Page 2 of No Rhyme or Roughing (The Golden Guardians Hockey Hearts #1)

CHAPTER TWO

RYDER

I hated bridges.

It wasn’t the height, the way they towered over the water below, or even the fact that the lanes were too narrow for my SUV.

No. The traffic.

Few ways in or out, everyone traveling in only two directions. No routes around the jams, no avoiding rush hour on backstreets.

And my teammates? If they’d woken me up, I wouldn’t be sitting above the San Francisco Bay at a standstill.

My fingers drummed on the steering wheel, and I reached to turn the music off.

It was too much. Ever since being named captain of the Golden Gate Guardians three weeks ago, a few of the guys had pulled some pranks, including changing my alarm.

I knew they were just messing with me, a little hazing before I had to really take charge.

A snort escaped me. It was surreal that I was still even playing hockey, let alone being named captain after I flamed out at the highest level years ago. Now, I was in a city that wasn’t exactly hockey-crazy, playing for a minor league team that couldn’t get fans into its rundown building.

And I hadn’t felt this at home anywhere else. That roommate who thought it would be funny to let my afternoon nap last through every alarm? He was my best friend, Teddy. Had been since we were just kids, lacing up our skates for the first time an hour south of the city.

“Finally.” The cars in front of me moved, and I veered off the bridge onto The Embarcadero. Checking the clock, I realized I was already half an hour late to Coach’s inevitably droll speech before the pregame skate.

Still, as I neared the arena, a smile curved my lips. I got to play hockey tonight. That kid in used skates with dull blades was still inside me, and after all this time, he couldn’t believe this was his life.

Even if it was a minor league team, even if it was one that couldn’t string two wins together, let alone a proper streak, it was the game. My game. My world.

I didn’t see it.

The car that turned right as I turned left from across the road.

I slammed on the brakes, but there wasn’t enough time. The crunch of metal rang out, followed by a screech of tires.

And then, nothing. No movement. The surrounding sounds rushed back, a blaring horn.

Shit. Coach was really going to be pissed.

Just what I needed.

Reaching into the glove box, I grabbed the sticky notes I kept in there. Dad would have been proud. He’d called it “preparedness.” I called it clutter.

Yanking out my insurance card, I copied my information onto a note and tore it free before stepping out of the car.

She was already outside, examining the damage, a crease between her eyes. Her hands were planted on her hips as she bent forward with a curse.

“Idiot,” she muttered. “Just what I needed.”

My gaze drifted down despite myself, taking in the heels, the long, thick legs clad in skin-tight black pants, and curves that could give a guy the best dreams.

Blinking, I cleared my throat.

She straightened, as if just now realizing she wasn’t alone. A few other cars had stopped, but their occupants were still inside. The woman pushed blond bangs out of her eyes and turned, her crystalline gaze assessing.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice low and smooth. “Do you need my insurance information? This was my fault, wasn’t it?”

Not what I expected from those red lips. Especially when I was the one to hit her.

“Now, I know why traffic slows near a crash.”

She lifted one brow. But I was committed.

“They can’t take their eyes off you.” Flashing her a smile, I momentarily forgot that I was late, and that Coach was going to bench me for this.

She stared at me in confusion, one eyebrow arched. “I’m sorry, what?”

Something about the honest way she watched me, like she could see right through my bravado, had me flustered.

I reached over with my information. “Here. I’m really sorry about the accident.

My insurance can take care of it.” I just prayed it wouldn’t jack up my premiums any more than I could already barely afford.

She looked down at the note and then up at me. Then back at the note, her eyes widening in recognition.

“Ryder Cassidy?”

“Speaking.” I leaned against my truck's side. The damage wasn’t bad, so I could still get to the arena if she let me go. “Heard of me, have you?”

She reached into her purse and produced a card. “I’m Sydney.”

I took it but barely glanced at it, keeping my eyes firmly on hers.

“Well, I have somewhere to be.”

I stopped as I opened the door, turning back to her. “I’ll take care of all this. I promise. I just… really need to go.”

For a moment, I let the carefully built persona drop, letting the real boy behind the mask show through.

Her eyes flicked to the note again, her voice quieter now.

“You really don’t know who I am?”

“Sorry, I’m in a rush.”

I felt like a dick leaving so quickly. There would be a police report, insurance claims. But I couldn’t think of that right now.

Not when this team, this town, was my last chance to escape whatever waited for me in the real world.

“Cassidy!”

Coach Griffin Grimshaw’s voice had a way of reverberating through a person, shaking them from the inside out.

I closed my eyes for a moment before turning to him.

By the time I got to the rink, the team was already on the ice for the pregame skate—sans captain.

My suit was wrinkled from… well, life, okay?

And my jersey hadn’t been where it was supposed to be.

The guys had swapped it with Dennis Fischer’s, and since he was out with an injury, there was no one to find it until I went looking.

It took me way too long.

