Chapter 38
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Maddox
The weight settles into my chest before I even knock.
Coach Holt’s office is still dark, blinds drawn, door cracked open like it’s waiting for me.
The rink’s quiet now, just the hum of machinery and the distant echo of sticks hitting rubber.
Practice wrapped half an hour ago, but I stayed behind. Pacing. Thinking. Trying like hell to talk myself out of this.
Didn’t work.
I nudge the door open with a knuckle.
Coach is behind his desk, scribbling something in a notepad. Doesn’t look up. Just flips a page and keeps writing like he already knows why I’m here.
“Got a minute?” I ask.
He finishes his line. Sets the pen down. “Close the door.”
The click behind me sounds final. Like the start of something I can’t undo.
I sink into the chair across from him, palms sweaty, heart pounding like I’m about to take a slap shot to the chest.
Coach doesn’t say anything, just watches me with that quiet, unreadable stare that always makes you feel like you’re about to get benched.
I run a hand through my hair. “I’m retiring at the end of the season.”
No flinch. No blink. Just a slow nod.
“I wanted you to hear it from me first,” I add. “Before the press gets wind or the rumors start.”
His voice is low. “You sure about that?”
No. Not even a little.
But I nod anyway. “Yeah.”
I can’t say her name. Not here. Not now. But she’s in every inch of this decision. In the ache under my ribs. In the silence I wake up to now that she’s gone.
Coach leans back and folds his arms. “You’ve got a few good years left, Lasker.”
“I know.”
“You’re finally playing with a team that respects you.”
“Yeah.”
He studies me. “This about Carrington?”
I let the breath go slow. “This is about me not wanting to lose the only thing that ever made walking away from the game make sense.”
He exhales through his nose. “You know what this’ll mean for your contract. For trades. For playoffs.”
“Doesn’t matter. Not anymore.”
There’s a beat of silence, heavy and still. Then, quietly, Coach nods again.
“All right,” he says. No speech. No lecture. Just that. Simple and solid. “You tell Jace?”
“Not yet.”
“Start there.” He reaches for his notepad again and flips to a fresh page. “Then finish this season strong. Go out swinging.”
I rise from the chair, but the weight doesn’t leave. It just shifts. Sinks lower, deeper.
Something permanent in the way it settles in my bones.
At the door, I pause. “Thanks, Coach.”
He doesn’t look up. “Make it worth it, Lasker.”
I step into the hallway alone. The buzz of the arena lights overhead, the echo of skates and voices long gone.
I don’t know what happens next. Don’t know if she’ll ever forgive me. Don’t even know if I can fix what I broke.
But I do know this…
I’m not running again.
If I’ve got one shot left to prove she matters more than the game, I’ll take it.
Even if it means giving it all up.
The door to the locker room hisses shut behind me.
For a second, nobody looks up.
Riley’s sprawled on the bench, taping his stick. Finn’s half-dressed, skates still on, a towel around his neck. Cal’s in the corner, headphones around his neck, fidgeting with a puck like it holds the answers to the universe.
The second I step in, though, something shifts.
Eyes cut to me.
Not suspicion. Not judgment.
Something else.
Something heavier.
Jace leans against the far wall, arms folded, expression unreadable. He’s the only one who already knows. We talked after practice—just the two of us, up in the film room, where the lights are always dim and the silence hits harder than it should.
I told him everything.
Didn’t sugarcoat it.
Didn’t run.
“I’m out after this season,” I say now, to the whole room. My voice is low, but it hits like a puck to the boards. “No contract extensions. No trades. I’m done.”
The silence sharpens. Not one guy speaks.
I brace for it—questions, jokes, maybe even disappointment.
Instead, Riley’s the first to nod.
“Fucking knew it,” he mutters. He shoves the tape roll into his gear bag and adds, “You got that ‘I’ve been emotionally wrecked by a woman’ glow.”
Finn laughs under his breath. “It’s the dead eyes. Real subtle, bro.”
