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Unlike Picard, Alek’s recent love life had not been drama-free.

The Milwaukee media had a field day when the woman Alek had been seen around town with ended up marrying the Growlers quarterback.

It didn’t help that punches were thrown at a charity gala that both men attended.

No one cared that they were defending the woman’s honor.

Instead, social media managed to make more of the incident than was necessary. As usual.

The silence stretched as everyone waited to see if Alek would react.

“You’re misinformed, Merriweather.” Valentine’s French Quebec accent was much more clipped than normal as he jumped to Alek’s defense. “Bergeron and London are friends. That’s all. She and the quarterback were high school sweethearts.”

While Alek appreciated the save—Valentine was more than just a pretty face and a wicked stick handler—his recitation of the facts wasn’t entirely accurate.

Alek had thought he’d found “the one.” And it still stung.

Not the part about her choosing another guy over him.

Alek begrudgingly had to admit London and Trey were meant for each other.

The idea that he had been so off base about London’s feelings made Alek question whether or not he was cut out for a long-term relationship. After all, he’d been wrong about a woman’s love once before.

The tidbit about him and London remaining friends was true, however. The best part about it? Alek continued to be a thorn in the side of the Milwaukee Growlers quarterback.

“If you’re ready to get back out there,” Valentine continued as he tugged a Mayhem hoodie over his curls, “the influencer I’m dating has a friend. I’m happy to set you up.”

Gus covered up his laughing gasp with a cough. Valentine’s content creator girlfriend had the annoying tendency of adding a rising inflection to the end of everything she said. Carrying on a conversation with her felt like a game of twenty questions. No doubt her friend was the same.

And the last thing Alek wanted was to get involved with a woman whose day revolved around social media.

As one of the league’s premier goalies, he already spent enough of his life in the very judgmental public eye.

It turned out that once a player signed a lucrative contract, every fan felt it was their God-given right to pile on when that player had an off game.

After the Mayhem didn’t make it out of the first round of the playoffs last season, fans—and more than a few hockey pundits—blamed Alek despite the team being short two starting defensemen.

“I think Ice-Berg is interested in something more substantial.” Picard eyed Alek critically. “In fact, I think something more long-term might do you some good.”

Here we go again.

“For the hundredth time, I’m not getting a dog,” Alek told them.

“What’s your beef with dogs?” Valentine demanded. “Why do you hate them?”

“I don’t hate dogs.”

Gus laughed. “He tolerates ours just fine.”

“We are on the road half of every week,” Alek argued. “There’s no way to take care of a dog.”

It was his standard argument. The fact of the matter was he wasn’t a dog person. For some reason, though, that made him some sort of monster.

“You’re just afraid a dog would mess up your neatly ordered mausoleum,” Valentine accused.

“Will you guys shut your pieholes? I wasn’t going to suggest a dog,” Picard interjected, quieting the room. The captain turned to Alek. “Now that you’ve officially entered the dirty thirties, you probably should get serious and start looking for a wife.”

The rest of the guys laughed while Alek shot his captain the bird. “You’re only a year younger than I am.”

“But I have the stamina of a nineteen-year-old,” Picard declared. “I don’t need a wifey to tuck me in at night yet.”

This was met with a chorus of guffaws.

“You know, there’s a lot to be said for settling down,” Gus argued. “For one, it’s easier to concentrate on the game when you know who’s warming your bed at night.”

“Why would any guy want to settle down?” Merriweather sounded as though someone had told him the hockey season had been canceled. Given that the guy was married with two little kids, Alek found his teammate’s reaction odd. Judging by the looks the other guys were doling out, he wasn’t the only one.

“What?” Merriweather shrugged. “Don’t lie and tell me you married guys aren’t chomping at the bit to escape from under the honey-do list and get back out on the road.

To sleep through the night without being woken up by your whining kid.

Or to not have to listen to your wife tell you she’s ‘too tired’ when you want some.

” He winked at Alek. “The ladies are never too tired on the road, am I right? Why give up a sure thing for a ball and chain at home? In fact, I’m happy to be your wingman this season.

Not to brag, but I do pretty well with the chicks myself. ”

The strained silence was back except for a whispered exchange between the two Swedish players. Alek didn’t speak the language but whatever they said was uttered in a tone laced with disgust.

When no reply was forthcoming, Merriweather hefted his equipment bag onto his shoulder. “Suit yourself. But my offer stands. Later,” he called before sauntering from the dressing room.

Picard heaved a sigh. “Something tells me that guy could be a handful this season.”

For the most part, the players tried to police bad behavior within the confines of the dressing room. The guys liked to keep the outside distractions to a minimum. It helped them play better as a unit. A rocky marriage during the season could seriously mess with the team’s mojo, though.

