It’s Christmas Eve, and the guys keep calling, their voices upbeat, inviting me over tomorrow for dinner, promising food, beer, and distraction. I know what they’re doing and appreciate it, but no. I can’t go. Not after what I did. I’d rather stay curled up in my bed, staring at the ceiling, hating myself for the spectacle I made at the festival. For hurting the one person I swore I’d protect.
There’s no universe where Jaylynn deserved that. Yeah, sure, Dylan deserved to get decked for slashing her tires—among other things—but not at Jaylynn’s expense. Not at the cost of her reputation, her dream, her faith in me.
My phone pings again, lighting up with familiar names. There’s only one person I want to talk to, only one person I want to beg forgiveness from. Jaylynn. I want to tell her I’m sorry a thousand times, in every language I can think of, until she believes me. But I’m too afraid to call, too afraid of what she’ll say to me.
And maybe… maybe Dylan was right.
The thought slices through me like a blade. Maybe she really does deserve better. Someone who isn’t a coward on the ice. Someone who isn’t defined by his fists and his failures. They call me the enforcer, but I have more than brute force in me—I know I do. Still, the Bucks never wanted that from me. They wanted the hits, the penalties, the chaos. And if I try to be more, if I push for a role beyond that and fail? What then? Sent down to the Grizzlies? Cut? Forgotten?
But the truth is… that wouldn’t even feel like rock bottom anymore.
Because losing Jaylynn? That was it. That was the lowest I could fall.
But what do I have to lose now? Maybe I should go to Coach. Maybe I should demand the chance to be more, to prove I can be more. It won’t bring Jaylynn back, but at least it would honor the way she saw me—like I was worth something. Like I wasn’t just fists and fury.
She wanted me to believe in myself. She told me I was more. But no one else ever has—not my team, not my coaches. Not even my own damn parents. I’ve spent my whole life following the rules, thinking that would make me enough. Look where that got me.
The buzzer jolts me out of my dark thoughts. Someone’s at my building. I roll over, pull my pillow over my face, and groan. Whoever it is, I don’t want to see them. I don’t want to see anyone.
Buzz.
Buzz.
Buzz.
“Go away,” I mutter into the pillow, even though they can’t hear me from the street.
It can’t be Elaine—she called earlier, and I talked to her before I left Snowberry. She wouldn’t come all this way, not on Christmas Eve.
Buzz.
Buzz.
Buzz.
Jesus Christ. Whoever it is, they’re relentless. I throw my pillow across the room, shove myself upright, and stomp over to the intercom, ready to tear into them. My finger slams the button. “What?”
There’s a beat of silence. Then a familiar voice. “Hey, Penn. It’s Will.”
My heart stops. Will. As in Coach Quinn. As in Jaylynn’s father.
What the hell is he doing in Boston? On Christmas Eve? He should be at home with his family, not standing outside my building. Unless… oh God. Unless I ruined Christmas for him, too.
Perfect. My gift of screwing up keeps on giving.
I hesitate, a hundred scenarios running through my head. Maybe he’s here to tear into me, to finish what Dylan started. Maybe he’s here to punch me in the face and call it justice. And the worst part? I’d let him. I’d take every hit. I deserve it.
I press the buzzer to let him in and back away from the door, my stomach in knots.
The elevator dings down the hall a few minutes later, echoing like a death knell in the silence of my apartment. My chest tightens as the doors slide open. I take a step back, bracing myself. For anger. For judgment. For the blow I probably have coming.
Because if anyone has the right to make me pay for what I did to Jaylynn, it’s her father.
“Coach,” I say automatically, my voice rough, and I edge back a step as he closes the door behind him.
“It’s Will, remember.”
My throat tightens. Will. Not Coach. Not Mr. Quinn. Just Will. The way he insisted I call him when things between Jaylynn and me felt real, felt permanent. But things aren’t real anymore, are they? She’s gone. I lost her. So, I shake my head, bitter.