Page 23 of Ice Cold, Red Hot (Coldwater Firehawks Hockey #1)

SHEPHERD

Traveling with the team was a special kind of torture.

Watching them play, sitting the bench, seeing where I could have helped… it all ate away at little pieces of my soul. And when they lost? I swear my teammates were looking at me like it was my fault.

Could I have helped win the game? Fuck, yes.

Was there anything I could do about it?

Not a goddamned thing.

Griff had been spending a lot of time out of the apartment lately, and I didn’t blame him. I was sitting on the couch in sweats and a hoodie, my protein shake abandoned on the kitchen counter. What was the point?

Shades drawn, windows shut. It was dark and stale and gross inside, but I didn’t care.

I was watching Firehawks footage from last season. Back when I used to play hockey. Back when I mattered. When I still had a future.

The guy on the screen was a version of me I didn’t even recognize anymore .

Without thinking, I pulled my phone in front of me and scrolled messages again. Nothing. Not from her… not from anyone. I used to feel important but now? Invisible. Even to myself.

The apartment door swung open as I dropped my phone to my side, girding myself for Griff’s awkward presence, but it wasn’t him.

It was Blake, the brother who refused to leave.

I still didn’t really know why he’d come, but he’d been crashing on the couch for the weekend while I’d been traveling, and was still here when I got back.

Now he strode in like he owned the place, sweating after his run, wearing an old Coldwater hockey hoodie and gnawing on a protein bar he must’ve swiped from my cabinet. I glanced at him and returned my attention to the screen.

“Smells like regret and desperation in here, man. You eat anything?”

I kept my gaze fixed on the television, watching my ghost skate like his life depended on it.

“Reliving the glory days?”

“Yeah.”

“So was this like… a month ago?”

“Fuck off.”

Blake moved around in the kitchen, leaving me alone for a blissful minute or two, and then he dropped into the seat by my side.

“Didn’t realize I asked for company,” I muttered.

“You didn’t. But you clearly need it.” He dropped a water bottle in my lap and shoved a sandwich at me, which I pushed away like a grumpy toddler .

After a minute, I gave in and took it, and for a little while, we both watched the game onscreen.

My ghost cut across the blue line and I could almost feel the instinct that had kicked in at that moment.

Some loser steps in to block, but he’s too late.

I shifted, faked right, dragged the puck left and passed him.

But that left me at a shitty angle - no room, goalie tight on the post.

Today? I’d balk. But my ghost? He snapped his wrists, quick and clean, and sent the puck bar-down—off the crossbar and in.

“Dude!” Blake exploded at my side. “Bar-down from that angle? Filthy!”

For a second I was caught up. He was right—that shot was pure talent. Which I had. Which I threw away. “Thanks, man.”

We watched for a second longer, and finally, I couldn’t take it. “You gonna tell me why you’re here, Blake? Because I can probably guess. I ruined my shot. I embarrassed the family. Let’s hear it.”

Blake was quiet a second, and I turned to look at his face. How long had it been since I’d really looked my big brother in the face? Years, probably. Because recently, it’d been hard to look at him without feeling the weight of the comparison between us.

“Dad might think that. I don’t.”

“Like it doesn’t matter what Dad thinks. You’ve only ever felt what it’s like to be the golden child.”

Blake met my gaze and held it, shaking his head slowly back and forth. “Success doesn’t mean you’re immune to screwing up. It only means they don’t lecture you for it anymore. ”

I let out a sound that was half snort, half laugh. “You don’t screw up.”

Blake sat taller, leaned in. “You think I never wanted to hit some chump in a bar? You think I didn’t do it once or twice?”

I stared at him.

“I guess you didn’t hear about the time I got fined by the league. Almost lost my contract.”

I shook my head. It was like Santa Claus admitting he’d almost forgotten Christmas once.

“I punched some idiot in the tunnel after a playoff loss.” He sighed. “Dad covered it up with some PR magic. But I thought I was done.”

“No one told me.”

Blake nodded. “The thing is… no matter how much you love the game, it never loves you back. And when you tie your entire identity to it? You just realize how delicate things are when you’re faced with losing it.”

Nothing had ever made as much sense as the words he’d just said.

I leaned back into the couch, set the uneaten sandwich aside, the plate on the floor at our feet. “The thing is, I thought I could earn it all. If I just kept my head down, did everything they said. I’d deserve it. The team. The girl.”

Blake’s eyebrow rose. “The girl?”

“Never mind. Doesn’t matter now.”

“It does if she’s the reason you quit giving a shit.”

“She’s not.”

My brother scoffed. “So why haven’t you bothered to shower since you got home? Why haven’t you left the apartment? ”

I didn’t have an answer. My life was unraveled, and before the weekend I’d gotten another note from Ethan, demanding more money to keep things quiet. It was like I’d dug a hole, and I just kept shoveling all the good parts of my life into it. There was no end in sight.

Blake rose, went to the chair where he’d dropped his duffel and dug through it. He returned and dropped a folder in my lap.

“What’s this?” I flipped it open. There was a team roster with my name circled, and a bunch of notes in the margin.

“Scout notes. Lou Jeffries. He’s keeping an eye on you.”

“I’m on the bench.”

“For now.”

“For the rest of the season.”

Blake sat back down. “Look, I made a few calls. Just so you’d understand that hockey isn’t done with you yet. Unless you’re done with hockey.”

I didn’t want to feel the hope that rose up inside me. The undeserved boost I got from the idea that maybe it wasn’t over. “Why are you doing this?” I asked him.

“Because someone has to remind you that being down is not the same thing as being done. And Dad’s not really good at pep talks. I know that from experience.” Blake dropped a hand on my shoulder as he spoke, and that single pat of support felt like the first step back out of the darkness.

I gazed at my brother, the one I’d always idolized, the one who’d always been just enough older that we were never really close.

“Thanks,” I said, dropping my gaze to the notes in my lap.

I was on the verge of tears and I didn’t want him to know that.

But when he pulled me into a rough hug, I couldn’t help it.

They streamed down my face. “Thank you.”

That night I watched Blake leave, feeling like something had shifted between us. No matter what else happened now, I felt like I had someone in my corner.

When he was gone, I went to the rink and slipped in behind the cleaning crew, grabbing my skates out of my locker and flipping on the lights.

It was eerie, only the hum of the lights vibrating through the chilly arena.

And when I stepped onto the ice, my senses filled with that sharp scent, the familiar sound of my blades cutting the ice.

I closed my eyes, let my muscles take over as I breathed in the icy air and let it settle inside me. It felt a lot like coming home.

I wasn’t ready to quit.