken corner of Minnesota we’re currently driving through. Or maybe it’s Michigan. Hard for me to remember when we’ve been on the road for nine days and all the hotel rooms look the same.

This is ironic. A few months ago, any interest in my well-being from Cassian would have been a welcome change of pace. Now, though, I don’t know if I want us to talk.

Nausea coils in my middle while I clutch a stack of unreadable paperwork in my left fist. Every time I try to look at it, the letters rearrange themselves into symbols I don’t recognize.

I don’t know what it says.

But I know what it means. And so does Cass. He read the damn thing—in ten seconds, of course—right over my shoulder, the same moment Coach sheepishly handed it to me.

I didn’t get much from the fight that came after that. Except that Cass is upset, and Coach feels shitty about what’s happening. Though not enough to stop it, apparently.

“Can’t believe this,” Cass mutters, letting his head bounce against the seat behind us before jamming his fingers into his hair.

It’s still sweaty. Neither of us showered after this last game because Coach approached me with these stupid papers as soon as we came off the ice.

He didn’t need to. When they pulled me out to put Gunnar in, sometime during the middle of the third period, I already knew what was happening.

The press has been on about it for months. I stupidly believed it was all clickbait bullshit. Maybe I should have paid closer attention. Or worked out harder. Or watched my penalties more.

Either way, the writing is on the wall here.

I’m being replaced.

This is important, I coach internally, glancing at the paperwork. You can do this. Just read the first line so you know what it says.

Narrowing my gaze, I focus on the jumble of characters I know must really be words. Some of them are clusters I’ve memorized.

I see my full name first. That feels like a bad sign.

This is a legal document.

There are some numbers, which probably form a date of some sort. The rest are small words like “on” and “for.” The stuff in between is gibberish to me.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What do I do? Do I tell Cassian I literally can’t read this?

I’ve avoided telling anyone for fifteen years. Ever since I told my father, and he started calling me Dipshit instead of Damon.

I wonder if Remi has put it together yet. She’s so smart, it wouldn’t surprise me. Although, I’m sure if she had, she would treat me differently. At least a little bit.

There have only been a handful of people who noticed my deficiency, but every single one of them definitely lost some respect for me after they knew. I wonder how bad it will be whenever Remi finally realizes…

I actually can’t think about it too hard, or my lungs stop working.

We go over a pothole, jostling the car, and Cass cuts me a sideways look. “What does the rest of the paperwork say? I only looked at the first page.”

Oh, God, this isn’t working.

I snap my eyes closed and hunch over my lap, thrusting the papers over to my packmate. “Here. I can’t—just tell me what they say.”

There’s a long beat of silence before he takes the document. And another one after he shuffles the papers around. “It’s actually not as bad as I thought,” he murmurs. “Nothing is decided. They’ve put your contract in review, pending the playoffs.”

My mind spins and I realize it’s because I’m not breathing. When I force myself to inhale, it all makes sense in the worst fucking way.

They have Gunnar. He can do what I do, almost as well, for a lot less money. If they sever my contract, I’ll be on a different team, in another state. Or I’ll be nothing at all.

I doubt Remi will want to be bonded to an alpha who can’t be with her for any of her heats. Or any of the other shit. Good days, bad days, anniversaries, birthdays.

An image of her blue-gold eyes, shining with tears while she described years of hating her birthday looms in my head. I have a whole plan to make sure she never spends the day feeling alone again.

What if I won’t even be there?

That can never happen. I promised her she wouldn’t be alone anymore. I swore we would take care of her, together.

Frantic, the wheels in my head spin faster, trying to churn up some sort of solution.

I could quit. Stop playing hockey and stay home and?—

What? Without this career, I’ll have none at all. It’s not like I can do anything else. I can’t even read the damn paperwork telling me I have to do something else.

And I can’t leave Remi. I won’t.

So, basically, I have to crush the playoffs. Or walk away and show everyone what a disappointment I really am.

A low wave of fury rolls off Cass. “Some warning would have been nice. And giving you this shit on the road? Jesus.”

He has a point. It was a dick move to wait until we finished our road series to tell me. Strategic, but shitty. I won most of these games, with a little help from Gunnar. That’s not to say the rookie couldn’t have pulled it off, but that’s not the point.

They used me, knowing they were going to put me through this.

My throat is sticky as I force a swallow. “What can I do?”

Cassian flips through the pages, scanning them with his lightning-quick gaze. “Smith will have to call the lawyers. But we’ve all discussed this. We knew they had this option.”

That’s true. I knew there was a chance my contract might not get renewed. But I never let myself think about it much. I’m usually the lucky one, remember?

I told myself I would work it out when I had to, never expecting it to actually happen. Just like I never expected I’d be completely all-in in love with an omega who needs me to be worth a damn.

I scrub my hands over my eyes, but I can’t feel them. Are they numb? Or is it my face?

Cassian takes a long look at me and hesitates before setting his hand on my shoulder. When I can’t seem to make myself blink, he grumbles, “Listen. There’s a chance, if you play well enough in the playoffs, they’ll drop this whole thing. They haven’t released you yet—this is just notice that you’re in review. If you post enough points in the playoffs and we actually win, they’ll have to renew your contract.”

I finally raise my head, meeting his heavy stare. “And if they don’t?”

A wince pulls at his features. “It will suck, but we can get past it. We can get you a job at Pierson Properties or—I mean, you wouldn’t want to keep playing, right? If it meant moving away from?—”

I watch him choose his next word carefully. When he finally settles on it, the pain in my chest pulses.

“—us?”

Because it isn’t just Remi. She’s the biggest part, now, but I’d also have to leave Cass, too. My brother, basically. And his brother, who’s more like the only family I’ve ever had.

Could I walk away from all of them?

If I don’t, I’ll be a washed-up former athlete.

Hockey is all I’ve ever been.

If I leave it behind, what do I have left for Remi?

“I think…” I look back at the rumpled paperwork piled between us. “I think I need your help, Cass.”