Chapter One

Leo

The locker room buzzed with the sounds of clattering sticks and muted conversations, a familiar cacophony that had once felt like home. But today, every noise seemed amplified, each clink of metal and scrape of blades on concrete heightening my anxiety. I sat on the wooden bench, methodically lacing up my skates. Each pull on the laces was deliberate, almost meditative. Eleven months. Eleven grueling, painful months had led to this moment. Each knot I tied felt like a small victory, a tangible reminder of the arduous journey back to the ice.

My reflection in the mirrored locker door stared back at me with eyes that had seen too much pain. They had hardened over the months, now holding a steely determination that hadn't been there before. I looked down at the scar just above my knee, a jagged line etched into my flesh, a permanent reminder of that night. The memory of the snap, the sound of my bone breaking, and the cold, calculating eyes of Sawyer Steele haunted me. The pain and frustration of every therapy session, every sleepless night, flashed before me as I tied the final lace. I had to push those memories away now. This was my comeback, the moment I'd fought so hard for.

I glanced around the locker room at my teammates. They were my brothers on the ice, each one familiar in their routines, their pre-practice rituals. Mateo Alvarez, my best friend and the guy who had been my rock through this whole ordeal, was strapping on his pads nearby. He caught my eye and gave me a nod, his expression a mix of support and concern.

"You got this, Giordano," Mateo said, his voice steady and reassuring.

I forced a smile, though it felt tight and unnatural. "Sure hope so."

The door creaked open, and the room fell into an uneasy silence. Coach Nottingham strode in, and behind him was the one person I wasn't prepared to see—Sawyer Steele. My breath caught in my throat, and my pulse quickened. The air grew thick with tension, and every pair of eyes darted towards Sawyer, to me, and back again.

"Alright, listen up," Coach Nottingham's voice sliced through the tension like a knife. "We've got a new addition to the team. I expect you to treat him as one of our own." He stepped aside, and there he was, standing in full view. "Sawyer Steele, everyone. He'll be number 19."

A ripple of shock ran through the locker room. I felt Mateo tense beside me, and the whispers started immediately. Faces that had been relaxed a moment ago were now etched with surprise and disbelief. I tried to control my breathing, tried to keep my expression neutral, but it was hard. The locker room, usually filled with camaraderie, now buzzed with a mix of curiosity and unease.

Sawyer took a step forward, scanning the room until his gaze landed on me. "I know my presence here isn't easy for some of you, especially you, Giordano." His voice was steady, but I detected a hint of uncertainty in it. "I came here because I want to make things right. What happened last year was an accident, but I'm sure it probably didn't feel that way. Sorry to hear what you've been through."

I stood up, feeling a rush of anger. The words came out sharper than I intended. "Sorry? You think saying ‘sorry' is going to change what you did? You deliberately went after me. Don't act like it was some accident."

The blonde athlete's expression grew hard, and he took a step forward. "Are you accusing me of something, Giordano? The authorities had plenty of time to review the footage, and if anyone suspected that an actual crime had been committed, I would have been taken into custody. But I wasn't. So if I were you, I'd be careful what you say to me, or about me. Especially now that we're on the same team. I'm sure you were disappointed to have missed playing this past season, but grow up and blame the game, not the player."

Coach Nottingham stepped in, his gaze unwavering. "Look, Leo, we need to move forward as a team. This season isn't about holding onto the past. It's about what we do next. Sawyer's a Warlords player now, and we need to stand together."

I could feel every eye in the room on me, waiting for my reaction. Could I really set aside my anger? Could I trust this guy who had caused me so much pain?

Sawyer smirked, his gaze never leaving mine.

My leg throbbed with a phantom pain, the scar a constant, painful reminder. Slowly, deliberately, I ran my hand through my dark hair and extended it to him, not out of trust, but to keep up appearances. "You've got a lot to prove, Steele. Don't screw this up."

Sawyer took my hand, laughter dancing in his eyes.

The tension in the room eased slightly, like a collective exhale. Coach nodded, a brief smile flickering across his face. "Alright then, enough drama. Let's get out there and practice like a team. We've got a game to prepare for."

The team started to file out, the murmurs turning back to locker room banter. I took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside me. As I headed toward the rink, Mateo caught up with me, his expression concerned.

"You sure about this?" he asked quietly, his eyes searching mine.

"No," I admitted, feeling the weight of my words. "But what choice do I have? We're a team. If Coach thinks we need him, then we need him."

Mateo nodded slowly. "You're a better man than me, Leo. I'd have knocked him flat."

"Trust me, it crossed my mind," I said, managing a wry smile. "But we need to win this season. I can't let personal grudges get in the way." At least, not openly, I added silently to myself. We stepped onto the ice, and the familiar chill sent a shiver of anticipation through me. The rink, the scent of the ice, the echo of skates—it all felt like coming home. I took my place, feeling the eyes of my teammates on me and Sawyer.

