Page 26 of Game Misconduct

ten

. . .

Nick

present day

Traded. Discarded. Used. They don’t want me anymore.

My agent’s words echo in my head, a never-ending cacophony of insidious thoughts. This is the third time in my career I’ve been traded, but somehow, this one’s hitting the hardest.

I really thought I had found a home in New Orleans. So much so, I finally felt comfortable enough to buy a house. And instead, they tossed me aside like yesterday’s news in favor of an unproven rookie and a handful of draft picks.

At least I was worthy of a hefty price point.

Then I had to pick up the pieces of my life and move to fucking Boston. Couldn’t this trade have happened two years ago, before Elsy left for Austin? At least then I’d have a friendly face in town. A shoulder to lean on.

The only person I care to know in this city hates my guts. I have no friends, and I wish my family weren’t here.

Instead, I’ve moved—alone—to the one place I never wanted to go back to. The one place I thought I’d never have to return to permanently.

I haven’t spoken to my father in four or five years. The man I idolized growing up turned into someone I don’t recognize, and being back on his turf makes my shoulders tense up and dread fill my belly. I’m just waiting for the day he waltzes back into my life and tries to take something else from me.

He already took my mother. I won’t allow him any more access.

“Hey, Mitchell,” one of my new teammates says as I walk into the dressing room on my first day of training camp. He’s wide and bulky, with a thick beard and a full head of dark hair. His crooked, too-big-for-his-face nose is his most obvious feature.

I nod at him as I head to my cubby. He’s standing between two of them, so I don’t know his name. I’ve been skating with MacGregor in his Captain’s Practices, but they’re informal get-togethers, and not everyone on the team has been present. That’s a relief after the ugly welcome I got in New Orleans—and the uglier goodbye.

“A few of us are headed to the pub after preseason medicals,” the guy continues. “You wanna come?”

Okay, so he’s determined to be friendly.

“Turn around,” I tell him.

He raises his eyebrows, confused. “What?”

“Turn, so I can see your name.”

A sharp bark of laughter bursts from his lips, but he still turns around. Gonzales.

“Al Gonzales. They call me Gonzo,” he says, offering his hand. “Right wing.”

“Nick Mitchell. Center.” I dump my gear bag into the cubby with my name on it and start to unpack. The team outfitted me with all new equipment and half a wardrobe full of team apparel, so I can rep the Grizzlies at any time. My favorite skates weren’t in stock, so I brought my old, comfortable pair.

“You had a tour yet?”

“Vanessa showed me around the place last week.”

She used to be roommates with Elsy, so I’ve met her a few times over the years whenever my team played in Boston and in the lead-up to the wedding, but since my focus was always on spending time with my best friend, we haven’t interacted much.

Over the years, women have been intimidated by my best friend being female. But Elsy and I have never been romantic. We saw each other through some of the darkest days of our lives, and a bond like that can’t be broken. She’s like my kid sister, despite her being three months older than me. I would never touch a hair on her head.

And her best friend… The mere thought of her has goose bumps rising on my skin and my stomach twisting into knots.

Bex.

Rebecca Whitney.