Jace doesn’t say anything, but his gaze flicks between them. A silent cue.
And like that, the energy shifts again.
Cal crosses the room and nudges me with his shoulder. “You good, Lasker?”
“No,” I admit. “But I will be.”
They don’t push.
They just let it hang there. This truth between us.
That I’m leaving.
That it’s not because I want to.
That it’s because I found something worth walking away for.
Riley leans back, cracking his knuckles. “You better go out with a bang, old man. Take some bastards down with you.”
“Yeah,” Finn adds, smirking. “Especially that dick from Boston.”
Cal perks up. “Joshua Leonard?”
“Fucking hate that guy.”
I glance at Jace, who finally speaks.
“You’ve got a couple games left to show them what kind of man you are.” His voice is steady, low. “Make it count.”
I nod once. “Yeah. I will.”
And I mean it.
Not just the games. Not just the hits or the wins or the final roar of the crowd.
I’ve got one shot left to earn the kind of ending I never thought I’d get.
And it starts right here.
In this locker room.
With the team I didn’t think would ever feel like mine.
I drag my bag onto the bench and start unzipping it. “One more thing,” I say, voice casual.
They all glance over.
I pull out my sketchpad. The one I haven’t touched since before everything went to hell.
I flip it open to a page halfway through, one I started in secret weeks ago and never finished. A Vipers logo, hand-drawn. But not the standard one.
This one’s got teeth. Edge. Fire behind the eyes. The kind of logo you bleed for.
I hold it up.
“Thinking about leaving this behind,” I say. “Something for the next generation.”
Finn whistles low. “Damn.”
Even Riley looks impressed. “You drew that?”
“Yeah.”
Jace nods once. “Hang it in The Hiss Room when it’s done.”
There’s no fanfare. No group huddle or pat on the back. Just a room full of guys nodding like I’ve already made my mark.
Like I belong.
Maybe for the first time in my life.
Later, when I get home, I don’t turn the lights on.
Just drop my bag by the door and head straight for the kitchen, grabbing a Gatorade from the fridge I haven’t stocked properly in weeks.
The cold stings my palm. My shoulder’s still aching from the hit I took from Leonard. But none of it touches the fire under my skin.
I should be bone-deep tired.
Instead, I’m wired. Alive.
She’s still in there—behind my ribs, under my skin. No matter how many times I’ve told myself it’s over, the truth doesn’t change.
I want her.
Still.
Always.
And I’m not going out quiet.
I cross the room and grab my sketchpad from the coffee table. It's already open to the Vipers logo I showed the guys. But I flip past it—page after page of half-finished panels, character outlines, old shit that never felt like anything.
Until now.
Until her.
I grab a pencil and start sketching.
Not a game plan.
Not a playbook.
This one’s for her.
She called me out the first time she saw my work. Told me not to hide behind it. Not to flinch.
So I won’t.
The lines come slower tonight. Not because I don’t know what I want to say, but because I want it to be perfect.
The panel starts to take shape. A woman—powerful, head held high, expression unreadable—standing at center ice in heels. Her back’s to the viewer. She’s facing the boards. The stands.
The spotlight’s on her.
Alone.
Except she’s not. Not really.
There’s a speech bubble forming above the ice behind her. Unspoken. Waiting.
I pause, pencil hovering.
The words will come later.
For now, it’s enough that I know what it’s supposed to be.
I don’t want a press conference.
I don’t want to grovel behind closed doors.
If I’m going down, I’m doing it our way.
Loud.
Public.
With cameras and chaos and the team behind me.
I lean back on the couch, sketchpad resting against my thigh, heart thudding like it did the first time she kissed me.
She gave me something I didn’t know I needed.
And I let her go.
But not without a fight.
My phone buzzes next to me—probably Jace, checking in again. I don’t answer.
Instead, I close the sketchpad and drag in a breath that tastes like salt and ink and maybe, finally, hope.
If I’m going down, I’m doing it with my whole heart on the ice.