Chapter 32: Confession.
Rhys
I shouldn’t have said that, I thought as I swallowed another round of shots. The alcohol burned down my throat, but it was not enough to make me forget what I had said—not even after the fourth shot.
"That was bad," I muttered, staring into the glass and watching the ice cubes melt.
Why had I taken my anger out on him? "You are not special." My own words resounded in my head, and I hated how I had sounded. I could have stopped right then, but I continued, hurling those nasty words at him.
I hadn’t meant to react in that manner, but when I saw him standing there looking fine—laughing on the phone with someone while I was falling apart—I had lost it. Something in me snapped. The Avalanche Way had been beaten into me since I was a child; my father taught me that weakness is a disease. If you are not winning, you don’t exist.
I leaned my head back, closing my eyes, but all I saw was the look on Kayden’s face. He hadn’t looked angry; instead, he looked broken, and it made me hate myself so much for saying those things to him.
I sounded just like my father, I thought, tightening my grip on the glass until my knuckles turned white. I was becoming the man I had detested my whole life, the man who had sharpened me to believe all that matters is winning. Yet, in ten minutes of blind rage, I had used the exact disgusting words on Kayden.
"Another one," I muttered, sliding the empty glass across the marble countertop.
The bartender hesitated for a split second, looking at my team jacket and then at the clock, but one look at my face told him not to argue. "Take it easy," he said as he poured another shot of the dark, expensive bourbon, which I immediately swallowed, followed quickly by another.
I just wanted to forget everything I had said to Kayden. Anything at all to make me forget. I had called him a liability, a weakling. "Oh goodness, I didn’t mean any of that," I said to myself, rubbing my heavy eyelids.
"I have fucked so many people... you are no exception."
Why did I say that? It was the biggest lie I’d ever told. Kayden was the only exception. He was the only person who made the ice feel like home instead of a battlefield.
But the moment I felt weak on that rink—the moment I realized I had lost a game because I chose him over the puck—I had lost it. Hearing my father’s voice in my head, reminding me of who I was, had ruined the night for me.
"Three more," I said, my voice sounding rough and foreign even to me. "I want three more."
"Sir, maybe you should slow down," the bartender whispered, but I just slammed my black card on the table.
"Give me your most expensive drink. I’ve got no games tomorrow." I hiccuped and pointed to the marble countertop. "Line them up."
The bartender said nothing and prepared the three shots. I drank the first one, my face squeezing in a grimace. While I was on the second, I stared at the golden liquid. My vision blurred for a moment as I tried to find answers as to why I was such a prick, and I clenched the glass tightly.
A heavy hand landed on my shoulder. Even though I was heavily drunk, I was familiar with the scent. Cedarwood. It was Miller.
"You’re going to break that glass if you squeeze it any harder, Calder."
"Go away, Miller," I grunted as I poured the drink into my mouth and reached for the next glass.
"No," Miller responded. "Not when you’re drinking like a fool at one a.m." He sat down on the stool next to me, signaling the bartender for a drink of his own. He waited until the glass was in his hand before he spoke. "What’s happening with you, Rhys? Is this about the loss?"
I groaned, dropped the glass, and rubbed my forehead with both hands, trying to massage away the pulsing headache behind my eyes. The alcohol was making my thoughts heavy, but it still couldn’t numb the regret I felt.
"I messed up," I admitted, rubbing my face. "I messed up on the ice, and I messed up with Kayden."
Miller said nothing; he just stared at me. There was no confusion in his eyes, as if he already knew everything, but I didn’t bother to ask him. Instead, I continued talking.
"I said things, Miller," I continued, staring down at my trembling hands. "Things I didn’t mean. I sounded... I sounded exactly like my father. When I got back to the room and saw him... I lashed out at him."
Miller didn’t push. He didn’t have to. We hadn’t always been close—back in high school, we were just two Alphas competing for scout attention. It wasn’t until our sophomore year of college, when we became teammates, that the walls started to come down and we became the best of friends. He was one of the few people who had actually seen my father in action. He’d seen the way the "Great Calder" would corner me after a game and talk down every minor mistake until I felt like nothing.