“Yeah. I feel sorry for his wife. She’s already got her hands full with two kids under the age of three.” Gus grabbed his bag, exchanging a look with Alek. “Do you want to come by the house for dinner?”

Alek appreciated the offer, even if it was a pity ask. As much as he enjoyed spending time with the Ferguson family, he had no intention of butting in on one of their last nights of togetherness before the season.

He shook his head. “Thanks, but no thanks. I have some stuff to take care of at home.”

Picard laughed and gestured to Alek’s longish hair. “He’s got to wash his flow tonight.”

Gus looked like he was going to call him out on his lie. Instead, he released an exasperated sigh. “Stop by the canteen to pick up your cupcakes before you go.”

He and Picard headed in the direction of the party. The Swedes followed them out.

“I’m going to tell that jerk-off Merriweather that you already have a wingman,” Valentine said as he made his way to the door. “And it’s me. Picard’s right. You need a woman. Leave it to me. St. Valentine will find you the perfect happily ever after this season.”

Alek scoffed loudly in the now empty dressing room.

As much as he appreciated his teammates having his back, he didn’t need them focused on finding him his “happily ever after.” He was resolved that one wasn’t in the cards for him.

Besides, the Mayhem’s number one priority this season was to win the Cup. End. Of. Story.

He reached for his cell phone and keys right as the phone buzzed. It was likely Claire demanding that he join them for dinner. Except when he went to slide the phone to talk, the number on the screen wasn’t hers.

It was one he thought he’d blocked nine years earlier. A number that belonged to the guy Alek expected to stand up for him at his wedding to his college girlfriend. Until that same guy ran off and married her himself.

Alek swore as he hit the Do Not Accept button. For the first few months, Jamie called repeatedly. Alek never picked up. He had nothing to say to his former best friend. The calls only stopped when he blocked Jamie’s number.

A hazy memory stirred. He vaguely recalled unblocking Jamie after consuming too much alcohol to numb the pain the night he’d learned of his father’s diagnosis. Fortunately, he’d fallen asleep before any drunk dialing could take place. Well, he’d remedy this situation right now.

He was opening the phone’s screen to reapply the block when Jamie’s number popped up again.

“Ah, what the hell? He’s never going to get the hint without hearing it directly from me,” Alek mumbled before sliding his finger across the screen. “What do you want?”

The line was quiet for a long moment before a small voice spoke up. “Is this really Alek Bergeron?”

Alek immediately regretted his ugly tone. It wasn’t Jamie. Just some random kid.

Except why is he calling from Jamie’s number?

“Yeah,” he said cautiously. “Who’s this?”

There was an excited gasp before the boy spoke again. “I’m Finn. Finn Cobert. And I’m your biggest fan.”

Right.

Jamie had a son. Alek’s mom had mentioned that at some point during the past nine years. The boy must be somewhere around Gunner’s age. Leave it to Jamie to use his kid to weasel his way back into Alek’s life. He was going to be disappointed, though, because it wasn’t going to work.

“Good to know. Hey, Finn, if you’re calling for an autographed stick or sweater, have your dad reach out to my publicist. I’ll be glad to send you one of each.” It wasn’t the boy’s fault his father had screwed Alek over.

“Cool! Thank you. But that’s not why I called.”

Of course it wasn’t. He could almost sense Jamie hovering in the background, waiting for Alek to take the bait.

The guy had never met a stranger and couldn’t stand it when anyone was miffed at him.

He was used to being the beloved center of attention.

A cool breeze brushed against the back of his neck as if Jamie was saying, “Gotcha.”

“Look—"

“Please don’t hang up.” Finn’s excitement had dimmed.

“I feel like I know you. My dad and I watched all your games whenever they were on the hockey channel. Even on school nights. He always told me bedtime stories about all the crazy things you got up to when you were roommates in college. Especially when you traveled overseas to play against each other in Europe.” Finn paused to suck in a breath.

“He said they were the best days of his life. Well, except for when me and him were doing something fun together.”

The boy’s voice cracked before it trailed off. His use of the past tense had Alek instinctively bracing his shoulder against the wall.

“Finn, can I talk to your dad?”

The boy ignored him. “Dad told me that if he couldn’t be here and I ever needed anything, I should get in touch with you. That you were him in a different place. And you would always have my back.”

The room felt like it was spinning. Alek dropped onto the bench. “Finn, put your dad on the phone. Please.”

The boy was silent for so long, Alek thought he had hung up. Until he said the words Alek wasn’t prepared to hear.

“I can’t. My dad and my mom are dead.”