Chapter 32
I skate onto the ice, and everything just feels off. My stick feels heavier than usual and even my skates are less responsive. I miss passes I normally wouldn’t even think twice about.
The puck slips past me like it’s avoiding me, and I can hear the crowd’s murmurs even over the roar of the arena. Every game is the same for three games in a row now and I can’t seem to get it together.
I hit the boards hard, earning myself a whistle and a penalty. My teammates exchange glances that sting more than any slapshot. I know what they’re thinking. I should be untouchable out here, but lately, I’m barely holding myself together.
The media doesn’t help. Every arena has cameras, every sports channel a panel dissecting my every mistake. Headlines call it a “scandal distraction,” question my mental toughness, while they speculate on how a failed relationship has shattered my focus. They don’t know. They can’t know.
Even with all this anger boiling inside me, I feel something else, sharper and more piercing. I miss Rochelle. I miss the way she asked questions that forced me to think, the way she could see right through all my walls, and the way we would sneak around just for a kiss.
I hate that I miss her at this moment, that part of me wants her here despite everything. The thought twists in my chest, a mixture of longing and frustration.
Before the game, anxiety coils around my ribs.
My hands shake while lacing my skates, my heart slams against my chest as I stare down the rink.
I feel trapped between public scrutiny, my own mistakes, and the nagging, painful absence of her.
Every whistle, every flash of cameras, every whispered gossip only makes it worse.
I try to push through, but the ice feels strange beneath me, and every mistake adds weight to my shoulders. I want to scream, to throw my stick, to do something, anything to break free of this suffocating spiral.
But I can’t. I skate, I play, I fail, and the press, the fans, the world, they all watch a professional player like me make a fool of myself.
I leave the arena tonight completely drained. My body aches but my mind refuses rest. The mistakes, the gossips, the missing her, they follow me into every corner of my room. I know I can’t go on like this much longer. Something has to give.
The knock comes before I can even process it. Tommy’s voice follows almost immediately. “Kai, open up, man. I’m not leaving until you do.”
I stare at the door, my breath shallow, wishing I could vanish. I don’t want anyone in here, not him, not Jake, not anyone in the world. But he doesn’t leave. I open it just enough to let him through.
He steps inside, his eyes scanning the apartment like he’s reading me. “Dude, you can’t keep shutting everyone out. You’re hurting yourself more than anyone else. Me, your team… hell, even the girl, if she hasn’t given up on you yet.”
I shrug, trying to look indifferent, but the tension in my chest betrays me. “I’m fine. I just… need space.”
Tommy doesn’t buy it. He leans against the counter, his arms crossed.
“This isn’t good, man. Your team’s worried.
Jake called. And don’t get me started on the media circus.
I can’t—” He stops, his eyes softening. “Look, I have no idea what you’re going through, but I know one thing, brother, you’re stronger than this. You’ve been through worse.”
The words hit harder than I expected. My stomach twists, part of me knowing that he’s right.
“So, what is it this time that’s killing you?” he asks.
I look at the ceiling, biting my cheek.
“Kai,” he says, asking for my attention.
I shake my head.
“Holy fuck…” he mumbles. “I didn’t think I’d ever see the day, but you really like the reporter.”
I run my hands through my hair.
“Oh, shit. You’re in deep. Have you talked to her?”
“She’s part of it, man.” I throw my hand in the air, pointing out the window, implying that she’s part of the circus. But even with admitting it aloud, I want to pick up the phone, hear her voice, and hold her again.
But another part, the angry, betrayed part wants to throw the phone across the room. I want to scream at her for not telling me, for letting Derek drag both our lives through the dirt.
“That’s dirty, man.”
I almost snicker. “Dirty as fuck.”
He glances at me. “So… what’re you going to do?”
I lean forward and then back again. “I…” My voice falters, then catches. “I don’t know. I don’t know who to trust anymore.”
“I don’t blame you, but wasn’t that her job?”
This time I laugh, pinching my eyebrows. “Shut up, man.”
He laughs too.
I shake out the jitters with a dramatic noise. “Fuck.” I stand up and shake my body. “Fuck, Tommy. You have no idea what I’ve done.”
“Don’t be all cryptic.”
I look out the window. “I have a half-brother.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. Fucker came out of nowhere and demanded two-million-dollars.”
He grabs my shoulder. “What the fuck, man? Don’t tell me you gave it to him?”
I stare out the window. “He was blackmailing.”
Tommy falls onto the couch. “You gave some random guy claiming to be your half-brother two million fucking dollars, Kai? Because he was blackmailing you? Jesus Christ, take this to the police.” He stands back up, starting to get mad.
“I mean, how the fuck did the bank just let you transfer that much money anyway?”
I scoff. “For charity.”
His eyes widen. “Oh, fuck.”
I nod. “Yeah. See, it’s bad. I’m not being cryptic.”
Now Tommy is pinching his eyebrows. Welcome to the club.
“You need to get your money back.”
I laugh. “Fuck the money, man.”
“Are you serious right now?” He steps closer, firm but steady. “You have worked your ass for that money. If you don’t get the girl then at least get your money back.”