Miller knew precisely how I felt, and he understood where I was coming from.
"I shouldn’t have said those words to him," I muttered, sniffling. "I... especially since..." I trailed off, the words sticking in my throat. I couldn’t bring myself to say it—that I was terrified of how much I actually cared for Kayden. That the fucking I’d dismissed as meaningless was the only thing keeping me sane.
"I already know, Rhys," Miller said softly, swirling the ice in his glass.
I looked up, my brows furrowed in confusion. I hadn’t even finished my sentence. "How? I never told you..."
Miller let out a short, dry chuckle. "I have eyes and ears, Calder. I heard you two in the lavatory on the plane. I mean, I suspected it when Kayden ignored you on the flight. I have also noticed how the air in the locker room changes when you walk past each other. You are not as discreet as you think you are."
"Oh goodness," I let out a long, ragged sigh, dropping my head into my hands. "Well, none of it matters anymore because it’s not going to happen again. We are teammates, and I’ll keep it professional from now on. I have to."
Miller laughed again. "Oh, Rhys." He placed a hand around my neck. "It’s not going to happen again?" He repeated, shaking his head. "You are delusional if you think it won’t. You are in proximity. The coach loves the chemistry between you two, you live together... so it is going to happen again." He paused as he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a serious tone.
"You can try to bury it under shots of bourbon and ’professionalism,’ but you can’t run from a bond like that. Especially not when you have crossed the line. The question isn’t if it’ll happen again—it’s whether you’re going to be a grown-up about it, or if you’re going to keep acting like your father every time you get scared of your own feelings."
I let out a sharp, defensive huff, the alcohol making me feel bolder and more stubborn than I should have been. "Are you forgetting something, Miller?" I gestured between us, as if to remind him of the biology we were both born with. "We are Alphas. That doesn’t work out. It might have been successful so far because we are attracted to one another, but Alphas are not compatible!"
Miller didn’t even flinch. He just took a slow, methodical sip of his drink and looked at me like I was a rookie who had just missed an open net.
"You say it’ll never work," Miller said calmly. "But somehow, you both had managed to make it work, right?"
He was right. Somehow, I had enjoyed every second with Kayden and wanted more. I dropped my head, my shoulders sagging as the fight finally drained out of me. The bourbon didn’t feel like fire anymore—it just felt cold.
"What do I do, Miller?" I asked. "How do I fix this damage?"
Miller swirled the last of his drink, his eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made me want to squirm. "Do you love him, Rhys?"
The question hit me like a blindside hit into the boards. My heart skipped a beat, and my grip on the bar counter tightened. "Fuck no," I snapped, the response coming out too fast and too loud. "I told you, it’s just a thing—a release. I don’t... I don’t do love, Miller. Especially not with a teammate. Especially not with him."
Miller didn’t look convinced. He actually looked like he was fighting back a smirk. "Right. ’Fuck no.’ Because you always spend your nights drinking yourself into a stupor over people you don’t care about." He stood up, placing his empty glass on the table. "Never say never, Calder. The heart doesn’t care about your ’professional’ rules or the name on the back of your jersey."
"Shut up, Miller! Just tell me what to do?"
"Well, an apology doesn’t always solve everything. So, once the third game ends—and we end up winning, because I know we will—talk to him. Take him out on a dinner date and apologize as a proper man should."
I rolled my eyes. Miller was making it sound as if we were dating. "I already told you, Miller, we are not—"
"Yes, yes." He grabbed the glass from my hand and pulled me up. "Come on, it’s time to sleep. We have a game to prepare for, and the coach wouldn’t like you coming to practice with a crazy hangover."
I nodded in response. "But I’m sleeping in your room."
"Fuck no," he rejected my offer.
"I don’t have my keycard, and I already told Kayden I wasn’t coming back to the room tonight. So, your room it is."