Spiral (Off the Ice, #2) (61)

“I know what choking is,” I mutter.

“Of course you do. I just mean you don’t have to be stuck there. But you’re letting yourself sit in that box of doubt, and no one can play hockey like that.”

Socket’s been a goalie on the Thunder for a few years, so he has experience.

“How do you suggest I get out of the box?”

“Break it. That moment of doubt needs to be shattered. You know you can do it, and now you have to. Don’t think, and you won’t choke.”

Don’t think. I mull over the advice in my head, mumbling a thank?you when he turns to his stall. His words are wise for someone who drank beer out of a skate because of a dare.

I let my music resume, but there’s a shift in the air that makes me look to the doors of the locker room. Marcus and our right-winger, Owen Hart, walk inside. They’re laughing together, something I’ve never done with our GM.

“Afternoon,” Marcus says, waving a hand. “Since it’s the last game of the regular season, I won’t say much. I’ll save the speech for the playoffs next week, which for some of you might be a faraway dream.” I try to ignore the way he meets my eyes. “But it’s here, and if you kill it out there tonight, the rest will be a breeze.”

His cutting words don’t fester deep today because I played well at our last game. Even if I haven’t scored, the executives had to notice my improvement. This can’t be it for me.

Coach walks into the dressing room. “Don’t embarrass me out there. But after these past few games, I’ve seen what you can do. And I need all your RSVPs for the dinner, or the wife won’t be happy if we have leftovers.”

He shouts the reminder again to the guys that trickle in late.

Coach decided last night that he wants to boost team morale because two of our defensemen got into a heated argument on the ice during our last game. Their gloves came off, and they spit out their mouth guards before we broke them apart. The media blamed our organization for promoting poor sportsmanship. Now, the executives have hammered down on Coach Wilson to ease the tension.

When the music in my ears pauses, I check my phone to find a text from Sage.

Sage: A jersey with your name on it? A bit presumptuous, don’t you think?

I can’t help the smile her words bring to my face. Our team manager got me a jersey in her size, and I left it on the bed this morning. This is the first game she’s attending, and as my girlfriend, she’ll be expected to wear my jersey. But that’s not the only reason I want her to wear it.

Elias: Were you planning on wearing someone else’s?

Sage: What if I did?

Elias: Wear it and find out.

Sage: Don’t tease me, Elias. Do you really want me to wear it? Isn’t that cheesy? You already have plenty of fangirls.

Elias: You’re the only one that matters.

“Isn’t it awkward?” Socket’s voice pulls my attention away from the appearing and disappearing bubbles on my screen. When they stop and Sage doesn’t reply, I toss my phone back on the bench.

I pull out an earphone. “What?”

“Owen being here?”

“Why would it? I’ve met plenty of guys I’ve matched up against in the past.”

“No, I mean because he dated your girlfriend.”

My head snaps to attention. “What?”

A burning sensation sears through my veins.

“Uh, never mind.” Socket turns to focus on the pull-up bar like it’s a complex machine.

“What do you mean they dated?”

“If Sage didn’t say anything I’m sure it’s for a good reason. She probably doesn’t even know he got traded here,” he deflects.

I’m trying to think back to whether she told me this, but the only thing she said was that a boyfriend had reappeared in her life. Suddenly, it’s starting to make sense.

“When did they date?”

He sighs. “He said they dated for a few years. I think they broke up a couple months ago. But that’s all I know.” He raises both hands in surrender.

The information doesn’t ease the burn in my chest. I want to call or text Sage to find out more. But if she wanted to tell me about her ex, she would—the girl’s an open book.

Owen continues talking to Marcus before he walks to his stall a few benches down. The pat on the back and the smile he got from Marcus make me envious. I’ve been here for longer and haven’t gotten a simple hello in return, but Sage’s ex seems to be our GM’s best friend.

“Westbrook,” Owen acknowledges when he walks by.

Now, this interaction feels tense. “Hart.”

“I have a good feeling about today’s game,” Aiden says, finally showing up after spending the night at Summer’s parents’ house.

“Why?”

“It’s your girl’s first game. No better motivator.”

I roll my eyes and toss the cloth tape at him.

“Is Sean coming? That kid used to hang around here all the time when I first started,” says Socket as he ties his skates.

“No, he’s in school a few hours away.”

“York Prep, right?”

Our heads whip to Owen, who smiles innocently. The question starts a dangerous bubbling in my veins. Aiden glances at me with a look of confusion.