Page 29 of Instigator

That’s why we’re partnered with the Grizzlies Foundation. Our primary focus is the hockey team, but the charity is centered around athletics, period. We raise funds for youth hockey in the greater New England area, donate supplies, and advocate for the children who live and breathe for this sport.

I have no athletic ability whatsoever. But that doesn’t stop me from contributing. In fact, I think it makes me want to be involved more. Because I know that I don’t have what it takes to do this day in and day out, and I want to help the people who do.

I want to make the world a better place. I have money, I have resources, and I have time. I’ll do whatever it takes to achieve this goal.

Because it’s not just a goal anymore.

It’s a mission.

fourteen

. . .

Aidan

The guilt swirling in my stomach hasn’t abated in the last four days. I’ve done my best to push through, but it’s always there, lingering. The acid in the pit of my stomach eats at my insides, making me nauseous and so overcome with shame I want to curl up in my bed and never face her again.

I stood her up. I couldn’t even bring myself to tell her I wasn’t showing up until she asked me. And aside from one momentary lapse in judgment, I haven’t logged onto our game since.

I’m a coward. And an asshole.

What do I say? How do I apologize? How do we come back from this? I honestly don’t know if we can.

The guilt eats at me all throughout our trip to Nashville, then our home game against Buffalo. I only manage to eke out one point between the two matches, and Coach isn’t pleased.

I’m not pleased either.

It’s a constant loop in my head as I do my day-off weightlifting circuit, and even though I increase the volume on my headphones to near-deafening decibels, I can’t drown it out. When I hit the showers, it’s louder than the showerhead above me, pelting me with lukewarm water.

I’m a piece of shit.

“You good?” Ryan asks as he falls into the shower stall beside mine.

“I’m fine,” I mutter, even though I know he won’t be able to hear me over the running water.

He cocks his head, dark eyes intent on my face. After a lifetime of showering with other men, our mutual nakedness doesn’t bother me. Nobody is trying to make anyone uncomfortable or proposition anybody. Our locker room is open and inclusive, accepting of everyone.

Except homophobes. That kind of talk isn’t allowed in our dressing room. Period.

The fact he has nail marks down his back? Yeah, that makes me uncomfortable. But that’s more to do with it being my little sister he’s sleeping with than anything else.

I want him to be happy. I want both of them to be happy. As long as I don’t have to see any residual marks or hear any public displays, I’m good. After their famous interlude in the equipment closet a few years back, I’m scarred for life.

Ryan shuts off his water and reaches for his towel, so I do the same. Showers at the rink are perfunctory, not for luxuriating. I’m not the only weirdo who brings their own soap instead of using the foul-smelling one provided by the team, but I am the only one who brings a towel from home.

I like to wrap myself in a giant bath sheet until I’m encased in a terrycloth burrito. The team-provided linens just aren’t big enough for that. I have to deal with it on the road, because traveling with wet towels isn’t ideal, especially on a multicity road trip. Been there, tried that, had to throw out the suitcase because the stench of damp polyester never went away no matter how many deodorizer balls I threw in there.

“Really, Aid,” Ryan continues. His attention is on his clothes, but I know he’s not going to let this drop. “You’ve been down the last few days. Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine,” I repeat.

He rolls his eyes. “That’s not what I’m asking.”

Nobody knows about my friendship with Annie. Sure, the guys know I’m a gamer and that I regularly join parties online. But they don’t know the details. They don’t know I’ve spent the last seven years talking to a woman who could blow up my entire life.

I’ve kept it from Hailey. I’ve kept it from Ryan. And now…

I don’t want to be the kind of person who disappears when the going gets tough. I show up for my friends and family. So why can’t I show up for myself?