1. Maddox

Chapter 1

Maddox

One Year Later

One year.

Well, fourteen months and two days, to be exact.

That's how long I'd been sidelined, watching on as my team struggled without me being on the ice as their leader.

I had been a helpless bystander, stuck in the press box when the Speed lost the championship a year ago, mere weeks after I was injured. They'd fought hard in my absence but still came up two wins short of winning it all. It was torture knowing that if I had been out there with them, I could have contributed, perhaps turning a couple of the losses in that final series into wins.

My entire career now boiled down to what-ifs.

What if I hadn't been out there on that exact shift?

What if I hadn't skated hard enough to beat Hartley to the boards ?

What if I hadn't wasted an extra second scanning the ice, instead trusting that my defensemen were stationed at the blue lines and ringing the puck along the boards to them while continuing to skate?

What if I hadn't taken the penalty against the Comets the year prior, and we won that year?

It was enough to drive a man insane. But none of those questions compared to the one that kept me up most nights.

What if I hadn't fucked around so much in my younger days and had settled down?

Since the injury, my life had been lonely. Even after getting back onto my feet, the female companionship that had been a constant due to my status as a professional athlete dried up. None of the puck bunnies—girls looking to score with a hockey player—were interested in a guy whose skates might never touch the ice again. Honestly, I couldn't even be mad at them for being shallow. I'd used it to my advantage to get laid for over a decade. And I was willing to bet that as soon as I was back on the ice, it would be like a switch flipped, and they'd all fall right into my arms again.

But I couldn't help but wonder what having a partner might have been like this past year. Someone committed to me who cared about the person I was beyond the game I played. Someone who would have been by my side during the recovery because they were my person, and my status on the injury report was secondary to the life we shared .

And it sure didn't help that my closest friends were marriage-minded.

Not long after the championship loss, it came out that Braxton hadn't just requested a trade from the Comets; he'd demanded it. All because of a girl who had broken his trust. He'd explained that he flew off the handle, needing to get away. But when she showed up in Minneapolis—where we had been playing against the Freeze in the finals—they'd hashed it out and gotten back together.

That summer, I got to know her, as Braxton was still crashing at my place and they were splitting their time between Indianapolis and Hartford. Dakota was a sweet girl and perfect for Braxton. Their young love made me smile while at the same time making my chest ache, knowing I didn't have someone who looked at me like I was their reason for living. By the time the season began that fall, Dakota had moved to Indy and they'd bought a house together.

Jenner took over as my companion after Braxton moved out. He was the one by my side during the extensive rehabbing of my knee, which took far longer than anyone had expected. Getting old was a bitch, and my body had no problem reminding me of that after each physical therapy session. Jenner didn't mind not going out with the rest of the team to Pipes, the local karaoke bar the Speed claimed as their post-game hangout. Instead, he was content grabbing a quiet beer at my place and watching the highlights on the local sports broadcast.

While I was the one physically wounded, Jenner's heart had taken a hit. A while back, his wife had left him. The divorce was painful, and I knew he was still in love with her, so he rarely went out with the team. Three years later, he still wasn't ready to move on.

Between Braxton and Jenner, I'd witnessed both sides of the relationship spectrum—the all-consuming love and the gut-wrenching heartbreak. Maybe I was better off single, after all.

Having a wife and a family seemed like a good idea when you were alone, but in reality, it came with a heavy dose of responsibility. I might be thirty-five now, but I wasn't sure I was ready to have someone entirely dependent on me—whether it be a woman or children. I was still too focused on my career.

What was left of it anyway .

Placing me on long-term injured reserve for an entire season had allowed the Speed to use my salary cap hit to pick up additional players. None of it was enough to see us be competitive after coming so close and failing to achieve the ultimate goal. We hadn't even made the playoffs the season following the championship loss.

That didn't sit well with management, and they fired Coach Avery, who had been at the helm in Indy for the past seven years. Rumors were still swirling over who they might hire to replace him, but no decision had been made public yet.

I didn't care who the new coach was, so long as I got to play. That was my primary focus—getting back out there with my teammates.

That was how I found myself standing atop a balance stability trainer—half a ball attached to a flat platform—on my bad leg, bending my knee to a ninety-degree angle before straightening. My entire weight was being held on a wobbly platform on a reconstructed knee as sweat rolled down my back. Gritting against a twinge I felt when I lowered myself for the tenth time, I pushed through.

