Maxim (Carolina Reapers 10)

“It was less painful than watching you try to block Maxim’s shots,” David retorted without batting a lash.

“Awh,” I said, patting my gloved hand over my heart. “Brotherly love at its finest.”

David rolled his eyes and took my phone out of his back pocket. “Went off about twenty minutes ago.”

“Thanks.” I took it from him, shoving a glove under my arm so I could open the notification.

EVIE: Good luck ??

My fucking heart stopped. Evie. Just the thought of her name had it beating again, roaring to life in my chest with the need to see her. What did that kiss mean? Was it just a friendly good luck thing? Was she having second thoughts about leaving me? She’d reached out. That meant something, right? A bright, dangerous feeling that must have been hope flared to life behind my ribs.

My head shot up, scanning the hallway for one of the Reaper wives to help me interpret the text like I was back in high school, but all I saw was Dad forcing himself through the players against the tide of movement.

“You’re still slow off the blue line!” He glared at me. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Seriously, Dad?” I shot him a look and moved past him, following my team. At least I had a couple inches on him in these skates.

“I’m dead serious!” He caught up, his voice rising.

I did my best to shake him off and kept walking. Just a few more feet and I’d be in the safety of the locker room.

“You haven’t been doing those drills I taught you, have you? You’ve been slacking! Not training, not eating right, not giving your team what they need from you! It’s pure laziness—”

Fucking enough. David was right; Mom could handle herself and this had gone on for far too long.

“I’ve been training!” I fired back, my temper flaring past its usual barriers. “I pull extra sessions at my own house and you know it. I’m not slow off the blue line, you just have unreasonable standards, and the last time I checked, you’re not the one out there on the ice. I am!”

“Listen to me!” he snapped, shoving me against the wall, his arena pass swinging across his chest from how quickly he moved.

My stomach twisted at the look on his face and the clutch of his fist in my jersey. You’re not ten anymore. I repeated the phrase in my head three times to calm the knots and clear my vision.

“Dad!” David shouted, pushing through my teammates.

“Whoa. Maxim, you okay here?” Axel paused, joined quickly by the other guys.

“We’re fine,” I bit out, gripping Dad’s wrist and yanking my jersey out of his grip. “I’ll see you guys in there.”

“Sorry, Maxim,” Dad blustered, ripping his hands over his hair. “It’s just that you know how much I love you and I want the best for you.”

Sterling snorted.

Axel looked at both of us, and I gave him a reassuring nod. “It’s fine. Go ahead.”

He grunted and walked away slowly. I didn’t miss the way Cannon glared at Dad, or Brogan’s subtle shoulder check as he walked past.

Sterling hung back, his eyes locked on us, and David was only a foot away.

“Never again use that word like that,” I said softly, taking a step forward.

Dad edged back. “You know I mean it. I love you. Why else would I have spent so much time molding you into the player you are today?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Because you’re a fucking egomaniac who thought his sons should live for you,” Sterling suggested.

“Shut the hell up. You’re not a part of this family!” Dad shouted, jabbing his finger toward Sterling.

“He might not be a part of your family, but he’s sure as hell a part of mine.” I pivoted, putting Jansen behind me. “I’m done, Dad. Done with you ignoring me until it was time to train me. Done with you showing up and thinking you have any control over my life, and sure as fuck done with you ever putting your hands on me.”

Dad blinked. “Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for you. Don’t you want one of these?” He lifted his hand, showing his Stanley Cup ring. “You’re a breath away from it!”

“It’s never been about what I want!” I gestured toward the ice, my phone still in my hand. “I never had a choice. I never had the option to do anything else but strap these skates on and do your bidding.”

A muscle in Dad’s jaw flexed. “What, so now you’re blaming me for this sport that you love? For this multimillion-dollar career? Poor baby Maxim.”

“No, Dad. I’m just realizing that I only love it when I play for myself, and you’re nowhere near it.”

His gaze narrowed, then fell to the phone, and he tilted his head. “Evie,” he muttered, obviously reading the message. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it? You’re torn up over a woman? You’re playing like shit over a woman? You’re risking this moment for a woman?” He sneered.