I turn to him, almost laughing again.
He smiles at me. “Think of all the kids you could help with that money? Fuck this half-brother of yours. I’ll fuck him up.”
I laugh now.
“You think I’m kidding, but I’m not. I’ll do it for two-mill.”
My smile dies down when the reality of the situation hits. I continue to stare out the window as Tommy goes on about how he’s going to do it then his phone rings.
“Shit, this is work,” he says. “Give me a second.”
He answers the phone, and he starts huffing. When he gets off, he says, “I have to go. I’m sorry. It’s the restaurant.”
I nod. “No worries, brother. Go take care of it. I’ll be here.”
He pats my back. “Think about what I said.”
I nod. “Nobody would ever know, right?”
He smiles. “Now you’re getting it. Answer your phone when I call.”
I nod again and then he’s out the door.
The silence hits and my emotions are a storm, and I don’t know which way to turn first. I’m too angry and heartbroken, yet I long for her. The feelings are all tangled up, and I have no map to navigate out.
I sit in the press box, my legs dangling over the edge, staring down at the ice like I’m watching someone else’s life.
The bright lights and screams of the crowd should excite me, should make my blood pump, but all I feel is emptiness. Coach’s words echo in my head, “You’re not in a good headspace, Kai. You’re on the bench for this game.”
On the ice, the team moves without me, struggling to keep pace.
Pucks fly past the goal that should have been mine.
Plays break down where I would have been directing, correcting, leading.
Every failed pass, every missed opportunity feels like a punch to my face.
I know they notice my absence. I can feel it in the gaps, the hesitation, the miscommunication.
I glance toward the media section. Her seat is empty. Rochelle’s seat. The space feels like a hole in my heart that needs to be filled. I want to see her, hear her voice, maybe even fight with her, but it’s gone. Her absence is loud and real.
The stadium announcer continues to speak, listing stats, but my mind keeps circling. My mistakes, my meltdown, Derek’s manipulations, the photos, the betrayal I thought I understood.
I feel useless like a liability. The team suffers without me, and I can’t do a thing to fix it. The guilt sits heavy on my chest, pressing me into the cold plastic seat.
On the monitors, the media coverage scrolls across the bottom of the screen. Headlines scream about my “distraction,” my “poor judgment,” my “scandal” affecting the team’s playoff chances.
Every word pierces like a knife, confirming that my private chaos is now completely public. I can’t escape it. Even here, above the rink, I’m trapped.
I try to focus, to find a reason to care about the game, but it’s impossible. Hockey has been my life and my escape, but none of it matters if everything I hold dear can be shattered in a single morning.
My heart aches.
I rest my head in my hands, letting the noise of the arena wash over me. The team loses point after point. I don’t cheer. I don’t curse and I barely breathe.
Rock bottom isn’t just drastic. It’s quiet, crushing, and unavoidable.
I stare at the ice, empty, helpless, and feeling the world I’ve built unravel beneath me.
I kneel in front of my locker, pulling jerseys and pads from the shelves, stacking them, as if organizing them can somehow fix the chaos inside my head.
Every motion feels detached. The sound of lockers clanging and distant chatter from the remaining staff is a dull hum against the storm inside me.
Jake crouches beside me without a word, letting me be at first.
Finally, he speaks, low and firm. “Kai… don’t let that bastard win. Derek, right? He planned this. Every bit of it. He’s trying to destroy you. Don’t give him the satisfaction.”
I stiffen, gripping a helmet so tightly that the plastic digs into my palms. He’s right, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. Derek didn’t just ruin a few games or embarrass me.
He pulled every string he could find, twisting my life, and manipulating people I care about. He manipulated the one person I trust. And somehow… I feel like I was a pawn too, even if I wasn’t supposed to know it.
“I… I don’t even know anymore,” I mutter, voice rough. The words taste like defeat. I’m filled with anger and despair, both battling inside me but neither wins. I’m just raw, empty, and hollow inside.
Jake puts a hand on my shoulder. “Start with what you can control, man. Don’t let him decide your life. He wants this chaos, so he can see you fall apart. But you…” He hesitates, squeezing my shoulder. “You’re stronger than he thinks. Don’t hand him this victory.”
I nod weakly, knowing that he’s right. Tommy’s right too, but knowing and feeling are two separate things. All of this was meant to break me. I can’t pretend I’m unaffected. I can’t pretend that I’m okay when I’m clearly not.
I rise slowly, my locker cleared and my heart pounding. The only place I can think to go, the only place that ever gave me guidance when life felt impossible, is my foster father’s grave.
The streets are quiet as I drive through them, every red light testing my patience, every turn bringing me closer to the place that shaped who I am.
I park and step out, the cool evening air hitting me like a jolt. The headstone is ahead, simple and steady. I kneel, hands gripping the stone.
“I don’t know what to do,” I whisper, voice cracking. “I need your guidance. I need… something.”
I close my eyes, breathing in the silence, the memory of lessons he gave me, the strength he instilled. For the first time in days, I allow myself to hope that I can find a way through this, hope that I can fight back, and hope that I can protect the people I love from the chaos Derek created.