Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

LUKE

The wooden photo frame creaks beneath the pressure of my hands. Part of me wants to break the frame already. I ache to throw it against a wall and shatter the glass into a million pieces.

But I know that act will get me nowhere.

If I throw one thing, it will break the dam on my restraint. I'd be picking up anything and everything I could find to destroy.

My anger is a dragon inside me, a ferocious beast clawing to come out. Right beneath it sits sadness and fear.

I don't know what to do anymore. I have no clue how I'm supposed to go on every single day for the rest of my life without the one person who cared for me.

Sure, I still had another parent around. My father would never let me forget that I was his son. He'd never let me live it down that I carried the family name.

He didn't love me, though. He never had. I'm not even sure he loved my mother, if I were to be honest.

I zip my bag and lug it down the staircase. My parent’s butler Renault meets me there. He gives me a sad smile, dipping his head once. I can still see the tears lining his eyes, letting me know he, too, is still trying to adjust to the stillness of the house.

My mother had an energy about her. She was always moving, always going somewhere. It's what made her great on screen. She came alive for the audience. People loved to watch her tell a story through her movements and her grace.

Unfortunately, it's also how my father found her. One look, and he was done for, is how he tells it.

"She was everything I wanted and more," he says.

What I always hear is, "I saw an opportunity, and I took it. I caught the biggest movie star around and tied her to me for all eternity.”

Or at least he thought it would be for that long.

One senseless act of violence changed everything.

A late-night drive for some ice cream because my father refused to go get it means I no longer have a mother. I no longer have a family.

As annoyed as he was, my father still should have had someone go with her. He has enough money to pay for a driver.

Renault loads my bag into the back of my car. I turn to take one last look at the house I grew up in, at the home that always felt welcoming thanks to the woman who ensured my return.

Now I stare at it. It looks less like a home and more like a museum. Like some piece of history frozen in time that I'll never be able to experience again.

I'm climbing in the driver's seat when I see my father step out of the front door. His hands are firmly tucked away in his pockets, his gaze hard.

I've yet to see him cry at the loss.

Sure, he’s said some passionate words and pleaded with everyone to give the family time to adjust. We both know that it was him buying time to try and convince me to change my mind.

The day I got the call that my mother was taken from this world was the day I decided my career was over. At the top of my game, no one could touch me on the ice. I had offers pouring in that would have made me an even richer man than my father by the time it was said and done.

I didn't want any of it, much to my father’s dismay. Not anymore.

Mom always supported my dreams. She believed in me before the fame. She'd come to my games and cheer me on, never once complaining, even when I was a grumpy teen trying to figure myself out. We'd have dinner afterwards, and I'd get her that beloved ice cream she always craved — one scoop of coffee flavor and one scoop of caramel.

Now, when I think of hockey, all I can picture is her face smiling up at me, telling me what a great job I've done. But playing and not being able to hear those words from her would kill me. I can't even think of getting on the ice again without wanting to burst into tears.

As much as the NHL would love to see me continue to play, there's no way I'm putting myself through that type of torment. I used a loophole to get out of my contracts and told them I was retiring.

Everyone chalked it up to the pain and sorrow of losing a family member. They all assume I'll be back with time.

What none of them know is that I've actually taken a job up in Bellport, Louisiana. This medium-sized city is kind of an empty spot on the map.

Not really empty, but really easy to skip over.

They were nobodies a couple of years back. Then, last year, seemingly out of nowhere, they went on to win the Stanley Cup.

What they’ve done is astounding, and though I don't want to get on the ice and play, I can't completely leave the sport behind. I need to do something involving hockey, so why not coach it?

I'm young enough to be relatable to the guys, yet old enough to have experience in the NHL that many of them have yet to have. Plus, Jake Bellport was a rather convincing owner when he talked me into it. He reminds me of my mom, his energy levels through the roof. There will never be a dull moment working for him.

After a few phone calls with him and a video chat, I told him I had to think about his offer. With the funeral hanging over me, he knew I needed time. He told me to just come on down and let him know when I was around. He swore he could get me all set up with a place to live and anything I needed.

Well, now, I’m cashing in those favors. My place is all packed, and I’m driving down to Bellport this weekend.

I stand back up out of the car as I face my father, all thoughts of my future job pushed aside. He takes slow steps forward until he's on the other side of the vehicle.

