Page 81 of Ruthless Blade

The first pick was announced, and the arena erupted in applause. Alexander Morozov from Ontario walked onto the stage, shook hands with the team's general manager, and pulled on a jersey with his name on the back.

One by one, names were called. Players walked onto the stage, emotions of joy written all over their faces.

And with every name that wasn't mine, my chest tightened a little more.

What if I didn’t get picked?

What if all the training, sacrifices and pain were for nothing?

What if I wasn't good enough?

I forced myself to breathe, to focus on the stage, to stop spiraling.

You can do this.

By the time they reached the middle of the first round, my knees bounced and my palms were sweating.

Dylan had been picked three spots earlier by a team in the Midwest. He'd walked onto the stage with his trademark grin, shook hands, pulled on the jersey, and looked back at me with a thumbs-up.

I'd clapped for him, genuinely happy, but inside, the anxiety was eating me alive.

What if I didn't go in the first round?

What if I had to wait until tomorrow, sitting in the arena for another day, watching other players get their dreams while mine stayed just out of reach?

The announcer's voice cut through my thoughts.

"With the thirtieth pick in the first round, the California Cobras select...Kayden Matthews, Center, SilverCrest University."

For a second, I didn't move.

I sat there, staring at the stage, my brain trying to catch up with what I'd heard.

California.

They'd picked me. Holy shit.

I stood, and started walking toward the stage. The applause was deafening, but it was almost a distant sound, like I was underwater.

Cameras flashed. People shouted my name, Coach grinned and Dad was on his feet.

I climbed the steps, shook hands with the general manager, pulled on the black-and-gold hat, and held up the jersey. It was heavy and completely real. This is happening. It’s fucking happening.

The GM leaned in, a huge smile on his face. "Welcome to California, son. You’re going to need to trade in those snow boots for some swim shorts. We’re lucky to have you."

"Thank you," I managed, my voice rough.

He clapped me on the back, and I turned to face the crowd, holding up the jersey for the cameras.

This is it.

This is everything I'd worked for.

And yet, as I stood there, smiling for the photos, all I could think about was the one person who wasn't here to see it.

Chapter Forty

LEXI