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SILAS

A YEAR AGO—AGE TWENTY-ONE

I was so tired that I was seeing double. Story of my life for the past year.

After finishing my shift at Verdant Ink, I ate a sandwich and grabbed a coffee, then hopped in my truck and headed to my next job.

Given my skill for numbers, I worked as a bookkeeper for several local businesses, including a retail store and a café.

All in, I clocked more than seventy hours a week, plus ridesharing.

And my day wasn’t over yet. I had one more stop to make before I could head home.

Not that I saw much of that lately. But working my ass off was paying off.

Josiah’s surgery bill was almost completely done, but I wanted it gone. Also, there was the mortgage on the house, and I needed money for my tuition, the part that wasn’t covered by my scholarship.

After a year’s leave, I was finally headed back to college.

Back to Sutton U and to the Cougars hockey team.

That was my plan. I found out recently that the team had a new coach, Damien Banning, and I wasn’t sure how that was going to play out.

He’d started while I’d gone on leave and while I knew a bit about him as a player for Chicago, I knew next to nothing about him as a coach.

Only that the Cougars kept climbing the college ranks and I wanted back in.

So many emotions hit me at once, heady anticipation, but also uncertainty about my future.

Things only got worse when I got a terse email from Banning this week, telling me to report to the college rink for a tryout.

Fuck me, I’d been so busy working that it didn’t occur that I’d have to prove myself to the new coach one-on-one.

But a lot had changed in a year. There were a bunch of new players, guys younger than me, and the pressure was on.

Whatever spare time I had, usually late at night or first thing in the morning, I spent at the gym and the local rink, staying sharp for the fall season. The dreams I’d put on hold hadn’t dimmed at all. If anything, being away from school solidified that this was where I was meant to be.

I arrived at campus around eight p.m., the parking lot pretty much empty except for my truck and another SUV. Stepping inside the rink, the hallway was eerily quiet. I was running on fumes, caffeine, and anticipation.

It wasn’t the first time I’d been back; I’d snuck in twice this week at the ass-crack of dawn to get uninterrupted ice time.

It was, however, the first time I knocked on Coach Banning’s door.

“Enter!” a deep voice called out.

When I opened the door, I expected to see an old guy wearing worn sweats, like every other hockey coach I’d encountered. Certainly not a guy who looked only a few years older than me.

Duh, Banning only retired from the pros a few years ago, remember?

The sweats looked brand-new and the man wearing them wasn’t old. Older than me, for sure, but maybe late twenties? His raven hair was short but messy, like he’d ran his hands through it a hundred times, and his dark blue eyes met mine with surprise.

Surprise and irritation.

I glanced at the clock on the wall and realized my mistake.

I was five minutes late for our meeting, and Coach was pissed.

Still, angry or not, the pictures I’d seen online didn’t do Damien Banning justice.

I remember watching one of his last games and marveled at the intensity of his playing.

He fought hard and played harder. Given the glare he was giving me, it appeared that he coached the same way.

Suddenly, my nerves began to rattle but I refused to give in to them.

“Coach Banning.”

“That’s what it says on the door.”

“I’m Silas Moss.”

He gave a curt nod. “The defenseman. You’re late.”

“I left work as soon as?—”

“No excuses,” he snapped. “If you want to be a part of this team, you show up on time. Always. Got it?”

I placed my fingers at my template and gave a mock salute.

“Yes, sir.”

He shook his head. “You’re giving me attitude already?”

I was exhausted and not in the mood to explain why.

“Are we going to get on the ice or sit here having a pissing contest?” I countered.

He leaned forward, the icy expression on his face telling me to shut the fuck up and do it now.

“There’s no contest, pissing or otherwise,” Banning replied. “I’ve already won. You, on the other hand, need to prove yourself.”

“You’ve seen my admin note. You know the reason I’ve been off.”

The gist of it anyway.

“I do,” he replied as he studied me. “You have my empathy when it comes to your family matters.”

“Thanks.”

