Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Maddox
Practice ends with a clatter of sticks and a whoop loud enough to rattle my skull.
I yank off my helmet and roll my shoulder, the deep ache in the joint pulsing like a bastard.
Ice isn’t helping much lately, not when I’ve been logging thirty-plus saves a night and pretending I’m not one bad hit away from being on the injured list.
Still, we’re winning more than losing, and that means everyone’s cocky, loud.
Buzzing on the high of back-to-back road victories and the promise of heading home tomorrow with a near perfect October record.
But right now?
If the Vipers were a kindergarten classroom, I’d be the substitute with a concussion and no lesson plan.
Riley’s halfway out of his pads, giving Cal shit about some rookie mistake he didn’t actually make. Cal takes it like a champ, even fires back with a dry one-liner that gets a laugh. Kid’s learning—on the ice and off.
Eli and Logan are off to the side, heads close, talking low. Game strategy or family stuff, hard to say with those two. Eli’s got that look again, the one he wears when he’s thinking too hard. Logan’s the only one who can pull him out of it.
Beau’s gone with one of the coaches to look at some film before tonight’s game. Something about needing his eagle eye for the opposing team’s plays.
And Jace?
Jace leans on his stick near the boards, watching the chaos like a war-weary general. No helmet, just that permanent calm he wears like armor.
He doesn’t say much, but he doesn’t have to. One look from him and half the guys pipe down without knowing why.
I nod at him as I pass. He nods back. Nothing said.
Just one of those days where the ice doesn’t feel like work.
Riley flings his helmet into the net and yells, “Who’s got two assists, one flawless faceoff, and a Tinder date lined up for tonight after the game?”
“Yo mama?” Finn fires back.
“She's a lovely woman,” Riley deadpans. “You should be so lucky.”
Finn flips him off and then immediately takes a puck to the skate from Cal, who winces and speeds over, hands up in surrender.
“Shit, sorry, man! I was aiming for the boards, I swear—”
Finn glares. “You calling me a board now?”
Cal’s face flushes. “No! I just, uh. Momentum.”
He glances over at me like I might offer a lifeline. I don’t.
But I don’t let him flounder either.
“Next time, aim with your stick. Not your hopes and dreams.”
Cal grins sheepishly, cheeks still pink. “Yes, sir.”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t call me sir. Makes me feel like I should be collecting retirement benefits.”
I stretch one last time, pop my neck, and skate toward the bench to unclip my pads.
Cal skates up beside me, helmet pushed back, cheeks still red from the Finn mishap. He looks like he’s trying to summon courage.
“Hey,” he says, voice a little higher than usual. “Can I ask you something?”
I side-eye him while unclipping my chest pad. “You just did.”
He gives a tight laugh. “Right. Okay, well…real question.”
I nod once, waiting.
“How do you, uh—how do you stay so calm out there? Like, when guys start screwing around. Doesn’t it mess with your focus?”
I pull my glove off and flex my fingers, shoulder twinging.
“It used to,” I admit. “Now I just expect it. Anticipate the noise. Tune it out.”
He nods like he’s memorizing every syllable. “That’s hard.”
“Yeah. So’s keeping your stick on the ice. Try that next time instead of punting pucks into people.”
His mouth opens. Closes. Then he laughs. “Got it.”
I sling my gloves over my shoulder and start for the tunnel.
He calls after me. “Hey—seriously, though. Thanks.”
I don’t turn around. Just lift a hand in acknowledgment as I walk off.
Let him earn the rest of it.
I had just enough time to shower and change before returning to the rink for a community outreach event. And when I get there, the rink’s gone full circus.
Kids are on the ice, sponsors mill around, and local press snap shots for the paper.
Most of the team’s kept it together. Signed jerseys, posed for photos, did the good citizen act. Now we’re standing at the mouth of the tunnel waiting to see where else we’re needed.
But not Finn.
He’s going the extra mile by having the Zamboni drive him around the rink. Standing on the back of the machine, he’s holding court, waving like a homecoming king on a parade float and tossing candy to the kids he got from God knows where.
He’s still in half gear—jersey untucked, shorts hanging too low, mouth moving too fast
Then it happens.
He turns to wave at someone, and his waistband snags on a metal piece on the back of the Zamboni. There’s a rip and then all hell breaks loose.
His ass is out on full display for all eyeballs in the rink to see.
Worse, he’s about to have a dick slip with his boxers caught low, jock strap barely hanging on, and enough thigh to ruin someone’s childhood.
Thankfully, he’s fast enough to keep from showing the family jewels.
But the damage is done.
A collective gasp echoes from the boards. One of the kids shrieks with laughter.
Phones are already out.
I close my eyes. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
Riley nearly chokes on his water. “Tell me that just happened.”
“Oh, it happened,” Logan mutters, rubbing his temple like he’s aging in real time.
Jace walks up beside me, gaze flat. “That gonna hit socials before or after PR calls in sick?”
We watch as Finn scrambles to yank his shorts up, laughing like it’s the best joke of the year.
“I swear to God,” I mutter, “he’s proud of it.”
Cal, trying not to laugh, leans in. “Is this… normal?”
“No,” I say flatly. “This is Finn.”
A photographer cackles. One of the interns turns green.
And just like that, we’re trending.
All I can think is that Sloane is going to lose her shit when this lands on her desk.
And wonder whether or not I should give her a heads-up.
Last night she said she couldn’t do this right now, whatever the fuck that means. So I’ve let her be.
But would calling her about Finn be a professional courtesy or a boyfriend thing to do?
Shit, I don’t know what to do.
Before I can decide, the event coordinators shut it all down real quick after the incident and we head back to the locker room.
And it’s nothing but fucking chaos when we get there.
Finn’s off somewhere basking in his accidental OnlyFans debut. Riley’s running post-game commentary like he’s on a damn podcast. Cal’s trying not to laugh but failing. Logan and Eli have dipped already.
Across the room, Jace leans against the brick wall, calm and unreadable.
He doesn’t speak until the noise thins out, until the air starts to settle.
“Think she’ll suspend him?”
I glance up. “For the accidental nudity or the pride in the aftermath?”
His mouth tics at the corner. “You know it’s not the video that’ll piss her off.”
I raise a brow. “What, then?”
“That it happened on the road.” He pauses. “When you’re not there.”
That flickers something in my chest. I cover it with a shrug. “I’m not the captain.”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re the anchor.”
I snort. “Pretty sure I’m just the goalie.”
He doesn’t blink. “You’re the reason the ship doesn’t capsize. She knows that. Everyone knows that.”
There’s something too careful in his tone. Something behind it.
I narrow my eyes. “What are you really saying?”
“Look, I don’t care what’s going on with you and Carrington. Not my business.”
The silence crackles between us.
“I’ve seen a lot of shit in this league. Seen guys throw careers away because they forgot which part of the world was watching.”
“Nothing’s happening,” I say, voice even.
But I say it a little too quickly.
He gives me a look. Not judgmental, just steady. Unshakable.
“I’m not gonna say a word,” he says quietly. “But if there is something? Be smart. You’ve worked too hard to build this comeback. Don’t hand it over for free.”
That lands like a body check I didn’t see coming.
I want to argue. To tell him he’s wrong. That it’s not what he thinks.
But the worst part is—he’s not wrong. Not really.
Jace pushes off the wall. “Just be careful, Lasker,” he mutters. “Some lines don’t come with second chances.”
Then he walks away.
And I’m left staring at the empty bench across from mine, my mind spinning with every possibility I thought I had under control.