Bad idea.

My knee buckled, and I crashed to the floor.

I was in the gym at Speed Arena, and Jenner was twenty feet away doing his own workout.

"Oh shit!" Jenner's voice called out over the music we had filtering through the speakers built into the walls.

Closing my eyes, I let out a breath. My pride was hurt more than anything else. Knowing I couldn't hold my body weight on that knee for long didn't spell good news for being reinstated to the team.

Jenner rolled me onto my back, and when I forced my eyes open, his concerned brown ones scanned my face. "You okay? How's the knee?"

"Fuck the knee." I huffed, sitting up on my own power.

"You're pushing yourself too hard."

Whipping my head around, I snapped at my best friend. "Too hard? That's a joke, right? It's been over a year, and your definition of ‘pushing it too hard' is ten single-leg squats on a stability trainer?"

He slid off his backward-facing Speed ballcap and ran fingers through his auburn hair before replacing it. Blowing out a heavy breath, he clarified, "I just meant it's not worth injuring something else. If the knee's not ready, it's not ready. You can't rush the process."

"What process?" I spat. "The one where I'm about to fail my physical and be placed on long-term IR for the second straight season? The last season of my current contract, I might add."

The compassion in his eyes was what made it finally feel real. He already knew what I wasn't allowing myself to accept. That it was over. That I wasn't going to lace up for the Speed—or any other team, for that matter—ever again.

What the hell was I supposed to do now?

"Come in!" Jared McCall, general manager of the Indy Speed, shouted through the thick wooden door to his office inside the arena.

Turning the handle, I let myself inside.

It had been two weeks since I fell in the gym, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get my fucking body to cooperate. The one thing I had always been able to count on—that had gotten me to where I was—had failed me .

The career of Maddox Sterling had been reduced to a bum knee taking him out of the game for good.

Jared smiled when I walked in, gesturing for me to take a seat opposite where he sat behind his massive desk. This was an office I didn't often find myself in, so I allowed myself a moment to look around as I lowered my six-three, two-hundred-ten-pound frame into one of the chairs.

The focal point was a massive glass wall behind the desk, overlooking the arena. While I knew management sat in a luxury suite on game days, this wasn't a half-bad view either. On the wall were photographs of his own career achievements. He had played and won a championship with the Houston Heroes alongside Ace Moreau, who coached the Connecticut Comets. There was the tiniest pang of jealousy that he had reached the pinnacle and now kept his hand in the game by orchestrating the moves of an entire franchise.

"Maddox, I wish I had better news for you today," he began, and I forced myself to focus on the meeting.

He didn't have to say what I already knew. "I failed my physical."

With a nod, Jared confirmed my words. "I'm sorry."

"Not as sorry as I am," I muttered under my breath.

"No man is ever ready to leave the game they love behind, and it's unfortunate that the choice of when that occurred was taken from you."

I shrugged. There really wasn't anything to say.

"However, I do feel you are an asset to the Speed organization and would like to offer you a job."

My ears perked up, and I imagined myself in the broadcast booth. Cal Berg had made a similar move two years ago after his retirement, and it didn't seem like a bad gig. I would still get to travel with the team and connect with the players regularly .

"As you know, we still have not named a head coach." Jared's words snapped me out of my daydream.

"Coach?" My voice came out strangled.

Giving me a warm smile, he nodded. "Yes, coach. This past year, you've remained involved, even without being able to play. I've seen the way you coach up the players, pointing out sections of film that might be useful. You know the game, but beyond that, you know these players. An inside hire of a former player might just be the spark we need to get back to where we were a year ago."

I still couldn't believe my ears. Pointing to my chest, I asked, "You want me to be the head coach of the Speed?"

Jared chuckled. "I think you have what it takes, Maddox. Our team is young and fresh, so it only makes sense that our choice of bench boss reflects that. Too many coaches around the league are stuck in the past, but you've seen firsthand how the game is changing. We can use your recent playing experience to our advantage. You've been out there against many of our opponents and know how best to beat them. We wouldn't have been on the doorstep of a championship without your leadership."

I rubbed my chest against the ache of that defeat; it was still a sore spot, even a year later.

"And I believe that's what's going to get us over the hump. Our time is coming. I can feel it in my bones. So, what do you say? Do you want to have a part in making all those men's—and your—dreams come true?"