“But my priority is the quality of this team,” he continued. “And given your year off, I have serious doubts that coming back is going to work.”

What the fuck?

Before I knew it, I’d shot up out of the chair.

“So, that’s it?” I snapped at him. “You’re not even going to give me a chance? Why call me in here?”

He raised one dark eyebrow and slowly stood up, meeting me eye to eye.

I was more than furious.

You’re not going to intimidate me, motherfucker.

“I said I have doubts,” he replied calmly. “And losing your temper with me is adding to them.”

“Then let’s address it,” I hit back. “I’m ready to play, and I can handle whatever you throw at me. Bring it on.”

Banning motioned to my hockey bag. “You got all your gear?”

“No, I’m hauling around curling rocks.” I rolled my eyes. “Of course it’s all my gear. You told me to come prepared, and I did.”

“Drop the sarcasm and go get changed,” he demanded. “Meet me on the ice in ten minutes. And I don’t mean fifteen.”

Without delay, I grabbed my bag and headed for the door, slamming it hard behind me.

“He wants proof, I’ll give him proof,” I muttered as I stalked off down the hallway. “Fucking prick.”

I was so fired up that by the time I stepped inside the drafty locker room I was shaking all over. The smell was still the same; rank as usual, but I ignored it and quickly got out of my jeans and leather jacket and into my gear.

Never mind ten minutes, I was out on the ice in eight.

Damien

So, that was Silas Moss.

I didn’t know what I was expecting tonight, but it wasn’t him.

Sarcastic motherfucker with a side of defense .

With his beard, long hair, and copious tattoos, he looked a hell of a lot more mature than the rest of the guys on my team. And none of them gave me lip like that.

No one dared.

I admired grit and determination, and Silas’s gaze told me he had that and more. Of that, I had no doubt. Whether he was good enough for this team, however, had yet to be proven.

Still, I’d given my word. I’d test him and let the results tell me everything I needed to know.

As per his previous coaches, Moss had the hallmarks of a solid defenseman; good skating technique, quick stickhandling, and consistency when it came to protecting his zone.

With his massive size, he was intimidating for anyone to face on the ice, and looking at my current roster, I needed a hard-working d-man.

But this one?

The major problem was his gap year. Time’s not a hockey player’s friend.

You miss a month and it’s a lot. You miss a year?

Good luck in finding your way back. At first glance, it was obvious that Silas kept in shape, but working out at the gym and playing a regular college hockey season were two very different things.

Then there was the reason for his absence, the fact that he had guardianship over his younger brother.

And what had he said about being late? He was at work.

His file mentioned two jobs. I wanted my players focused on the game, and usually it was enough between hockey, classes, and their social life.

But for Moss? He had a lot more going on than his peers, and it made me wonder about his focus.

To top it all off, there was his attitude.

Those smart-ass remarks he launched at me were amusing on a personal level, but I didn’t need that kind of hassle as a coach. Very few people challenged me, especially my players. One knowing look and they backed off.

Not this guy. His gaze never wavered. He was a fighter for sure.

I looked down and realized that my hands were gripping the edge of my desk so hard my knuckles were white. Shit. A flash of warning teased the edge of my thoughts, but I ignored it. I was a professional, and I could handle a mouthy player.

Shaking off my weird mood, I did more research on his file and gulped down the rest of my coffee. Glancing at the time, I grabbed my tablet and phone from my desk and locked up my office.

When I finally made it to the ice, Silas was well into his warmup. I watched his form with my critical eye, but my gut had already made up its mind.

Silas skated up to me, sweat dotting his face, his dark brown eyes lit with a resolve I recognized. This guy was hungry for the ice.

“We’re going to run a variety of drills so I can evaluate your skating, passing, and shooting.”

“No shit.”

“No talking either,” I replied, biting back an unexpected laugh as I made a motion for him to zip it. “You want a chance; I’m giving you one. One. You ready?”

“Ready?” Silas scoffed. “I’ve been waiting for a year. Fucking right I’m ready.”

At least one of us was.