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LAFRENIéRE

You can do this…

The mantra pulsed through Dustin Lafreniére’s head, a steady beat against the mounting pain. He sat cross-legged on the thickly padded mat, the unforgiving lights of the North Texas Coyotes’ practice facility glaring down at him. His body ached, his muscles stretched tight like over-wound guitar strings. He had about twenty minutes—twenty minutes to push through, loosen up, and pretend that his limbs weren’t failing him, that his body wasn’t betraying him one slow, excruciating stretch at a time.

Gritting his teeth, he shifted, swinging his leg sideways and folding his foot over his opposite knee. The stretch tugged at his quads, a deep, familiar burn. He could handle this. This was routine, drilled into him over years of training. He switched legs, pressing forward, forcing himself to breathe through the tension. His thighs? Manageable. His lower back? Tight, but tolerable. But the next stretch—the one that mattered most? That was the problem.

Moving into a frog position, Dustin braced his hands on the mat and let his legs widen, lowering his hips down until fire streaked through his groin. He sucked in a breath, every nerve alight with pain.

Push through this…

You’ve got this…

I think I’m gonna pass out…

Might blow chunks instead…

A strangled groan slipped past his lips as he eased one leg forward into pigeon pose, his entire body trembling. Who knew that after years of grueling training, of bruises and scars and battered bones, he’d be relying on something as deceptively gentle as yoga just to keep his career alive?

“It’s not getting any better, huh?”

Dustin tensed at the sound of the familiar voice. He lifted his gaze and met the sharp, knowing eyes of Molly—the team’s newest physical therapist. She was bright and efficient, and he was almost certain she was a masochist.

He didn’t move. Heck, he was afraid to. If she’d seen him like this, she knew exactly how bad it was.

“Did you come early just to check on me?” he muttered.

Molly’s lips curved in a knowing smile. “I knew something was up when you were ‘ready to go’ the moment I arrived on the ice… for the last three days.” She crossed her arms. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Same.”

“Same as in ‘ it’s improving ,’ or same as in ‘ it’s getting worse, and you don’t want to admit it’ ?”

Dustin stared at her flatly.

Molly sighed. “Option two. Gotcha.” She crouched beside him like she was facing down a wounded animal – wary and guarded. “All right. Let’s try something. Swing your leg and give me a hamstring stretch.”

“Get out.”

“You know how this works, Lafreniére. We’re a team?—”

“If you want me to finish stretching, leave.”

Her brows lifted, but she backed off. “Fine. Can you at least move into a butterfly stretch?”

“You know I can’t.” His voice was tight, his body locked in protest. He forced himself to shift his weight, stretching his other leg instead. Pigeon pose was fine. But anything that involved rotating his hips sideways? That was a different story. That was where the tearing sensation started, a white-hot lance of agony running down his leg, up into his groin, setting his entire hip and groin regions on fire.

On practice days, he could manage.

On game days?

He’d grit his teeth, pop a couple of Tylenol, and sweat through three hours of wondering if he was playing his last season. If he had a hernia, if he had torn something, if the joint was going to shatter or give. If his body was done with hockey before he was ready to let this life and career go.

Molly exhaled. “Have you been using heat?”

Dustin shot her a withering look.

“Okay,” she said, holding up her hands. “Let’s go through the movements again. Maybe we can adjust something to help with the pain.”

Dustin clenched his jaw. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t her fault that he was a goalie, that his body had taken years of punishment, and that at barely thirty-four years old, he sometimes felt ninety. It wasn’t her fault that, in a moment of absolute, gut-wrenching fear, he’d actually ordered a darn walker online—just in case.

Something had to give. He just wasn’t sure what would break first—his body or his pride.

H ours later, Dustin was walking to his sports car and mentally bracing himself for the self-inflicted pain that would come with sliding into the sleek vehicle with bucket seats. He loved his fancy black Lotus and the way it drove. It was a status symbol and if he couldn’t go out on the weekends, trolling the bars to pick up girls, then he was definitely driving a car that they would notice. He had to have something in his life that he enjoyed… didn’t he?

Drawing in his breath, he let his body slide into the seat… and let out a relieved chuckle. It wasn’t so bad today – thank goodness. Checking his phone while starting the car, he glanced at the screen and saw his sister texted.

Meet me at Mom’s. I made your fav!

Grinning, he dialed Madeline’s number immediately. His family was close and always had been, but when his sister got married, and his hockey career had really started to take off a few years ago – he did the unthinkable. He gave his sister her dream, buying her a bakery to start her own business as a wedding present to her husband, and everyone benefitted. His sister had a running tab for the team and every month, Dustin paid it without question. This was his family… both off and on the ice.

And Madeline?

He was pretty sure she should be in some fancy bakery somewhere instead of having a little hole-in-the-wall shop in Dallas where she was only appreciated by those who knew where her place was located.

“Hey!”

“Hey you… are you on the way?”

“When you mentioned you made my favorite – do you have to even ask?” Dustin smiled, putting his car in reverse and pulling out of the garage.

“Just checking,” his sister laughed and then paused. “How’s it going?”

Yeah, he knew what she was asking – and why. He’d slipped and fallen on a patch of ice once in front of her, and ever since then, she blamed herself for what was happening. Only to see his phone ringing on the other line.

