Page 116 of Cross Ice

Tuesday’s home game against Montreal had been the worst I’d played all season. A stupid penalty in the second that nearly cost us a goal, a fight I’d started over a clean hit that had nothing to do with the play and everything to do with the fact that I couldn’t get my head straight, and a third period Coach had pulled me from entirely. We’d won 2–1, but only because the rest of the team had covered for me.

Wednesday morning, Coach pulled me aside after practice.

“Briggs. My office. Now.”

I followed him, already knowing this wasn’t going to be good.

He closed the door and didn’t bother sitting down. Just stood there with his arms crossed, jaw tight.

“What the hell is going on with you?”

“Nothing. I’m⁠—”

“Don’t.” He cut me off. “I benched you in Utah because you were a liability out there. Last night you almost got yourself thrown out of the game fighting over a clean hit. You’re playing angry, you’re playing stupid, and I’m done being patient about it.”

“Coach—”

“I don’t care if you’re scoring goals, Briggs. You know what I care about? Discipline. Team play. Showing up with your head in the game instead of wherever the hell it’s been for the past ten days.” His voice dropped, harder. “You’re one of my best players. Act like it.”

I stood there and took it because he wasn’t wrong.

“I need you focused,” he said. “We’ve got a tough stretch coming up and I can’t have you playing on emotion. Get your head sorted out or you’re sitting fourth line until you do.”

I sucked in a breath.

“Understood?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good.” He jerked his head toward the door. “Get out of here.”

I left his office and headed to the locker room, that conversation sitting heavy in my gut. Coach wasn’t wrong. I’d been off. Distracted. Playing like half my brain was somewhere else.

Because it was.

André caught me at my stall. “You good?”

“Yeah. Coach just giving me a reality check.”

He nodded but didn’t push. “You coming tonight?”

“Coming where?”

“The annual charity dinner. Every player’s supposed to be there.” He raised an eyebrow. “You forgot?”

Shit. The charity dinner. Children’s hospital fundraiser. Black tie, press coverage, photos with donors. I’d gone every year since I joined the Lasers.

“Right. Yeah. What time?”

“Cocktails at seven, dinner at eight.” André studied my face. “You are coming, right?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

He clapped my shoulder and walked away, and I stood there trying to figure out how I’d completely forgotten about it.

I pulled out my phone and looked at it for a long moment.

This was the first year I could have brought someone. Every year before, I’d walked into that ballroom alone because I had no one to bring, or at least no one I could bring without it becoming something I wasn’t ready for. This year was different. This year I could have stood next to Evan in front of cameras, donors, and teammates and said this is my partner. This is who I am.