His voice, the one that people swear is amazing, grates across my skin as he speaks. "Where are you going?" he demands. He still talks to me like I’m some unruly teen rather than a grown ass man.

"Home," I tell him.

He frowns. "This is your home, Lucas."

I flinch at the name. I've never enjoyed him calling me that.

I'm Luke.

I've always been Luke.

And occasionally… Well, best not to think of my kinks while facing my demons. I’d rather they never meet.

My father can't stand to hear the nickname despite it being what I’ve always told him to call me. Shaking my head, I tell him, "This isn't home. She was home. This is just a building that you sleep in and host business parties at. I'm going to my real home.”

Though I don't know exactly where that is. Not that I tell him that, of course, because he will flip his shit. Then he’ll once again demand my attention and tell me to come inside so he can fix me.

“I understand you're grieving, but this is getting…”

I hold up a hand. “This is getting nothing. And what do you know about my grieving? You have yet to show any compassion other than a few flowery words about the woman you were married to for nearly forty years. While I sat in the front pew sobbing my eyes out, wishing that this was a nightmare, you were making sure there wasn't a speck of lint on your suit and rehearsing your speech in your head. And don't tell me you weren't because I watched you, Father. I saw everything. I know everything.”

His body stiffens, the fight returning to his eyes. I know that look of anger better than anyone because I'm usually the source of his ire.

Why play hockey when we have plenty of money?

Why not use those good looks to go into movies like your parents?

Why do you insist on being a disgrace to the Swift name?

I've heard it all before, and I'm sure I'll hear it plenty more. Unless, of course, I block his number. The thought of knowing I never have to speak to him again, never have to deal with his bullshit again, sends a little thrill through me.

“Do what you want,” he says. “But if you leave, you can never come back.”

I scoff. “That was already in the plans, Father. Have fun with your money, and hopefully, your next wife doesn't get murdered because you're too lazy to take care of her.”

He doesn't flinch at the remark, nor does he lash back out. He simply takes a step back, watching me climb in and then drive off down the long, pebbled driveway.

I don't look at my rearview mirror. Not once.

There's nothing left for me to see there. All I need to do is get to Bellport and figure out what the future looks like.

The moving van driver is waiting for me to tell them where to go. My new life starts now.

It takes two full days for me to get to Bellport. Part of it is wanting to enjoy the trip since I never get to drive myself for long periods of time. The other is because the pain of Mom dying is so fresh I find myself losing it any time a memory of her pops up.

I don't want to be this person; this man swarmed in his grief. Yet I can’t just push it all aside. It'll only come boiling back up if I do.

By the time I reach the city limits, I'm resolved. My mother would not want me to wallow like this. She would want me to remember her and be happy. She would want me to continue to do something with hockey since I loved it so much, even if the idea of playing a game myself makes me want to hurl.

So I make a vow then and there that I'll do my best to take care of things. I'm going to be the best hockey coach the NHL has ever seen. I'm going to make Jake Bellport happy with his decision to bring me in despite never having coached a team. And I'm going to make Mom smile at me from wherever she is in her next life.

Oh, and maybe I’ll actually find my dream boy I’ve been hoping for since the day I discovered BDSM during my first year in the league.

Of course, that last one is more hope than reality. Despite attending every mixer, munch, and mutual friend meetup I could, I’ve never really found someone I could spend more than a night or two with.

Unlike some of the other Doms I know; I much prefer to take care of my boy entirely. Some might even say obsessively.

I’ve been called overbearing more than once in my life.

Which, of course, makes it hard to connect when all I want to do is bundle my dream boy up and take away all his worries. Oh, to dream.

I park in the hockey arena's staff parking lot. The moving truck is a few hours behind me, so I need to give them some kind of instructions on where to go besides sending them directly here with me.

Jake Bellport texted me this morning saying he would be here all day working on some things. He's assured me he's got some big changes coming across the board. Changes that will make the next season more challenging, yet also line us up for another big win.

Apparently, I’m not the only new guy coming in.

When I get inside the arena, chills spread down my spine. Not because it's cold or anything like that. It might be a different setup with different team colors, but it's still a hockey rink. It's still a place that's so ingrained in my bones simply from what it stands for.

