Page 31

I’m walking into my hotel room when my phone buzzes with an incoming call from my agent. “Hey, man. Please tell me you have positive news.”
Trent’s hearty chuckle eases my tension. “You’re a rock star! I wasn’t sure you could pull it off, but boy, did you ever.”
That brings a smile to my face. “Fuck yeah! That good, huh?”
“Good? It’s fucking great! Better than great. How does a three-year contract at a guaranteed five million yearly sound?”
His words leave me speechless. My heart flutters, and I can barely string two words together. “Five million?” The shock overwhelms me, and I drop my ass onto the bed. “Per year?”
That’s five times my current salary, confirming my suspicions. Not only am I underpaid, but the Huskies were aware of Jackson’s issues and needed someone with the balls to manage him.
“Per year. Per fucking year!”
I chuckle at his exuberance. “When do I sign?”
“How about tomorrow? At the arena.”
“Perfect, because it’s not real until my signature is on that contract.”
Trent and I exchange goodbyes, and I text my lawyer, authorizing her to initiate the divorce proceedings. With a new coaching position secured and divorce preparations underway, I only need to find a place to live, pack my belongings, and leave.
Sounds simple—until I have to face my wife.
I sit on the bed, and the silence of the empty room falls upon me—a mirror image of my life. My mother is dead, and my so-called father is in prison. I have no siblings. I am utterly alone. There’s no one else to call, no one else to share in the celebration of this moment.
Hockey is my life. I grew up on the streets of New York City—hockey was my only friend, family, and dream. Once I made it, I threw myself into the lifestyle, partying and playing without making a single genuine connection.
Until a dirty hit ended it all.
The fear of being unemployed and alone propelled me into a hasty marriage. I was naïve in believing I had struck the perfect deal—a wealthy wife, a team, and an organization all in one. But it was a façade.
Behind the veneer, I discovered a spoiled, shallow woman who only married me to satisfy her hockey-enthusiast daddy. The man she wants, the man she has been cheating with, is already married. I think she wanted a husband who was willing to ignore her infidelities, but that wasn’t me, no matter how hard I tried.
For years, I allowed her perspective to shape my self-worth. I saw myself through her eyes—a nobody from the streets, a washed-up hockey player who became one of the league’s lowest-paid coaches. I didn’t fit into her Country Club social circles and couldn’t care less about upholding a fake marriage. All I did was work.
I was miserable until about twenty-four hours ago.
And now, I’m Aurora’s ex’s head coach, and he’s the star player on my team.
It can’t happen.
Technically, I’m not the head coachyet.
And I have one more night in LA.
I drag my hand down my face. Jesus, what am I thinking?
I’m thinking about how good she felt in my arms, how eagerly she responded to me, how fucking hot she is.
These things don’t happen to me—will neverhappen to me again.
She didn’t ask for details about my marriage. She didn’t dig into my career, social status, or other identifying factors. She simply enjoyed my company.
I realize that’s what she’s paid to do. I’m not a complete idiot. Maybe desperate, but not an idiot.
Either way, she won’t figure out who I am. After last night, she’ll never have anything to do with her ex again. It’s not as if she’ll be attending his games.
Nobody will know. Right?