Chapter 1

Chapter

One

OTTO

The Calder Cup is ours.

Victory is ours.

We are the best team in the league. Earned and proven.

Surrounding the cup, our bodies are sweaty, worn, and completely exhausted, but our blood is pumping with adrenaline. We feel nothing but elation. We are the highest we can be, at least for this season.

We gather around the cup, smiling so damn big that it would take something devastating to wipe it from our faces.

This is it.

This is the thing we worked our fucking asses off for.

We've made it.

I'm not sure there could be anything better than this moment.

The roar of the arena pulses through my entire body, mixing with the adrenaline, and it almost feels as if I'm floating. I think I could be. It feels as if I'm on the outside looking in.

Like I'm floating above and taking it all in. It's almost like an out-of-body experience. Pictures are taken, and fans eventually come down to the ice to congratulate and greet us.

This is the life.

This is everything I've ever wanted.

It's a dream come to fruition.

This is what I've always dared to dream.

My lips are permanently set in a smile. It's frozen on my face. I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to wipe it off—or if I will ever want to.

I doubt I will.

Because this is too perfect.

My heart races faster and faster. Then the crowds die down, well, except for the girls, the puck bunnies who are ready and willing to celebrate—hard. They are escorted out but let us know that they'll be waiting. They're always ready and waiting.

Coach Burns barks at us to head into the locker room after they've walked out of the arena. We follow behind him, and he makes his way to a bench. Standing up tall, attempting to tower over us as soon as we make our way inside.

Then he delivers a speech.

It's a good speech, rousing and exciting. I only half listen. My adrenaline is beginning to wane, and exhaustion is starting to set in. But I want to party, so I'm trying to stay the fuck awake.

When his speech is over, we all break and shower. The conversation is lively. The adrenaline begins to build again, but mainly because we're all ready to celebrate now. There are going to be parties, lots of booze, and sex…lots of sex.

Drying off with the provided white towel, I wrap it around my waist as I make my way toward my locker to change.

"You going to have a party?" Reid asks me as he tugs on his jeans.

He doesn't live with us anymore. His life has taken him to other places, like a woman. His woman. And Lorelai is fucking fantastic. They are happy, and she's the best thing that could ever happen to him. I'm sure they'll be doing their own partying tonight.

Looking over at him, I shake my head a couple of times. About a year ago, five of us bought a house together in a quiet neighborhood. It just so happened to be across the street from a whole houseful of gorgeous women.

Reid just so happened to fall in love with one of those women. With his Lorelai. Head over fucking heels in love with her. She is his life. I never would have imagined that something like that, love , could happen so fast.

That it would consume him.

That it would make him bigger and better than he ever was.

But it did for them. And last week, we all finalized the papers for the four of us who were left over, buying him out of the house. He bought a small starter home with Lorelai. A three-bedroom, two-bathroom, fifteen-hundred-square-foot new build.

It's a practical place.

Which I like because, unlike some of my teammates, I am all about what is practical. Calm, unwavering, realistic. Those are the words that are often used to describe me and words that I would use to describe myself as well.

Honestly, I thought I would have been the first one to fall, but there haven't been any women who have caught my eye for more than a passing glance and maybe one night. So, I'm single while my teammates, Thomas and Reid, have fallen.

"Yeah, we probably will. Can't imagine the girls would let us get away without having one. Especially with a win this big. Admit it, you miss it."

He laughs, shaking his head a couple of times. "A houseful of guys or a quiet home with just me and my woman? Man, I don't miss a single fucking second."

I burst out laughing as I tug on my jeans. "I have to confess that I'm jealous," I state. "Quiet, a woman, space. Can't say that I don't blame you."

He gives me a wink. "It'll happen for you, too. It'll hit you and consume you. It'll be the best moment of your whole life," Reid says.

I know he's not wrong. The funny thing is, all I've ever wanted in life are two things: The game and a family.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

A simple life where I play and come home to a houseful of kids and a woman who loves me. I try not to be jealous of Reid, but I want everything he has, and I only have half of it.

GRACE

Chewing on my bottom lip, I stare at the office door in front of me. There are two words in bold on a plaque next to the door. I know what they're going to say, and yet, I read them anyway and wonder what the hell I'm going to say to the man inside.

Coach Burns .

God.

He's going to kill me.

He's going to kill me dead.

I'm a disappointment. I'm a fraud and stupid. At least that's what my mother said to me. I can only imagine he'll say the same and worse. He's always been the hardest on me out of the two.

Lifting my hand, I ball my fist to knock. I don't get the chance, though. The door flies open. A man moves toward me, and I stumble backward, falling flat on my ass when I do. I'm sprawled out on the floor as I look up at him. He dips his chin, his eyes widening as he looks down at me.

