Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Maddox
The game’s on, but I couldn’t tell you who’s playing.
It flickers in front of me, colors blurring across the screen like it’s underwater. The sound’s off. Has been for over an hour.
The bourbon in my hand has gone warm. I haven’t taken a sip in a while.
The ice pack on my shoulder slid off a long time ago, dripping cold puddles onto the wood floor I haven’t bothered to clean up.
My phone buzzed at least ten times earlier. Peter for sure. Probably the league. Probably more press.
I haven’t looked.
My eyes are fixed on the corner of the room where the Owner’s Suite keycard sits. Right where she left it.
I don’t even know when she dropped it. I just saw it there when I walked in, and it’s been staring at me ever since.
It’s not just the symbol of what we were. It’s the last safe place she ever let herself have.
The thing is, I don’t regret what I said to her in that room or on the phone that night.
I meant every word.
And I really don’t want to regret the words I said in front of the board tonight either.
I stood in front of the board and gave them what they needed to hear.
That it was over.
That she didn’t break any rules. That the relationship was personal and private and terminated.
I did it to protect her. To keep her ownership safe. To keep her future intact.
But now I can’t get the image out of my head—her, standing across from me, not flinching, not blinking, not breathing. Just…silent.
She didn’t try to stop me. Didn’t ask me why. Didn’t show a single crack.
And that, more than anything, makes me want to punch a wall until something gives.
Because I know what I saw in her eyes that night in the suite. I know what I felt. It wasn’t one-sided. It wasn’t fake.
And maybe that’s the worst part.
Because I didn’t just break it off.
I broke her trust.
And I can’t take that back.
I lean forward and rest my elbows on my knees, knuckles white around the sweating glass.
The ice has melted. The bourbon sits untouched.
And for the first time since Boston, I can’t tell if I did the right thing or just repeated the same fucking mistake all over again.
A sharp knock breaks the silence.
I don’t move.
Another knock. Heavier this time.
“Lasker,” Jace calls. “I know you’re in there.”
I scrub a hand down my face, leave the bourbon where it is, and drag myself to the door.
When I open it, Jace doesn’t wait for an invitation. He walks right past me like he owns the place, eyeing the mess with the kind of calm that makes me feel even more unhinged.
His gaze lands on the bourbon glass. Then the keycard.
Then me.
“You look like shit,” he says, sitting on the edge of the couch and folding his arms over his knees. “Start talking.”
I kick the door closed behind me. “Not in the mood.”
“Tough.”
I don’t answer.
Instead, I go to the kitchen, grab a second glass, pour another shot of bourbon, and set it on the coffee table in front of him.
He doesn’t touch it.
“So, it was true,” he says, after a long beat. “You and Carrington.”
My jaw tightens. “It’s over.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
I don’t want to say it. Don’t want to crack it open.
But Jace just sits there, waiting, like he’s done this before. Like he’s seen this movie, knows how it ends, and still thinks I’ve got one last plot twist left in me.
I sink into the chair across from him and stare at the drink in my hand. “Started around media day. No, I take that back. For me, it started the first time I met her. When she marched into my apartment in Boston and gave me an ultimatum.”
“What was the ultimatum?”
I lean back in the chair. “Forty-eight hours to sign or go out as a washed-up has been.”
One side of his mouth quirks up. “Sounds like Carrington.”
I blow out a breath that’s half sigh, half laugh. “Yep, that’s her. But we fought like hell against it. We just couldn’t stay away from each other. Didn’t mean for it to happen.”
Jace lifts a brow. “But it did.”
“Yeah.” I take a sip and let the fire burn its way down. “She made me feel something I haven’t in years. Like I mattered. Like I wasn’t just the guy people whisper about when they think I can’t hear.”
Jace doesn’t say anything. He lets me talk.
“We kept it quiet. Thought we could control it. But the board found out. And then the Boston story leaked. Timing was too clean. I thought…I thought maybe she’d told someone.”
He winces, just slightly. “You accused her?”
“I didn’t say the words.” I glance at the keycard again. “But I didn’t stop her from believing I did initially.”
Jace leans back, jaw ticking. “Tell me what happened in Boston. I’ve heard the rumors. I want the truth.”
I don’t want to relive it. But if I don’t say it now, I never will.
“There was this rookie,” I start, voice low. “Kid was smart, fast, played with his heart on his sleeve. The kind you bet your money on early.”
Jace nods once.
“He also happened to be gay,” I continue. “Didn’t tell the press, but some of the vets figured it out. One in particular—Joshua Leonard—made it his personal mission to break him.”
Jace’s face darkens. “Jesus.”
“I caught Leonard cornering him in the weight room one night. Slurs. Threats. Shit that doesn’t belong in a locker room, or anywhere else.” My grip tightens around the glass. “I lost it. Pinned him to the wall. Told him if he came near the kid again, I’d break his jaw.”
“And that’s what got you benched?”
“That, and not keeping quiet when they told me to.” I lift my gaze to Jace’s. “The team swept it under the rug. PR nightmare, they said. Bad for the brand. They told the rookie to request a trade. They told me to shut up and sit down.”
“And you didn’t.”
“No. I took the heat. Took the suspension. Didn’t say a word publicly, because the rookie didn’t want his story out. But I still got labeled as the problem.” My throat tightens. “Then Carrington gave me a chance. Puts me back on the ice. I let her in—and the past followed me anyway.”
Jace blows out a slow breath. “So when it leaked, you assumed it was her.”
“I wanted to believe she wouldn’t. But part of me…” I trail off. “I’ve been betrayed before. When you’re used to it, you start looking for it.”
Silence stretches. Jace finally picks up the bourbon and takes a measured sip.
“You’re still an idiot,” he says quietly. “But I get it now.”
I nod once, jaw tight.
“She didn’t leak it,” he adds. “You know that, right?”
“I do now. But I already broke her trust. Not only with not believing her but then I essentially broke up with her in front of the board. Told them we were over.”
“So you’re an idiot and an asshole.”
“Thanks for the kick while I’m down.”
He shrugs, sipping his drink again. “You’re the one who did it.”
“Yeah, I did. I hurt her and burned down the only good thing I’ve had in years.”
Jace studies me for a long moment. “You want to fix it?”
I shrug. “Doesn’t matter what I want.”
“Bullshit.” He sits forward. “You stood up when it counted in Boston. You’re gonna do the same here. Start by deciding what the hell you want, and stop hiding from it.”
I rake a hand through my hair. “Even if I wanted to fix it, I don’t know how.”
“Then figure it out.” Jace stands, finishes his drink, and sets it down with a quiet clink. “But here’s the truth, Maddox—if you don’t fight for her, you’re not just walking away from Carrington. You’re walking away from yourself.”
He turns toward the door.
“Oh, and one more thing.” He pauses with his hand on the knob. “When you’re ready to stop letting other people write your ending, write your own.”
Then he’s gone.
And I’m still sitting in the wreckage, glass in my hand, heart in my throat.
Jace has a point. Several actually.
If I stood up for someone else in Boston without having a safety net, why shouldn’t I give myself the same opportunity here.
Because everyone lets you down.
Except they don’t.
Sloane didn’t. Jace didn’t. Coach didn’t. Cal didn’t. They’ve all taken a chance on me.
And I’m about to pull a classic Lasker and fuck it all up. And for what?
I’m tired of being alone. Fighting all of this all by myself. Putting my head down and focusing on the game while the game of my life passes me right by.
Yeah, the cap is right.
It’s time I start writing the ending to my own story.