Lost Shot

SEVEN.

The moment I walked into the arena the next morning, I knew everyone had heard.

The locker room had always been loud before practice. It was either someone was blasting music, or somebody was arguing over fantasy hockey, or someone telling terrible jokes. Today, none of that happened. Conversations died the second I stepped through the door. Every pair of eyes landed on me before quickly looking somewhere else. Even my wolf shifted uneasily inside me, sensing that something was wrong.

I quietly opened my locker and reached for my gear.

"Seven."

Coach's voice echoed across the room.

"My office. Now."

Nobody looked surprised.

I followed him down the hallway without saying a word. The office door shut behind us with a soft click, but somehow it sounded louder than a slap. Coach didn't sit immediately. He stood by the window with his arms folded, staring out at the empty practice rink before finally turning toward me.

"You skipped mandatory training yesterday."

"Yes."

"And you didn’t think to inform me? No phone call, no explanation?”

"I know, Coach. And I'm so sorry."

“You’re sorry?” he asked, sighing deeply. "Do you understand how bad this looks?"

I lowered my eyes.

"Yes."

He walked around his desk slowly, rubbing one hand across his beard.

"Sponsors have started calling."

I stayed silent.

"Management wants answers. The media is calling you the biggest disappointment of the season right now."

Those words hit harder than I expected.

"You've played fourteen games."

His voice became quieter.

"Fourteen games without a single goal."

I swallowed.

"I know."

Coach looked at me for several long seconds.

"I defended you."

My head lifted.

"I told everyone rookies need time. I said the pressure would pass."

His eyes searched my face, and he shook his head sadly.

"But you're making me look like a liar."

Guilt settled heavily inside my chest.

"I'm sorry, Coach."

"I don't need another apology, young man.”

He stepped closer.

"I need my player back."

Silence filled the office again, then his voice softened.

"Did something happen?"

I looked at him.

"What do you mean?"

"Outside hockey,” he said. “Is something going on?”

My heart skipped.

For one second, I almost told him everything about Mikka. About the empty apartment. About the scholarship with the red stamp. About standing outside her building wishing I had accepted her offer.

Instead, I lied.

"I'm fine."

Coach didn't answer immediately.

He simply kept looking at me until I had to look away.

"No," he finally said. "You're not."

My chest tightened.

"But whatever it is..."

He pointed toward the rink.

"...leave it outside those boards."

I nodded.

"I'll try."

His expression hardened again.

"You'd better."

He opened the office door.

"Because if today looks like the last fourteen games..."

He paused.

"...you're watching the next one from the bench."

I nodded and walked out, the words following me all the way onto the ice.

Practice started exactly the way every other practice had started.

Badly.

I skated hard, passed well, defended well.

Then came shooting drills. I lined up my first attempt and shot. The ball flew wide. I took a second shot, but it slammed against the crossbar. When I tried a third time, it missed the goal by only a few inches.

My teammates sighed.

Someone muttered under his breath.

I attempted another drill, but I missed, again. The net suddenly looked impossible to hit.

Coach blew his whistle.

"Again!"

I tried again, but I missed. I took another shot, and yet I missed again.

My shoulders felt heavier after every shot.

By the water break, frustration sat on every face around me. I leaned against the boards, breathing hard while trying not to think.

That lasted about five seconds before I heard one of my teammates laugh.

"Did you guys see that stalker video again?"

Another player snorted.

"The one outside Levi's place?"

"Yeah."

Someone imitated crying.

"'Please don't deport me!'"

Several players laughed.

I stared at the ice.

"She probably made up that scholarship story," another guy said while taking a drink. "People will do anything for attention."

"Exactly. They always chase famous players. Then they act shocked when they get dumped,” someone else said.

More laughter.

I gripped my stick tighter.

"Levi should've called security sooner."

"Honestly, she got what she deserved."

My fingers tightened until my gloves creaked.

"Crazy women never learn."

Something inside me snapped. Before I even realized what I was doing, my stick slammed against the boards with everything I had. The sound exploded through the arena, and every conversation stopped.

Every player froze.

Coach stared at me from across the ice.

Nobody laughed anymore.

I was breathing so hard my chest hurt.

Coach slowly skated over.

"What was that?"

I couldn't answer.

"Seven."

I still couldn't.

His eyes narrowed.

"Just like I thought. This isn't about hockey."

I looked away.

"It doesn't matter."

"It clearly does."

He sighed.

"Off."

I frowned.

"What?"

"Get off my ice."

"But Coach—"

"Now!"

I didn't argue.

I skated silently toward the tunnel while every teammate watched me leave. The empty locker room felt colder than usual.

I sat on the wooden bench without taking off my gear.

Everything had gone wrong.

Again.

I reached into my jacket for my phone. Instead, my fingers touched folded paper. I frowned before pulling it out.

It was the scholarship notice.

I had taken it from the university yesterday without even thinking. Across the front was still the same ugly word.

REVOKED.

And below it was her name: MIKKA ROWAN.

I traced her name with my thumb.

"You really earned this," I whispered.

I remembered Professor Ellis’s words

"One of the brightest students I've ever taught."

And then I remembered the words from the teaching assistant as well.

"She never wanted credit."

Then I remembered Mikka standing in front of me at the rink.

"I can make you score."

She wasn't begging for money. She wasn't asking for fame. She had only wanted one chance.

I folded the paper carefully and slipped it back into my pocket.

"I was wrong."

The words barely escaped my mouth.

After changing, I left through the rear exit to avoid reporters.

Fresh air hit my face as soon as I stepped outside the arena. For one peaceful second, I thought I'd escaped.

Then I saw the black SUV, and leaning against it with crossed arms, was Levi. His smile disappeared the moment he saw me.

"Well."

He pushed himself away from the vehicle.

"The missing rookie finally showed up."

I kept walking.

"What do you want?"

He chuckled.

"Can't visit my little brother?"

"We're not brothers,” I said.

He smiled wider.

"Still sensitive."

I stopped a few feet away.

"Say what you came to say."

He looked me up and down.

"I watched practice."

My jaw tightened.

"Did you?"

He nodded.

"You're even worse in person."

I stayed quiet.

"I honestly thought the media exaggerated,” he said, laughing. “But fourteen games without a goal?"

He shook his head dramatically.

"I've seen beer league players finish better."

My wolf growled but I forced him back down. 

Levi noticed my silence and mistook it for surrender.

"You know what's funny?"

I didn't answer.

"They're finally talking about replacing you."

He stepped closer.

"I'd almost feel sorry for you."

"You've never felt sorry for anyone,” I replied.

His smile faded for a second, then he shrugged.

"Fair."

He looked toward the parking lot before speaking again.

"Oh. I almost forgot."

My stomach tightened.

"Your little stalker friend."

Every muscle in my body stiffened as I heard those words.

Levi laughed softly.

"She's probably halfway back to Australia by now."

I didn't move.

He waved one hand carelessly.

"Give it a week, and everyone will forget she ever existed."

My fists slowly closed.

Levi noticed.

"There he is."

His grin returned.

"I was wondering when you'd react."

I kept breathing slowly but carefully. He stepped so close I could smell his expensive cologne.

Then he lowered his voice.

"You can keep pretending she meant nothing to you..."

His eyes locked onto mine.

"...but you're already too late.”