I cannot breathe.

And not because he's knocked the air out of me, but because he's absolute perfection. Like stunning. Tall and muscular. His jeans fit like a second skin. Like they were sewn and created just for his body and nobody else's. And he's tall, so tall. He's gorgeous. Breathtakingly gorgeous.

"Sorry about that. You okay?" he asks, extending his arm, his hand palm up and waiting for me. His voice is like deep honey, sliding slowly through me.

Lifting my arm, I place my fingers in his, although I do it automatically, instinctually, not thinking about a single move. His hand is warm, his fingers strong as they curl around mine. He tugs me up from the floor until I'm on my feet.

"I'm okay," I whisper.

He releases my hand, gives me a wink, then brushes past me and heads toward the hallway. I want to follow him for more reasons than the fact that he's hot. I also don't want to face the man inside of that office.

I ball my fingers into a fist again and knock on the doorframe. I hear his gruff voice growl and take that as my cue to enter. I move into the room, and my eyes find him behind his desk and stay focused.

He doesn't look up. My father's head is dipped, and his attention is on whatever he's writing. I wait for him to look up, but he doesn't. He is focused as if he doesn't have time for whoever is standing across from him, or maybe he doesn't care. Probably the latter, if I know my father at all.

Clearing my throat, I stand in front of him and rock back on my heels, waiting.

It was an exciting game last night, from what I caught on television, and I'm surprised that he's here instead of at home resting. I'm sure he spent the whole night partying. I can remember when I was little, and he'd stay out all night after a big win… or a big loss.

When I don't say anything, eventually, he slowly lifts his head, his eyes finding mine, and they widen at the sight of me standing in front of him. Once the expression of shock wears off, it's replaced with utter anger.

"What in the actual fuck are you doing here?" he growls.

He's pissed off that I'm standing here. He's not happy to see his daughter, which doesn't surprise me. I don't think he's ever been happy to see me. Not when I was five, not now.

I think about lying to him. But I didn't come all this way to do that. No matter how badly I want to.

"I failed," I confess.

"Failed?" he asks, his voice and tone demanding and impatient.

Dipping my chin in a single nod, I flick my gaze down to my feet. Saying those two words was hard enough. I don't know how I'm going to explain exactly how I failed. But it's clear that my father wants more details.

And those are embarrassing—every single one of them. Straightening my shoulders, I square them, inhaling a deep breath. I hold it for a moment before I let it out slowly. My tongue slips out to slide across my lips.

Trying to think of how to put what's happened to me in words, I clear my throat and take a step backward. I want to run. I want to go as far away as I can, but I have nowhere to go. I ran away to here, after all.

"It doesn't matter how," I whisper. "I just failed, and I'm here for help."

I hope this is enough. I don't want to go into the details. I'm embarrassed enough as it is with just me knowing, let alone having to tell anyone, especially him.

He snorts. "Why are you here?" he asks. "Your mother turn you away."

My father and I aren't close, but he does know the exact dynamic of the relationship between my mother and me. And just my mother in general. He can't stand her. They've been divorced for over a decade, but he knows her better than anyone.

"She did," I say. Lifting my chin slightly, I look down my nose at him. "She doesn't understand. She told me that I would have to figure out life on my own now."

He shakes his head a couple of times. "I should say the same. Tough love and all that shit," he grunts.

I almost laugh at the love part. He's never expressed even an ounce of that toward me.

"But you're my daughter, and I can't just turn my back on you. That doesn't mean I'm going to make anything easy on you, Gracie."

I hate it when he calls me Gracie. I've never liked it. But right now, I can't really tell him that. He's my only hope for help. As much as I want to tell him to shut up when he calls me that, I can't.

"Thanks," I murmur.

I watch as my father stands, then walks around his desk before he takes a few steps toward me.

"Gracie," he calls out, his voice a bit softer than it was a few moments ago.

This is his tone when he's getting ready to tell me something that he knows I don't want to hear, will hurt my feelings, or when he's going to let me down easily. Although nothing is easy when it comes to my parents. They are selfish, wrapped up in their own lives, so much to the point that I think they forget about my existence unless I am in their faces, much like I am right now.

"You're going to need a job and to get your own place. I'll help you with deposits and all of that," he says. "And then you're going to need a plan for the future."

"Okay," I whisper.

"Now, let's get some dinner. You can tell me what the fuck happened. You can also tell me about that fuckwit your mother married."

I almost groan. The thought of not only telling my father why I failed but also about my mother's husband simultaneously makes me want to puke. I'm not sure I'll be able to eat and hold down dinner.

But he walks past me and expects me to follow him—which I do. Because I'm forever the good daughter, even when they don't deserve me.