2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Leo

The familiar burn in my thighs intensifies as I chase Wyatt down, back-checking to prevent him from scoring on us. Sweat trickles down my back, the ice beneath my skates no longer pristine. Swear being off the ice for one week makes coming back feel like I’ve never skated in my life. Like my muscles forgot what the fuck to do.

With a growl, I push off the inside edge, extending my arm and stick, hoping to gain just enough reach to knock the puck off his blade. While this may be a scrimmage, my best friend and I play like it’s an actual game, both of us competitive as fuck. But being six years younger than me, he’s a bit faster and pulls some fancy stick handling, shooting the puck from between his legs.

He turns and takes a bow, gliding to the other side of the net. Then he stands to his full height, tapping his chin and looking up at the rafters. “What was it you said to me? Oh, yeah. ‘Don’t get to choose your nickname’. Sucks for you Sparkles .”

Mother. Fucking. Clanton.

My jaw clenches, a muscle twitching in my cheek. Not a day goes by where I don’t regret becoming friends with Wyatt at least once. Sometimes it’s on the ice. Other times it’s when he decides—a bad decision I might add—to make me the target of his jokes.

He’s like an annoying little brother, like one who enjoys hiding Legos on the floor, waiting for me to step on them.

Except this time, he’s not completely at fault. “Thought you agreed to drop it, Virgin. But I’ll gladly shut that mouth of yours if I need to.”

Because life hasn’t handed me enough lemons, I have to get stuck with Sparkles as my nickname. And all because of that hell demon I live with.

Stella.

My daughter.

All spice and nothing nice.

Wyatt snorts. “Ooo, look I’m shaking.”

His laughter rings in my ears fueling my irritation, and now I’m determined to prove a point. A point I don't think is going anywhere since he has his hands up, curling them my way, daring me to hit him.

I take a slapshot at him instead, but the asshole dodges, then winks. “Gotta be quicker than that, Sparkles .”

The bastard.

“Cap, you’re blinding me with all that light reflecting you’re doin’.” Smitty mocks needing to shade his eyes with his goalie glove. “No wonder we’re losing.”

Coach blows the whistle, his arms crossed as he levels us with a glare. Swear his nose even flares. “How ’bout you morons get your head into practice. That’ll be fan-fucking-tastic for a change.”

Great.

Now I’m in trouble. That never happens.

“Come on, Coach. You love us.” Of course my best friend isn’t fazed. Nope, the fucker bats his eyes at our coach, as if he forgot the deep shit he was in just a few months ago.

Our season hasn’t been going that well. Most of us are still getting used to playing with one another. As a new expansion team, we aren’t a solid group that has built chemistry yet.

And it’s not just our skills. There’s still trust issues to overcome. None of us have really opened up to the team yet.

Like Wyatt.

I’m still pissed he kept the fact his future stepson had been kidnapped from me. I thought we were friends. Thought he could trust me with something like that. After his public fight earlier in the season, I’d taken him under my wing and brought him around my own children.

But no.

That fucker kept such an important life event to himself. He only told Ian Hudson, his other best friend. It made me look like an ass in the process when I told him to try to keep his head in the game. The embarrassment of the moment still stings.

I grind my molars and exhale harshly through my nose as the tension builds in my shoulders. The familiar fear of abandonment creeps in, reminding me why I've kept everyone at arm's length for so long. It's easier not to get close, not to trust. That way, when people inevitably leave—whether by choice or fate—it won't hurt as much.

My best friend’s decision not to confide in me about the situation hit harder than I’d like to admit—a stark reminder of how quickly people can shut you out, even when you think you’ve formed a bond. Same way my old teammates didn’t seem to care I’d been traded to the Minotaurs. Even after years of playing together.

Wyatt skates past and throws an arm over my shoulder, his blond hair sticking out from under his helmet. “Still angry at me?”

Yeah .

But I don’t say it, just roll my eyes and skate back toward center ice. Plus, the guy knows I’m not touchy feely. Swear he does this shit on purpose.

“How come I don’t get that much affection?” Mykyta dramatically pouts, his voice a theatrical whine, as he lines up to my right. “Come to think of it, you guys only slap me upside the head. No hugs, no cuddles. Just slap, slap, slap.”

He emphasizes his last words with a deep sigh, shoulders and head dropping.

“Someone needs to zap, zap, zap fucking Mosquito,” Garrison Lund, one of our defensive players says.

My lip twitches the slightest bit. Lund stands with his skates planted shoulder-width apart, muscles coiled beneath his gear. If Mykyta mysteriously vanished one day, my money’s on Lund finally snapping.