My playing days were over, even if that was hard to accept. This was a chance to make up for what I'd lost, to still be on the ice with my boys, guiding them as they went to battle. I would be in the thick of it every single day. You couldn't get much closer to the game unless you were physically playing it.

I'd be an idiot to refuse .

Rising to my feet, I stretched my hand across his desk. "You've got yourself a coach."

Jared stood, clasping my hand in his and shaking. "Glad to have you back, Coach Sterling."

For the first time since the injury, I was able to look forward to what lay ahead instead of lamenting the past and wishing I could change it.

And I knew exactly what my first order of business would be as the new head coach of the Speed.

"I thought we were here to work out," Jenner said when I bypassed the gym and headed for the team locker room instead.

"We'll get to that," I promised. "But I have something I want to show you first."

I could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke behind me. "I don't know what to tell you, Maddox. You gotta keep using the ointment until the rash clears." I rolled my eyes as he continued, "And honestly, in cases such as these, it's best to be proactive. If you stop bringing strange women home, you'll stop catching diseases on your dick."

Snorting, I huffed out, "I'm getting about as much action as you are at the moment. Maybe save the safe sex speech for the rookies."

Jenner pretended to sound affronted. "Well, excuuuuuuse me for trying to help."

Turning into the locker room, I stood to the side so I could view Jenner's reaction to my surprise. Eyeing me skeptically, he scanned the nearly empty stalls. It was still the off-season, and this room wouldn't be filled with the players' gear for a few months.

Finally, his gaze landed on the lone Speed jersey hanging from a stall in the center. The red fabric, featuring a black racecar emblem, popped against the light wood accents of the room.

Jenner's breathing hitched before his head whipped to me. "What is this?"

Nodding toward the jersey, I prompted, "Why don't you go see for yourself."

Stepping forward cautiously, he crossed to where the jersey—his jersey—hung. Fingering the material, his touch traced a path over the black C stitched in the upper left corner of the chest, indicating that he was the captain of the Indianapolis Speed.

He stepped back, shaking his head. "No. I can't accept this."

Clapping a hand on his shoulder, I smiled at my best friend on the team. "You did a good thing, holding it for me while I was out injured last year. But we both know a captain leads from the ice, not the press box."

When he met my eye, I could see my pain reflected in his. He was holding onto my career as tightly as I had. He came into the league after me, so I'd always been there for him. He wasn't ready to let me go, to take my place. And while I could respect that, it was time to move on, to move forward.

It was a new era for the Speed, and this time, I would be leading from behind the bench.

"Maddox." Jenner's voice broke. "You're the captain."

"That's where you're wrong. I'm the head coach. You are the captain."

Brown eyes bulged at my announcement. "Head coach?"

I held out both arms. "What? Do I not look like head coach material?"

His gaze sharpened. "You better not be fucking with me right now. "

Laughing, I gave him a playful punch to the shoulder. "Signed the papers last night. It's official. Say hello to your new bench boss."

Jenner pulled me in for a hug, slapping me on the back a few times for good measure. Stepping back, he shook his head. "Unreal."

"Yeah." I huffed out a laugh. "Almost couldn't believe it myself when McCall offered me the job. Said something about wanting a young, fresh head coach to match the energy of the team." Smirking, I threw in, "Clearly, he forgot about your old ass out there."

At thirty-one, Jenner was a few years younger than me. Even though, for most people, he was relatively young, in sports, he was in the back half of his career. His most recent contract ran for three more years, but I knew firsthand how that didn't mean shit. Terms and signatures on paper didn't hold up when your body gave out.

Shoving me, he stepped past where I stood to take the jersey off the hanger and slipped it over his head. He did a slow spin, showcasing his name, Knight, and number, seventy-five, stitched onto the back.

"Looks good on you," I mused.

Smirking, Jenner replied, "Well, red is my color, so there's that."

We both chuckled. As a redheaded man, he took his fair share of teasing over it, but no one knew better than Jenner how to lean in and laugh with the group instead of letting them laugh at him.

"Tell me the truth," Jenner said.

I raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"How hard are you gonna ride us?"

Keeping a straight face, I replied, "So hard that you won't miss getting laid."

Head tipped back, Jenner's booming laughter filled the space. Pretending to wipe tears from his eyes, he took deep breaths as he came back down. "Fuck, it's good to have you back. "

Yeah, it felt pretty fucking great to be back with the Speed. Even if my role had changed.

This was my team. This was where I belonged.