“Crap…” he muttered. “Madeline, I’ve gotta go. That’s my agent on the other line, and I’m sure he can smell blood in the water.”

“He knows?”

“I’m pretty sure everyone does by this point,” he said bluntly, wincing at how harshly it came out. “Love ya – and I’ll be there in twenty.”

“Bye,” she replied as he was already pushing the button to accept the other call.

“Malcolm, how are you?”

“You took the words right out of my mouth,” Malcolm began evenly. “Give it to me straight. Do you think you have another five years in you, Dustin? I’m starting to hear rumbles among the natives, and people are looking at you.”

Dustin swallowed, gripping the steering wheel of his car. Right now, having this conversation, it felt like he was fleeing for safety, running for his mommy’s house like he was eight years old to hide from a bully.

“I’ll finish this year fine.”

“That’s not what I asked you.”

“It’s inflamed, okay?” Dustin said bluntly, not bothering to hide the venom in his voice. “I’ve seen a doctor, and do you know how badly things shrivel when they come at you with a needle about four inches long. I hate needles but love hockey, so I’m compromising. I’ve had three steroid shots this year, and I’ll make it. Don’t worry.”

“Are you in pain right now?”

“No,” he replied quickly – too quickly.

“I see,” his agent said knowingly, picking up on the error. “And this morning? Were you in pain this morning or yesterday during practice?”

Dustin was silent for much too long and heard his agent sigh before he spoke again.

“Look, I’m on your side, Dustin. Team Lafreniére and all that jazz. I’m not the enemy – and I might just have something for you. A possible solution.”

“A miracle?”

“Maybe,” Malcolm replied openly. “How would you like to extend your career another five years or so? Maybe longer?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve got a lead on something secretive going on behind the scenes, and we’ve got a chance at something new.”

“I love hockey though and…”

“It’s hockey – to be clear it’s another goalie position, but you wouldn’t be the starter.”

“What?”

“You’d be the face of the team on some media promos because you’ve got a stellar reputation with the Coyotes. They want you despite the rumors floating around – and they want you as their backup goalie.”

“I don’t know…”

“Dustin, they want someone to make the social media tours, visit the schools, and fill in for the goalie in a pinch. You are a sure thing. They don’t have to train you at all, and it would give you a break physically letting some of the inflammation calm down while still keeping you in the loop – and here’s the kicker.”

“I’m holding my breath – I assure you.”

“My gosh, you are snarky, aren’t you?” his agent retorted, chuckling. “They will pay you a million a year for that handsome smile, your name, and your skills. I think they want you to help train and coach the main guy they are bringing in, but for a cool million a year…?”

“Are you serious?” Dustin asked, shocked. “That’s a bigger contract than what I have here.”

“I know. There’s a billionaire behind the scenes who wants his new hockey team to hit the ground running, and he’s ponying up some fat wads of cash.”

“I guess so…”

“Coeur and Boucher are also on their list, but you didn’t hear that from me,” his agent offered in a hushed voice.

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. They don’t want Giroux – too much money, and he’s not a long-term investment with those knees of his. Batiste causes too many fights on the ice. Thierry is…”

“Oh my gosh – are they going through and cannibalizing the team?” he practically squawked in shock. “Why are they dissecting the Coyotes?”

“You’re hockey’s sweethearts right now – and it’s not just you. They are rounding up the best of the best across the nation. You didn’t hear this from me, but Kenneth Salas from Montreal just signed.”

“Seriously?”

“Yup. Announcements start in less than two weeks. They are doing a bunch of teasers and hinting at what is coming, but the arena is already built and…”

“Where?”

“Quebec.”

He swallowed as his mind raced. It was an incredible chance to give his body a break while still getting paid – and would extend his career long enough to give him time to come up with something else later on.

If they had signed Salas, that meant they were really going after some of the best because that man commanded huge money and had a coveted endorsement with Nike and Adidas. The media loved him because he was a beast on the ice and an overall great guy off of it. Salas was well known for holding up a finger because he always claimed he was going do sink ‘one more goal than expected ’… and had done it most times. The crowd loved him because of his arrogance – but even the best fell sometimes , he thought , just look at me.

“What’s the catch?” Dustin asked pointedly. “There’s gotta be a catch to all of this because no one is going to take on a nearly-washed up goalie for that kind of money – so what is it?”

“You’ve got to be married – and continue the whole ‘ I’m-a-good-boy’ image.”

“Welp, nice try, Malcolm. I’m not married – and not changing that status any time soon. My official answer is ‘no.’”

“Well, I have seventy-two hours to respond and…”

“Malcolm, no.”

“Don’t say ‘No,’ Dustin – not when you are having the world laid at your feet like this. You need this, whether your ego wants to admit it or not. It’s not about marrying for love or any of that other garbage. Find someone you know or can tolerate, make a bargain, get married, and accept the deal. I’ve already got some nice places lined up for you – all I need you to do is sign the dotted line, and then we’re in the money, baby!”

“Malcolm…”

“Seventy-two-hours!” his agent cut off immediately, not even letting Dustin speak. “I’ll call you back in seventy-two-hours. Bye!”

And Dustin chuckled.

Nothing was going to change in that short of a timeframe.