Coach Nottingham's whistle pierced the air, signaling the start of drills. I threw myself into training, pushing my body to its limits, testing the strength of my leg. Each stride, each shot, each pass was a statement. No doubt about it; I was back, and I was stronger than ever. And I was going to watch my rival like a hawk, analyzing his every move and learning his weaknesses, waiting for the perfect moment to strike back.

To my surprise, Sawyer skated with a determination and grace that hadn't been there before. He was focused, disciplined, and seemed genuinely invested in the team. But I couldn't shake the feeling that this was just an act, a way to worm his way into our trust.

During a break, Sawyer approached me, holding a water bottle. "How's the leg?" he asked.

"It's holding up," I replied, watching him closely, searching for cracks in his facade.

He smiled. "I meant what I said, you know. Let's let bygones be bygones."

I nodded slowly, masking my skepticism. "Actions speak louder than words."

Sawyer's grin widened. "I'll keep that in mind."

The rest of practice went by in a blur of drills and exercises. I focused on my game, pushing myself harder, faster. My leg held up, though it ached with the strain. I could feel my strength returning, my confidence growing with each successful pass and each well-placed shot. Every drill, every pass, I was calculating, planning. Sawyer's apology might have fooled some, but not me. I'd find a way to even the score.

As we gathered for a final huddle, Coach Nottingham's gaze swept over us, his expression serious. "Good work today, everyone. We've got a lot to prove this season, and I know we can do it if we work together." His eyes lingered on me and Sawyer, a subtle reminder of the fragile truce we were navigating. "Remember, this team is only as strong as the bond between us. Let's make it count."

We broke with a unified cheer, and I felt a surge of determination. I had faced my demons and emerged stronger. The road ahead was uncertain, but for the first time since the injury, I felt a glimmer of hope. Since I'd been sidelined, the Warlords had suffered a streak of losses. Maybe, just maybe, we could turn this team back into a force to be reckoned with. But I wasn't about to let Sawyer off the hook that easily.

As I skated off the ice, I glanced back at him. Our eyes met, and for a brief moment, I saw a flicker of shadow cross his face. Did it signify guilt, perhaps a desire for redemption? But the moment passed, and then he grinned, giving me a wink when no one else was looking. Bastard.

I took a deep breath, letting the cold air fill my lungs. Back in the locker room, the atmosphere was lighter, the tension from earlier somewhat diffused. Teammates slapped me on the back, giving words of encouragement and cracking jokes. It was good to be back, surrounded by the familiar banter and camaraderie. I changed out of my gear, every movement a reminder of the long road I had traveled to get here.

As I sat on the bench, packing up my things, I couldn't shake the burning desire for revenge that consumed me. Sawyer's presence was a constant reminder of the pain he had caused, both physically and emotionally. As I packed up my gear, my mind raced with thoughts of payback. There had to be a way to make him suffer, to level the playing field once and for all.

As I slipped on my jacket, the idea hit me like a lightning bolt. Running him over with a car—a fitting punishment for the damage he had inflicted on me. The thought sent a surge of adrenaline coursing through my veins. It was tempting, oh so tempting, but I quickly pushed it aside. That would only land me in jail, and then he'd win.

But there were other ways to make him pay. Maybe an anonymous tip to the league about Sawyer's alleged use of performance-enhancing drugs. It was a risky move, but if it paid off, it could tarnish his reputation irreparably. He'd be banned from the league, his dreams shattered just like he had shattered mine.

I couldn't help but smirk at the thought. Revenge was sweet, and Sawyer had it coming. He might have fooled Coach Nottingham and some of my teammates, but he hadn't fooled me. I'd keep my enemies close, bide my time, and when the moment was right, I'd strike. Sawyer Steele would regret ever crossing me.

With a newfound sense of determination, I slung my gear bag over my shoulder and headed out of the locker room. The city streets were alive with the hustle and bustle of evening commuters, but my mind was elsewhere, consumed by thoughts of vengeance. As I drove home, the plan took shape in my mind, each detail carefully calculated. Sawyer might have thought he had gotten away with it, but he had no idea what was coming for him. I'd make him pay for what he had done, one way or another. And when I was finished, he'd wish he had never stepped foot on the ice again.

The darkness of the night enveloped me as I arrived home, parking my Escalade in the expansive garage on my private estate outside town. With a grim smile, I stepped inside, the weight of my anger and determination heavy on my shoulders. The road ahead would be treacherous, but I was ready to walk it. Sawyer had unleashed a beast he couldn't control, and now he'd have to face the consequences. Tomorrow was a new day, a fresh opportunity to set my plan in motion. As I settled in for the night, the glow of a full moon outside my window casting shadows across the room, I couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. Revenge was on the horizon, and Sawyer Steele had better watch his back. He might have thought he had won, but the game was far from over. And this time, I was playing to win.