Page 16 of Locked & Loaded

Mads lets out a short breath, almost a laugh but not quite. “So we were both trying to read each other instead of the play.”

“Pretty much,” I say, dragging a hand over my face. “Which is so stupid, because it’s supposed to be natural. But with us, it’s like overthinking how to breathe or swallow. The second you notice it, it gets impossible. So yeah, fine, I agree. The problem is that we don’t talk. We don’t talk in practice, we don’t talk after games, we don’t talk anywhere unless one of us is already pissed off. Then on the ice, it turns into you glaring and shouting at me, and me getting in my own head and not listening to you, and tonight that fucked both of us.”

For a second, Mads says nothing.

Then his lips twitch a little. “Do you even want to talk?”

I stare at him.

“Because I’m pretty sure you’re the one who avoids me, Rodriguez.”

My cheeks burn, which is deeply unfair, considering I’m trying to have a serious adult conversation while wearing his hoodie and pretending I’m not extremely aware of that.

“Yeah,” I say. “I know.”

Mads lifts an eyebrow. “You know?”

“I’m not saying I’m handling it well,” I add, waving a hand between us and hoping he doesn’t latch onto what I’ve just admitted. “I’m saying this clearly isn’t working. And I’m pretty sure I’ve never had this kind of issue with anyone else.”

“I’ve never had this kind of issue with anyone else either,” he says.

We both fall quiet, just looking at each other.

Then Mads says, “So why are you avoiding me?”

Fuck me. I knew he would grab onto that.

“I’m not,” I say stupidly, trying to backtrack, even though I know it’s too late.

“You just admitted that you are,” Mads says, frustration slipping back into his voice. “So why?”

“I don’t know,” I say.

Okay, that’s a lie. I do know. I just don’t have an answer I can say out loud.

I cough, mostly to buy myself a second. “I’m… It’s just—”

You scare the shit out of me, and not in the way you think.

Mads waits. The longer I don’t finish, the more his expression shifts, like he’s taking my silence and fitting it into the only explanation that makes sense to him.

“Alright,” he says slowly. “I get it.”

I blink. “You do?”

“You came from the Wraiths. You’ve got more experience than I do. Maybe you’re used to playing with guys who’ve been around longer. Maybe you think I don’t know what I’m doing.” His mouth tightens. “Fine. But if you think I’m making bad calls, just say it. I’d rather hear it than keep guessing.”

The suggestion is so off-base it makes me want to scream.

“It’s not that,” I say too quickly. “That’s not it at all.”

Mads frowns. “Then what is it?”

I open my mouth, because I’m supposed to answer. That’s the whole point of this conversation. We’re supposed to be fixing whatever is broken between us so we can play better together.

But the only answer I have is the one I can’t give him.

The longer I sit there saying nothing, the deeper his frown gets. I can see the frustration coming back, and I hate it. I hate that we just made some progress, that we managed to talk like normal people for about two minutes, and now I’m about to crawl right back into my shell because I can’t tell him how I feel.