Page 119 of A Little Secret

“Listen up!” I yell. The metal clanging and low hum of chatter in the locker room quiet.

Now or never, I remind myself.

“There are moments in life,” I boom. “Average moments. Moments taken for granted. And tonight might look like one more game for the books, but we’re twelve games away from playoffs. Twelve. Games.” I pause and rotate slowly, confirming I have everyone’s attention. “Twelve games to make a difference. Twelve games to up our stats. Twelve games to break records and to wear LAU’s name on our jerseys before the season ends. We might be a shoo-in for the championship, but let’s play like it’s our last.”

The team hits their helmets against the lockers, and the sound reverberates through the room. It’s so loud, I have no doubt they can hear us in the arena, but I welcome it. The energy. The solidarity. The brotherhood we’ve forged in this very room over years of blood, sweat, and tears. From wins to losses, both on and off the ice, these are my brothers.

Glancing at my best friend, guilt claws at my insides. He’s my brother, too, and I’ve done what I swore I never would. I’ve lied to him. And I might not be able to rectify everything, but I can start somewhere. I jump off the wooden bench and open my locker, grabbing my skates and lacing up. He’s still talking with Dreggs. I’ll smooth shit out in a minute. I hate to. Before the game. Before he has another reason to hate me. Before I move our friendship another step in the wrong direction.

“Hey, man,” Reeves says. Slapping his locker closed, he slips on his gloves and palms his stick. “Nice speech.”

“Gotta say something to keep the spirits up,” I lie, though I’m not exactly wrong, either. I do need to keep their spirits up. We’ve been stagnant lately. Going throughthe motions. And yeah, we’re winning, but where’s the heart?

“Your dad here?” he prods.

I shake my head. “Why?”

“You seem…” Hesitating, he scans me up and down. “More nervous than usual. You’re only like this during playoffs and when your dad’s watching.”

He’s right. I’m always more on edge when my dad or brother are in the stands.

Nothing like being the youngest boy in a long line of overachievers. And yeah, the list includes Jax, too. He might’ve passed up on his career as a professional player to coach the Ladyhawk’s team, but it wasn’t because he couldn’t hack it. It was because he wanted a challenge, and building an organization from the ground up is no easy feat. Regardless, I should be grateful. I’m used to the pressure. The need to show up and perform and kick ass when it counts. And today? Today, it counts.

“You hear the Lions’ GM is in the stands?” Reeves asks.

Finished tying my skates, I look up at him and grab my gloves from my open locker. “Do you know why he’s here?”

“Nah, but I was hoping you would.”

“Why would I know?”

With a shrug, he leans against the closed locker beside me. “Just curious.”

Oliver. Fucking. Reeves. The man is way more astute than any of us give him credit for. The question is, does he already know the answer, or is he searching for the puzzle pieces so he can connect the dots? And when he does—cause it sure as shit isn’tif—what then?

“He not talking to you?” Reeves adds, glancing at Ev.

I shake my head but don’t answer.

“Figured.” He slaps my shoulder. “Congratulations, bythe way. I know shit hit the fan earlier, but we’re happy for you. Me. Mav. Ev.”

I scoff. “Liar.”

“Okay, maybe not the Everett part.” He grins. “Not yet, anyway. He’ll come around, though.”

“Guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

“Nah, he will. Lia was right. Fin being tied to Drew for the rest of her life would’ve been a bitch. You?” He shrugs. “You’ll take care of them.”

A lump lodges in my throat, but I swallow it back, appreciating his confidence in me more than he knows. I will take care of them. I’ll do whatever it takes. I have to.

“Thanks, man,” I mutter. “I, uh, I appreciate it.”

“Listen up!” Coach booms when he appears from his office. The team quiets, some gathering their helmets and sticks, others already prepared to take to the ice as we turn toward Coach Sanderson. The legend. Other than the shaved head and a few more wrinkles, he looks the same as when he coached my dad and Uncle Theo. Yeah. Talk about trying to live up to a person’s expectations.

I shake the thought off and try to focus.

Arms folded, Coach continues, “I know you already heard your captain’s speech, but Thorne’s right. Play every game like it’s your last, and we’ll keep making a name for LAU. Let’s go!”