Teddy clapped me on the shoulder. “Griff is just a big old bear.” He didn’t specify whether he meant stuffed or polar. Was he a black bear who’d run if I fought him, or should I just lie down?

I skated over to where Coach Griff stood behind the bench, arms crossed over his expensive pinstriped suit. The man had good taste.

“Yeah, Coach?”

“‘Yeah, Coach?’” he mimicked, his voice dripping with disbelief. “He comes in over an hour late, weeks after I gave him the captaincy, looking like he just slept in his clothes, and all he says to me is, ‘Yeah, Coach?’” He lifted his eyes to the rafters .

“I’m sorry?”

“Was that a question?”

“No?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something in what we all suspected was Gaelic. It was the only time his Irish accent slipped through. “Let me ask you a question, son.”

I bristled at the endearment. Only one man could claim to be a father to me, and I’d always hated when coaches tried to fill that role.

He continued. “Do you enjoy hockey?”

I nodded.

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-two, Coach.”

“The AHL is a young man’s league. You realize that, correct?”

“Of course. But if you’re asking if I’m dedicated to the team?—”

He waved a hand to shut me up. “I wouldn’t have given you the C if I didn’t know you are. What I do wonder is what you want out of this.”

“Want, Coach?”

“Some of the younger guys still have NHL aspirations. You don’t.”

I didn’t respond. No need to be so blunt about it.

“I’m not trying to be cruel, but the Golden Gate Guardians are filled to the brim with guys clinging to the last ice shavings their bodies can handle. Just like them, you have a bigger question in front of you than who’s going to win tonight.”

Coach had a habit of speaking in riddles and calling them lessons .

He patted the side of my helmet. “What do you want these fans to remember you for, Ryder? It isn’t for success in the big leagues, so what is it?”

My eyes drifted to the arena, where the ripped seats were sparsely populated with a smattering of bored hockey fans.

“Don’t worry about how many there are.” Coach called my attention back to him.

“If only one person sat along the boards, if it was just a crowd of your damn girlfriends, they matter. Don’t be late again.

” He shoved my shoulder, signaling our talk was done.

And just like that, he was Coach again, stern and commanding.

I skated back to where Teddy was challenging Rowan Gonzales, our young goalie. Shouldering Teddy off the puck, I skated in on net and fired it top shelf. Rowan gloved it easily.

“Nice try, asshole,” he called.

“Language, Gonzo.” I tapped his pads with my stick. “Or I’ll have to call your mother.”

Since returning to the Bay Area two years ago, I’d lived with Teddy and Rowan in a beautiful three-bedroom house in Alameda. No way Rowan or I could afford it on AHL salaries, but Teddy came from money. His dad owned a venture capitalist firm outside the city.

A few other guys skated in on Rowan, but it wasn’t long before the horn sounded, and we had to head back to the locker room to await the start of the game.

“Hey, Cassidy,” Antoine Huet called. “Can’t get out of bed on time without your gal pal there to wake you?”

Teddy draped an arm over my shoulder as he sat beside me in front of my locker. “We prefer the term girlfriends. ”

I shoved him off and caught a few Russian words to my left, grinning as I recognized “Frantsuzskiy ublyudok.” French bastard. I’d learned quickly in my time here that it was a term of endearment from Vasiliev, one of three Russians on the team. He called everyone some variation of it.

Coach walked into the room with his two assistants behind him. He took one look at us joking around and shook his head before heading to his office. Frankie and Remy, our preferred coaches, followed him.

Only one coach remained behind. Sullivan.

He and Teddy were the only reasons I’d taken this contract, probably the worst of my career. Still, I knew my brother would give anything to be where I was. He’d never made it to the pros as a player, but as a goalie coach, he hadn’t done too badly.

“What’s up, bro?” I looked up into identical hazel eyes. Sullivan’s dark hair was shorter than mine, and the scar from when we’d crashed into each other as kids on the ice was on the opposite side of his face. Other than that, he was me. I was him.

“You’re supposed to be the leader.” One eyebrow lifted.

Okay, we were different. Sullie was so… not serious. Hockey was supposed to be fun, sure, but it was also work. Maybe that was why I’d never lasted more than a few games in the NHL. I wasn’t sure I loved it the way some of these guys did. I don’t know what made me say it. “I met a girl tonight.”

“A girl.” He smirked. Not all of us could steal their brother’s long-term girlfriend and propose to her a year later .

“Crashed into her.” I laughed, despite the damage to my car. “Literally.”

“Do tell.” Teddy slid over, knocking into me. He’d always been more like me than my own brother.

“Car accident.”

“Kismet.” Teddy looked so serious when he said it that I couldn’t help agreeing.

Sullie… well, he didn’t. A laughing curse ripped out of him. “Just be ready to play, bro.” He walked away, slapping a hand against Rowan’s head to stop his snickering on the way.

Kismet. Fate.

It was all bullshit, of course.