And it’s not a lie. My mental game is trash right now. I thought playing would provide me a distraction, but I should have listened to Sloane. If I had, I wouldn’t have let my team down this way.
“Pardon my saying so, but it almost seems like you might be a little too comfortable in the long contract you just signed.”
I blink at the man before me. The one who looks like he hasn’t exercised in years, let alone played any sport at an elite level in his entire life.
“Well, then. With your permission, Mike, I’m going to”—I hike a thumb over my shoulder—“take off and get to work on my training. Try to get myself a little more uncomfortable for you.”
I rise from the plastic folding chair and stand tall, hearing Roman jump in with some comment about keeping questions respectful. But I don’t really care. Fuck Mike and fuck this press conference.
I need out.
One quick stop in the dressing room and I have my bag and car keys. I’m almost out the door without saying anything. I just want to lick my wounds in private, but the guys deserve more. They deserve an explanation.
I turn, gripping the doorframe, eyeing the room. “Guys. I’m sorry. I’ve been an asshole these last several games,” I announce to my teammates still mulling around. I don’t talk much, but when I do, they listen. “My brother, the one in the military, went missing in action last week, and my head is fucked-up. You all deserve better from me. And I want you to know that I’m working on it.”
Heads snap up around the room. The silence is deafening.
“Jesus, Gervais.” With three long strides, Damon is pulling me into a hug, slapping me on the back, and the other guys are crowding in with concern painted on their faces. Damon steps back, hands squeezing my shoulders as he looks me in the eye and gives me a little shake. “You should have told us. Hockey is just a game. Family is family.”
“Jasper.” I hear my coach’s voice behind me and stiffen. He’s a good dude. But even good dudes have their limits. And he sounds pissed. “Let’s talk in the hallway.”
His hand lands on my shoulder to turn me away from my teammates, who all look on wide-eyed. I hear a joke about how I’ve really made Dad mad this time, and my lips twitch.
I shut the locker room door behind us and finally lift my eyes to meet Roman’s. They’re pinched at the sides, and his thick arms are crossed over his broad chest. Years in the league himself mean Roman King is still fit in his forties. Still a competitor.
Still remembers what it’s like.
“I don’t know whether to hit you or hug you.”
I mirror his position and glare back at him. He’s still got bulk, but I’ve got a few inches on him. “I would hit me if I were you.”
“Well, if I were you, I would have told my coach that my personal life was a heaping pile of devastating shit.”
I roll my eyes, feeling like a petulant child. “I didn’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to be treated like I’m fragile.”
A broad hand waves in front of me. “Spoiler alert. You are fragile.”
“Fuck you, Roman.”
His jaw ticks. “I’m gonna let that one slide tonight.”
“I didn’t tell you my shitty life story so you could hold it over me.” Roman hasn’t only been a coach, he’s been a mentor. He knows my childhood shook out poorly. He knows about Jenny. And he knows I’m an anxious control freak and that those character traits are why I continue to put myself in the net every night.
I crave the control the position offers me. It soothes me. No one to blame but myself when a shot goes wrong—which I know isn’t true, but it’s how I see it.
“I’m not holding your past over you, Jasper. This is me, as your friend, being concerned. As your coach though? I’m pissed you haven’t disclosed this. What the hell were you thinking, keeping this under wraps?”
I sigh raggedly, my exhaustion seeping in at the edges of my eyes. It smells like sweat and rubber here, and all I want is to be in the safety of my car, sitting beside a girl who is wearing my jersey and smells like coconut. “I’m sorry. I’ll get my head right before the next game. I promise.”
His eyes are sad now, and he shakes his head at me. “Jasper, you need to take some time. It’s normal to take some time.”
My nose wrinkles at his implication. “It’s normal to take some time when there’s been a death in the family. Beau isn’t dead.”
Pity. It’s written clear as day on my coach’s face. And I hate being pitied.
“He’s not, Roman. And I’m not going to start acting like he is until I know something.” Panic leaches into my voice. I sound frantic even to myself. I can only imagine how I sound to him.
“Jasper—”
“No. I’ll be here tomorrow for practice, and I’ll be ready to play the next game. I’ll be right as rain. Head in the game.” The way he shakes his head at me says he doesn’t believe me.
“Stop looking at me like I’m a dead deer on the side of the road that you’re sad about.”
“You’re going to take some time off, Jasper. I know you. I know the way your head works. And I know how near and dear your family is to you. Damon was right, family first. Hockey second.”
“I don’t need—”
“You’re suspended,” he bites out.
My entire body goes rigid. “Come again?”
“A two-week suspension for not disclosing this to management. We’ll call it a leave of absence in the press release.”
“You have to be fucking kidding me. The team needs me! The press is going to have a fucking heyday with this!”
The older man just pulls me into a rough hug, ignoring my arguments. “Your family needs you more,” is what he grumbles while giving me a tight squeeze. And then he’s pulling away, giving me another of those tragic looks. “The press is already having a heyday with you. Hockey will still be here in two weeks. Your head isn’t on the ice, and it shouldn’t be. Stay in touch.”
And then he walks away, dress shoes clacking against the concrete floors like it’s just another normal day. Like the world isn’t total, utter shit.
Like one of the best people I’ve ever known hasn’t vanished in some secret corner of the world, on some classified mission, where god-knows-what has happened to him.
The reality of the entire situation hits me like a wrecking ball to the chest.
What if he’s dead?
What if he needs help?
And the worst possibility of all, what if we just never find him?
Ready to get the fuck away from everything, I march out the doors into the lobby. It’s where fans wait for autographs and puck bunnies wait for a shot at a player.
But there’s only one person waiting who I want to see.
The beautiful girl wearing my jersey who feels like home. The one who has barely left my side for over a week. We both know she’s hiding from the realities of her life, but so am I. We’re kindred that way, and we don’t pick at each other about it.
Everyone gets ignored as I make my way to her. I don’t know who’s there or what people are saying. I have tunnel vision and all I see is Sloane.