Page 17 of Ice Cold, Red Hot (Coldwater Firehawks Hockey #1)

SHEPHERD

Practice was brutal.

Coach was on me constantly during drills, and nothing I did was good enough. Not for him, not for me. Nothing I did fucking mattered.

And during scrimmage? I was benched. I sat there, hands wrapped around my stick like it was some kind of lifeline, watching my team tear up the ice without me.

Every slapshot, every shift—they didn’t need me.

The worst part? I knew I deserved it.

Coach didn’t even look at me when he called lines. He just skipped over my name like I wasn’t even there. Like I was already gone.

“Keep your legs moving, Griff!” he bellowed from across the rink. “Goddamn it, Wheeler, get your head in the play!”

But me? Not a word. Not even to yell.

The guys glanced my way between drills. No one said much. No chirps, no locker room shit-talk. Just careful looks. Like I might snap and go after one of them too .

I kept my helmet on and my mouth shut, pretending I didn’t care.

But watching Griff steal the puck and fire it into the net like it was nothing… watching our freshman center take a position that was mine all last year… yeah. It felt like getting gutted in slow motion.

Coach finally blew the whistle and barked, “Hydrate. Back in two.”

I stayed put on the bench, jaw clenched.

Griff skated by, tapping his stick on the boards. “Hang in there, Ren.”

I didn’t answer.

Hang in there?

I was hanging by a fucking thread.

We cleaned up after practice and I felt it—the chasm between me and the rest of the team. The rift that developed when you were kept apart, made different.

Even if I could fix this thing, I wasn’t sure I’d ever really be a part of it all again. It was possible I’d literally ruined everything.

I was pulling my shirt back on when Griff appeared at my side.

“Grab some food?”

I shook my head, not trusting my voice.

“Dude, come on.” Griff sounded exasperated. Frustrated with me.

“You go.”

“You don’t have to pretend you’re fine, Ren. Just hang out.”

“I’m not fine.”

“I know that, man, that’s what I’m saying.” He leaned in. “We’ve all been there. We’ve all been the one who fucked up.”

I spun to face him. “Yeah? How many of you got benched your senior year for throwing a punch that could literally cost you the rest of the season and maybe your life?”

I was in his face, ready to throw another one at my best friend. Cold fury, born in frustration, simmered just under the surface and I was barely keeping it in check.

“Yeah, okay,” Griff said, his voice low, his eyes never blinking. He spun on his heel and walked out.

Soon, it was just me in the locker room. I grabbed my stuff and headed out to the truck. As soon as I was inside, I started the engine, but then I switched it off again. For nearly an hour, I just sat there, staring at the dash. Thinking.

I said I’d fix this. If Ethan pressed charges though, it was out of my hands. If he was on the fence, I still had a chance to take care of it. And there was only one way to do that.

When I got back to the apartment, I’d made a decision. The guys were still out, and the place was quiet.

I opened my laptop on the desk and navigated to a site I didn’t access much. Lloyd & Brothers Bank. Where my trust fund lived.

As I punched in the access codes, Dad’s attorney’s voice echoed in my mind.

This is for your future. You have access, but it’s not to be touched except in emergency, with family approval. Understand, Shepherd ?

I did not give a single fuck.

I transferred ten thousand to a dummy account and wrote down the log in information for the account I’d set up. Then I logged out, shoved the paper into my pocket, slammed the laptop shut, and stood.

I had an errand to run.