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JACK

Being the son of a billionaire came with inborn clout for the first eighteen years of my life. Then I walked onto a hockey team. Maybe that’s why I liked the sport so much. On the ice, my last name, connections, and bank account don’t matter. All I amount to is my skill and whether I show up for the team.

I wake up before dawn on my first day at the Ice Palace for the Knights. Restless and jittery, I go for a run to slough off some of the extra energy. It’s been a while since I was the new guy and that comes with a certain kind of pressure.

Ella is sound asleep. I leave her a note along with a reminder to order room service and lounge in bed all morning.

When I pull up to the arena, the winter sunshine illuminates the glass facade. It’s where I imagine Ella would say an ice princess would live. No, I haven’t seen that movie, but if she asked me to, I’d totally watch it.

Not going to lie. I’ve done workouts to Disney soundtracks—don’t judge. My usual fare is good old-fashioned rock and roll because it gets the blood pumping, but it’s important to mix it up once in a while .

Even though the building is relatively modern, it doesn’t have a cold, austere feel even though the temperature inside has to keep the ice frozen. It’s not whimsical either like the architect asked his six-year-old to draw him an ice castle.

Rather, it’s welcoming, like the buzz of the players and fans alike somehow greet you at the door and make you want to enter, sit down, and watch a killer game.

Inside, the main concourse features the team’s silver and black colors with red accents. Cushioned chairs and low tables provide lounge areas to gather along with a bar height section with charging stations and stools on both sides for meetings. LED lighting illuminates various sections that remind me of market stalls for concessions, merchandise, and meet-and-greets.

But the real beauty is the ice itself. Early for my meeting with Badaszek, I take a peek at the rink before heading to his office. The white sheet spreads smoothly like a blank canvas, ready for hat tricks and barn burners. The seating is oriented in such a way that up close, fans will feel like they’re on the ice with us and there is a VIP area that looks like it’s warmer than the rest of the area. A few of my new teammates have kids and I imagine there’s soundproofing too.

Ten kids? The question breezes through my mind. What the woman wants, the woman gets.

Leaning on the railing, I nearly startle when someone appears alongside me.

“You’re early,” says Tommy Badaszek. The Knights coach is tall with salt and pepper hair and built for hockey but well past retirement age.

“Never late,” I answer.

“Before we moved from the old building, I’d sit in the nosebleed seats, so I never forgot where I came from. ”

I get his meaning and say, “Sir, with all due respect, that scenario does not apply to me. I’ve lived a front-row life.”

He chuckles. “So I’ve heard. Which makes me appreciate the pay cut you took. You didn’t have to, you know. We were offering you the full amount.”

I hadn’t told anyone about my decision when I signed the contract, but it’s only a matter of time before the press finds out that I opted for less money, so there was more for the other guys, the team, and whatever they want to spend it on.

“It’s an honorable thing,” he adds. “And if you didn’t get the memo, the Knights are all about honor, integrity, and grit. Prepare to practice hard and play harder.”

I nod, well-versed in the brutal nature of the game.

He continues, “Your behavior off the ice matters. Some coaches say to leave your private life at home. That’s a bunch of baloney. There’s overlap. How could there not be? From time to time, everyone has problems, but I have zero tolerance for drama. No puck bunnies, no affairs, no lying, cheating, or carousing. Keep your bed made, spend time with your loved ones, and show up for your hockey family.”

“Understood.”

His gaze locks on mine. “Someday, you’ll walk off the ice for the last time. On that day, I want you to think about what kind of man you want to be remembered as. What kind of legacy will you leave? Do you want to be a winner or a loser? Decide now and then let every single choice you make starting today and until your last game connect those dots.”

Remove a few letters from his last name, Badaszek and you get his nickname back when he played defense. The guy does not mess around. Unlike Remy, I respect this man and if I don’t, he’ll knock me into next Tuesday. I’ve already had a close call on a Tuesday. Not interested in revisiting that brush with death .

“Sir, I want to prove to you that I’m a team player, committed, and loyal.”

“Keep your eyes on the ice, your fingers on your stick, and your heart in the game.” It sounds more like a threat than encouragement, but he had a point about legacy.

“Come on, I’ll introduce you to the guys.” He claps me on the shoulder, leading me through a metal door.

In short order, I meet our captain, frontline, defense, and Beaumont Hammer—the stoic goalie. The guy merely grunts in acknowledgment. I’ve also learned that Badaszek only calls people by their last names, including his daughters—one of which is married to Pierre Arsenault, also on the team.

“It’s the crowned prince of hockey,” says Liam, legitimately hailing from hockey royalty given his father’s hall of fame status and his brother Hendrix repeatedly lighting the lamp for the Toronto Titans.

I anticipate a bit of antagonism, but his smile is warm.

“I prefer king, but if you must, I’ll wear the crown with pride.” I mimic straightening it on my head.

They chuckle and the bro banter begins.

Ted, a grizzly defenseman, quizzes me on my burrito order preferences. Pierre, also on D, asks to borrow my tape, inspects it, and hands it back. Hudson is the other goalie and I can’t figure out whether he’s missing a tooth or had licorice for lunch.

Someone starts clapping and the others join as a guy I recognize from the last game I played with the Carolina Storm.

Tatum says, “The man of the hour. ’Bama!”

“How was the trip home?” Micah asks.

The guys clap him on the back.

“Do you have a save the date yet?” Hayden asks.

He shakes his head. “She said no.”

The room falls quiet. I gather that there was a failed marriage proposal .

Redd plops down next to him on the bench and points up at me. “We have new blood. You can take it out on him when we get on the ice.”

He snorts and extends his hand. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

Teddy rolls his eyes. “Jack has to earn that superlative.” He mutters about ’Bama’s good ’ole Southern boy manners.

But it’s all in jest and there’s no antagonism or one-ups-manship among them. They seem genuinely concerned about the left forward’s heart being broken.

The others filter in and seem rather unphased by my presence as if I’ve been here all along, but once we’re on the ice, they put me through my paces with fast passes, dekes, and more than one rooster tail of ice chips to the face.

I take this as an initiation. But it’s all in good fun and no one postures for top position in the pecking order. I think I like it here and I’ll definitely enjoy the view from the ice with Ella in my new jersey.