Page 137 of Off Limits: The Firsts

“And you think you’re paid the big bucks by the big dogs upstairs to deliver mediocre Maddox?” He crosses his arms over his chest.

“It’s not our arena so I’m not quite sure where the big dogs are, but I’m pretty sure they’re not upstairs.”

“That’s how you want to respond, smart-ass? Let’s try again.”

“Just trying to keep the team chemistry alive.”

“The fuck you are,” he shouts and walks over to snap closed the blinds that allow everyone in the locker room from seeing in before turning to face me. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on in your life, and it sure seems like you don’t want anyone to know, so you give me one reason why I shouldn’t go against the GM’s request I received five minutes ago to bench your ass for the next three games.”

“Because you want the Stanley Cup as much as they do and benching me isn’t going to help a goddamn ounce with that. We’re running out of games now and without me on the ice, the team’s just not the same. You need me.”

“We don’t need what you did tonight.”

“My half-ass is better than some of their full bore.”

“Your arrogance isn’t becoming.” He says the words but nothing else, because he knows I’m right.

“Withers is in a shooting slump, Frankie is in his own head too much after that suspension, and Maysen, God love the fucker, but shooting isn’t his strong suit right now . . . so yeah, I’ve been an asshole. I’ve got shit going on that no one needs to know—”

“Who’d you get pregnant?”

My laugh echoes off the walls. “Hilarious.”

“You off the oxy?” he asks, his face suddenly falling some to match the gravity in his voice.

“I’m good.”

“You sure? You’ve had injury after injury this year without taking a day off. Cortisone shots help, but I know Oxy is even better to take the edge off. Is that it? Are you hooked on—”

“It’s not drugs, it’s not women . . . fuck, Jüng, it’s just shit, okay?”

“Things okay with your brother?” he asks, his voice lowering as sympathy edges his gruff tone.

“Of course,” I lie. Because what else can I do? Tell him, no, things are shit? That Jonah’s struggling more and more, getting sick time and again and doctors think his time is limited? That I’m the reason Jonah’s there, and dealing with it is more bullshit than he could ever imagine? I walk toward the window and back before he can see the reality of my thoughts, before he realizes that this sport I’ve been blessed to play has single-handedly saved me and ruined me simultaneously. “He’s fine. It’s my teammates pulling crap like they did this morning that isn’t exactly helping.”

“And what about the crap you’ve pulled the past few months? The lashing out. The fights. The thumbing your nose at the people who sign your checks? The you’re too good—”

“I’ve never said I’m too good!” I shout and take a step toward him, realizing more than ever that everyone around me doesn’t understand, and it’s making me feel even more suffocated. I lace my fingers at the back of my neck and exhale a loud sigh in frustration.

My exhale fills the room as he settles in his spot against the counter again. “You’re too valuable to be fucking up like this. It looks like you don’t give a shit about anyone but yourself.”

I’m the last person I care about, I want to scream. The last person. Don’t you see that? Don’t you see I’m punishing myself? Don’t you see that no one gives a fuck about me, and I’ve never felt so goddamn isolated in my life?

“I’m not going to bench you, Maddox. Whatever you’re dealing with needs to be dealt with though, or else I’m not going to be able to protect you from the people signing that gigantic check of yours or the teammates who can make you look even worse if they start talking to the press.” He holds his hands out to the side. “It’s your call.”

I nod, unsure what else to do or say because my head feels like it’s not connected to my body. The thoughts are there but the normal emotions I should feel—shame, grief, chagrin—aren’t attached.

“That’s all.” I can’t get out of there fast enough, but the minute my fingers are on the door handle, he speaks again. “Hey, Cap?”

I turn to face him. “Hmm?”

“You need anything, I’m here, okay? It’s never as bad as it seems.”

Yes, it is.

“Thanks.”

“I’d avoid the main exit on the way to the team bus. I’ve made the locker room off-limits from the press tonight. Wasn’t sure what was going to happen in here and we like to keep our fights within the family. But uh . . . the press is out there in droves, clamoring for answers.”