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ONE

Joey, Eight Months Later

I roll my shoulders before I head for the locker room.

The team’s home opener is tonight and the fans are expecting another great season.

Even with the upheaval of the previous one—our head coach getting fired because he was sexually assaulting several female staff members, including the significant other of one of the players on the team—we managed to make it to the second round of the playoffs.

Not as far as we wanted—no, the end goal is always hoisting the Cup.

But better than most people expected with the negative press, the turbulence, the change in personnel.

Because Travis Hiller wasn’t the only problem in the front office.

Which is why Damon and I spent the last months working with the new owners of the team—because the previous owners sold the steaming pile of shit that was the Sierra as soon as the news broke about Hiller’s toxicity—to clean house.

To keep only the players and staff who are committed to a competitive, healthy future that is built on family.

Not fucking taking what you want without care for others.

Not full of hazing and a toxic locker room.

Not dragged down by hiding bad behavior.

I hold myself to a gold standard and know so do the back and front office staff, and—more importantly—the players do.

I couldn’t have done it if the guys weren’t on board, if Damon wasn’t equally locked into the program, along with the new owners.

But now we’re starting the new season on a fresh note.

There are no hidden bad behaviors, no excuses made, no unsafe spaces that exist.

Now we just need to keep it that way.

I pause outside the doors to the locker room, hearing the guys talking inside, laughter punctuated with teasing, and know the camaraderie isn’t because of me, not really.

It’s Knox and Lake, Riggs and Leo, Colt and Storm. They’ve had my back from the moment I stepped into the head coaching job and they haven’t stopped.

And because of that, the other guys fell in line.

Because of that, our new players had a stable framework to step into.

Now we’re going to build on that.

Starting tonight.

I close my eyes, take a breath, push the intense off-season I spent working my ass off, the training camps and scouting trips, the time with our player development department, the practices and film I’ve studied, the line combinations I’ve tinkered with, the press conferences I’ve endured…I push all of that aside.

Tonight I get to do my favorite thing.

Be on the ice and coach some fucking hockey.

Exhaling, I roll my shoulders, open my eyes, and reach for the handle just as my assistant coaches round the corner—Tommy, Dave, and Kaitlyn. Tommy and Dave focus on defense and offense, respectively, and Kaitlyn is a new addition who sees the big picture.

She’s fantastic and I cannot wait to see her grow.

But, for now, I have a team to focus on, a strategy to reinforce, a lineup to share?—

“I’m ready, Coach Joey!”

Or well, a lineup to pass off to an adorable little girl who’s decked out in full Sierra regalia and who is going to put the boys in their places.

Little Evie is a spitfire.

And I don’t just mean her bright red hair.

She’s boisterous and confident and so damned sweet I swear I’m going to get a cavity every time I talk to her.

She belongs to Ivy, the team’s strength coach—one of the women who was exposed to Hiller’s extremely unfortunate attention last season—and is recently adopted in all but paperwork by Knox, one of my best players.

She’s also become one of the team’s mascots.

Always energetic, that adorable personality, confidence for days…and thus, the perfect person to announce the roster for our first game of the season.

“Glad to hear it, peanut,” I say, mouth already curving because I know exactly what she’s going to say in response to that.

And she doesn’t delay.

Her hands hit her hips, but she’s smiling too. “I’m not a peanut.”

“Oh?” I tease. “I thought all peanuts wore blue and green glitter bows.”

A beleaguered sigh, her eyes rolling to the ceiling. “ Joey .”

“No?”

She puts one hand out, palm up. “Roster please?”

“What’s a roster?” I ask, doubling down. “More peanut things?”

Another sigh, but it doesn’t completely hide her giggle.

And that’s when I pass over the slip of paper I’ve written the starting lineup on.

She bounces on her toes in excitement, the twin braids her hair has been corralled into bouncing along with her. “Can I go in?” she asks.

I peek inside, make sure all pertinent parts are covered and the guys are ready for invasion by glitter-bow-wearing little girls then glance back at Evie and nod. She skips into the room without delay and I start to follow her then halt, pulse jumping, when I see Damon round the corner.

“You coming?” Evie asks, glancing back over her shoulder.

“Yeah, peanut,” I tell her, nodding at my coaches to precede me. “I’ll be right in.” I drop my voice as Tommy passes me, murmuring, “Get started if this”—a nod toward Damon as he strides toward me, trademark scowl in place—“takes more than a couple of minutes.”

“Knox!” I hear Evie cry and both Tommy and I smile.

That smile fades as he takes in Damon’s expression. But to his credit—and I give Tommy a lot of credit because he’s been a strong ally for me from day one—he just nods, murmurs back, “On it,” then follows Kaitlyn and Dave inside.

I suck in a breath but manage to keep my expression neutral as Damon comes close—even though every nerve in my body begins to sing, to yearn. It’s familiar, something I’ve pushed down time and again. So why would today be any different?

“What is it?” I ask after the door swings shut behind the group.

“Nothing,” he mutters.

That makes my chin lift, my shoulders straighten, my frustration grow. “Is nothing the reason why you’re down out of your tower and spreading your scowl around?”

That scowl deepens.

Something else I forgot to mention?

That over the last few months his perpetual scowl has gotten… scowlier .

And my perpetual barbs barbier.

As though we’re both slipping toward an inevitable edge and throwing every weapon in our arsenal out to stop that fall.

Or maybe that’s just me.

Maybe it’s so I don’t slip deeper into love with him, so I can do my job and keep my heart safe and?—

“Hiller was detained at the doors,” he says icily.

Every cell in my body goes still, fear and rage tangling before I manage to shove it down. “Doesn’t matter,” I say quietly and even I can hear my words are shaky. “H-he can’t touch us now.”

Can’t touch me now.

Damon doesn’t look convinced.

And I don’t blame him.

Because my words don’t sound all that convincing.

“Joey,” he begins, face softening.

Voice gentle.

God, it’s been months since I’ve gotten a glimpse of gentle in Damon’s tone. Not since that night in my office when I revealed too much.

It threatens to melt me, to unstick those barbs and send me sliding down, down , down.

I can’t.

I can’t.

So, I don’t.

I lift my chin again and ask, “Did security escort him out?”

Damon’s face is unreadable for a long moment, but then it goes blank, that bare hint of gentle gone like so much smoke. “Yes,” he says, “and I’ve beefed security up for after the game, along with calling the D.A.”

“Right,” I mutter.

Because this won’t look good as his trial approaches.

“Are you—” He steps closer, voice dropping. “Are you okay?”

That Hiller was trying to get into the building?

Fuck no.

Just his name is enough to set me back eight months.

No. Further .

To the comments. To the unwanted touches. To the night that became?—

A nightmare.

“I’m fine,” I lie, tone turning deliberately chipper. “Ready for a great home opener and a kickass season. I’ll catch up with you after the game—” I turn back for the locker room door.

But I don’t make it so much as half a rotation.

Because Damon’s hand is on my arm.

And then he’s dragging me down the hall.