Roan Morrow, the left winger on Wyatt’s line, smirks. A rare occurrence for him. The kid’s struggling with something. And like Wyatt, he’s not talking.

Mykyta’s gloved hand flies to his chest as his mouth hangs open. “You’re so mean.”

But he can’t hold the mock hurt expression for long. Swear that kid doesn’t have a serious bone in his body because two seconds later he’s laughing so hard he’s doubled over.

Lund lifts his stick, examining the tape on his blade, as if it’s more interesting than his teammate. “Must be nice to find yourself entertaining. Not sure why you and Clanton aren’t best friends. Think the two of you should’ve went to drama school instead of the NHL.”

“Last time I checked, this isn’t a kids team. Now get your fucking heads out of your asses and focus!” Coach Kinnear’s face is red. “Hartman, I expected better from you.”

Some days—most days—I wonder why I’m captain.

The weight of the ‘C’ on my jersey feels heavier than ever, a constant reminder of the responsibility I have to my team. One I’m failing at. Like the fact I should be trying to figure out a way to help the team grow close, to bond and form that unbreakable bond.

But how the hell am I supposed to do that when I can barely deal with my own life?

I snort to myself, the irony not lost on me. Here I am, expected to bring everyone together, when I can’t even let myself get close to anyone.

The only reason Wyatt became my best friend is because we were forced together, and my daughter meddled. Wyatt is also stubborn, so once Stella opened her mouth, it became his mission to be my friend.

Then he brought in Hudson, who was already his best friend. Those two leeched onto my walls until they were melted down with some kind of friendship acid. But opening up to the rest of the team—it’s a lot.

Murphy’s law also decided it’s the perfect time to add to my plate.

Because my kids' nanny Bella quit. Luckily, it occurred during bye week, so I was able to stay home with the kids. But I still haven’t been able to find a quality replacement, leaving me with the one option I’ve tried to avoid at all costs.

My mother.

While I am fortunate she lives an hour and a half away, the woman is overbearing. Points out every way I should improve as if I can never do anything right, and she always has to make sure to impress everyone. From how big her house is, to fancy parties, even using her children’s successes to benefit her status.

But I’m stuck and have no other option, a reminder of how precarious my balancing act between hockey and being a single father really is.

Coach blows the whistle and the scrimmage starts. Wyatt wins the face-off and barrels toward Smitty again, but this time Hudson’s there and clears the puck. “Nice try, Virgin.”

Hudson hands it off to me, and I skate it past the center line before dumping the puck into the offensive zone. Mykyta chases after it, fighting Morrow for control. He sends it along the boards around the net.

Skating hard toward the board, I’m there just in time for the puck to hit the sweet spot of my stick, the reverberation traveling instantly up my arms as it rockets forward when I fire off the shot.

Perfection.

While Kinkaid’s big body blocks most of the net, the puck sails through the small opening right above his left shoulder and into the net.

I give one quick fist pump, my face impassive. My snapshot’s art, but I'm no showboat.

“Fuck, yeah, Cap.” Mykyta skates by, clapping me on the shoulder. “Perfect fucking snipe.”

A warmth spreads through me at his words. For a moment, I bask in the genuine praise. But I’ve heard it before from other teammates, the same ones who weren’t there during the hardest times. Like our relationship was limited to the ice only.

Practice ends a short time later and we head into the locker room. The air is thick with the smell of sweat and equipment, the sound of gear being shed and showers starting up filling the space. I grab my phone and send a text to my mother to see how the kids are. Fortunately, they start winter recess this week, so they’ll be staying in Greenwich with her.

“Find a replacement for Bella yet?” Wyatt chucks his glove at me.

I grunt and shake my head, the stress of the situation pressing down on me. It's not just about finding someone to watch the kids. It's about finding someone I can trust, someone who can provide stability and care when I'm not there.

“What? Not talking because your team lost. You might have the perfect snipe but can’t beat my overall skills.” The fucker has the balls to grin at me.

“Virgin, your ego needs to be reigned in.”

Hudson pulls out his phone. “Maybe I should text Nora.”

Wyatt spins around. “Like fuck!”

I smirk. Not sure how his fiancée does it. He’s looking at me once again, waiting for an answer. “No, haven’t found anyone yet.”

“Don't worry. I've got the perfect solution.”

Wyatt's words fill me with equal parts intrigue and dread. The glint in his eyes doesn’t help. He’s up to something. But I trust him. He’d do right by me and the kids. Hell, the kids are over at his place a lot anyway since Nora’s helped out the past week being they’ve had school.

I quirk a brow. “Well, this should be interesting.”

He chuckles and winks at me. “Don’t worry. I got your back.”

I head for the showers, wondering just what Wyatt has up his sleeve.