I follow the signs that point in the direction of the office. I figure that's where Jake will be. No one stops me as I wander through the halls. I guess seeing a former NHL star here isn’t a big deal for them. Or maybe Jake told them I was coming. Either way, I make a note to check on the security of things. Don’t need any superfans or ill-intentioned people making their way inside.

Through the glass, I can see into the office space as I approach. It doesn't look like any normal one I've seen. There are streamers everywhere and it looks like a confetti bomb went off. I also spot two men huddled together under what looks like a sheet tent.

Opening the door, I step through to the sound of a bell jingling. Both men turn my way, eyes wide. The smaller of the two scrambles out from under the sheet and stands, quickly dusting himself off.

"You must be Coach Swift," he says as he extends his hand.

As I shake it, I feel how soft and smooth his fingers are. If his size hadn't given it away, then this would be further confirmation that he's not a hockey player.

Not one of my guys. Got it.

The reassurance of that thought is unsettling because the young man in front of me is undeniably my type. Small, but with a leanness to him that isn't sickly. His features are angelic, as if he has all these little secrets he'd share if only you asked. The soft smile on his face makes me want to pull him close and stare into those glowing brown orbs for as long as he would let me.

He’d be the most perfect boy. I just know it.

I shake myself off the thought because I still don't know who this guy is. Eventually I answer with, "Yeah, I'm Coach Swift."

It still doesn't sound right to my head, but it is what it is. It's my title.

"Coach!” The other guy in the tent cheers as he tumbles out of the sheet. Or at least he tries. His foot catches on the fabric itself, which then comes ripping down and wrapping around his lower body. Splayed out on the floor, he looks up at me with a grin. "Nice to meet you, Coach. I'm Jake."

My eyes widen as I look from the young man whose hand I'm still shaking to Jake Bellport.

"Timothy, you should let the new coach go. We don't have to hold him hostage. He's already agreed and signed a contract."

The man named Timothy jolts as if he's been electrocuted. He yanks his hand away and blushes a light pink color. It's faint yet adorable, nonetheless.

Sweet boy. I wonder how far that pink goes down.

No. Dammit, Luke. Focus!

"Nice to meet you, Timothy,” I tell him before turning back to Jake. "And you too, Boss."

He pushes the sheet off his body then stands. “None of that boss mess. I'm just Jake, unless you're Timothy here who insists on calling me Mr. Bellport. Like we're not besties.”

Timothy pouts, and I swear it takes everything in me not to groan at how fucking adorable he is. "What did I tell you about the besties thing when we're in mixed company?"

Jake throws his hands up. "It's too confusing, okay? And the season hasn't fully started. Has it?”

Watching the two of them together is adorable. How Jake owns and manages this team is beyond me. It’s vastly different from the hockey owners I’ve known and worked with in the past.

He turns to me after a long stare off with Timothy. “Can I call you Luke or do you want to be called coach? Maybe Swift? Swifty."

I chuckle. This man is so similar to Mom that it eases the ache inside me. "You could just call me Luke or Coach. Definitely not Swifty.”

Timothy bites his lip, looking like he wants to burst into laughter but is holding back for a professional tone. Jake, however, lets out a shriek of laughter that has my cheeks hurting from how bright I smile.

He claps me on the shoulder. "You're gonna fit in perfectly here, Luke. I have some big plans, and I think you'll like them once the shock wears off. I haven't brought it all up to the board yet. Figured you should be the first to know since you’ll have to work directly with them.”

As he explains his plan, I realize how in over my head I am. Not only do I still not know who Timothy is or what he does, but I'm finding out that Jake Bellport is more sinister than I thought. He's decided to bring in two of the biggest titans of the hockey world, who also happen to be rivals, and put them on one team.

And I'm going to have to coach them.

Oh, and neither of them is going to know about the trades until they get here.

Yes, that sounds like a recipe for disaster. At the same time, it could be one of the greatest challenges I face. Next season could also be a great distraction for this year. So much has changed in such a short amount of time that I can't imagine adding anything else to my plate.

Which is why, despite how much I want to wrap Timothy in my arms and pepper him with questions about himself, I don't. I shift my focus to what I came to Bellport for, and that's to be the best damn hockey coach these Bears have ever seen.

Romance will only be a distraction.

I can't afford that right now.