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CHAPTER ONE

JACK

V iolence is never the answer, but it sure as shit would feel good.

That’s my very first thought as I pull my truck into the training center car park, or parking lot. I’ve spent over six years living stateside, and at this point, my brain is half British, half American.

But what nationality I am these days has zero impact on the main challenge facing my first day of training camp—trying not to punch Tyler Bennett in the face.

It’s been a year since I graduated alongside him in college. After that, he entered the NHL to play for the New York Blades, and I joined their AHL team in Connecticut.

It was the best season of my career so far and, incidentally, the worst of his.

I haven’t spoken to him since the graduation party that ended with him being carried to the bathroom by our teammates, and being honest, that surprises me. He belonged in the AHL with the way he was playing. There wasn’t anything I was surer of. He’s a dick, plain and simple, and the only drawback to finally living out my dream of playing pro .

Growing up in the UK brought few opportunities in ice hockey, but if there was one thing my biological dad did for me, it was moving our family across the pond, which consequently gave me a shot at playing in the NCAA.

Even though it’s been a year, I have zero doubts that Tyler has changed. In college, you could cut the tension between us with a knife, and the animosity wasn’t solely limited to the ice. He knew what I thought about his antagonistic game, and he was painfully aware of my thoughts of him as a man too. Especially when it came to the way he treated his girl. A girl I shouldn’t have cared about as much as I did based on the amount of attention she paid me in college. But Kendra Hart was—and still is—way out of his league.

Focus, Jack.

I slam the door on the truck and swing my bag onto my back, ready to make for the training center. But not before I catch a glimpse of the initials stamped across the dark blue hoodie I’m wearing.

JM .

It still feels surreal, even now. Twelve months ago, I was Jack Thompson—son of my mum’s former husband, Elliott Thompson. The kind of guy Tyler Bennett could sit down and have a few drinks with. Now I’m Jack Morgan, NHL player and, for all intents and purposes, stepson of Mum’s new husband and ex–pro hockey star, Jon Morgan. The same guy I idolized as a kid and watched play for the Seattle Scorpions when I first moved to the US. The same guy who is now coaching the NHL team I just signed with and is likely standing on the other side of these double doors.

So, yeah, there are plenty of reasons why I can’t punch Tyler in the face. Most notably the fact that he’s once again my teammate, but also the center my stepdad is pinning his hopes on this season.

When I push through into the meeting room, some of the team is already waiting, scattered around various tables. There’s a substantial spread of breakfast items lining the back wall, and when I turn around, a large projector is set up, the screen reading, The season of the Kings .

At heart, I’m a social guy. I’ve never had a problem making friends, but this atmosphere feels … different. I estimate there to be at least ten guys in this room, all faces I know well, but none friendly enough to approach. And that’s before my ex–college teammate makes an appearance.

I make my way to the back and grab a Gatorade from the stand, leaning against the wall and scanning tables for an option. I wasn’t especially nervous driving here today, more excited. But equally, I wasn’t expecting this kind of muted response to rookies. In only one season as head coach, Jon has at least lifted them off the bottom of the league, but given some of the beatings they took last season were cringeworthy, I figured a few new faces, especially new wingers, would be appreciated.

Obviously not.

I’m headed for an empty spot to the right when an arm in the air catches my attention.

Sawyer Bryce.

Undoubtedly the team’s best defenseman and also our captain.

He flips his hands toward him, motioning for me to join him and two other guys. But despite entering a parallel universe, surrounded by players I hung on my bedroom wall as a kid, I’m actually taken aback by the smile on Sawyer’s face as I take a seat next to him and dump my bag down on a spare chair. He might be the captain and acknowledged as one of the best defensemen in the league, but he’s also known for telling reporters to fuck off in interviews.

“You’ll have to forgive my guys for their less than warm welcome this morning.” Sawyer maintains his smile as he thumbs at the rest of the room, his southern accent noticeable. “Seven a.m. start after a long offseason will do that to them. ”

He leans back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. “Jon’s kid, right?”

I bristle and flip the cap on my drink, taking a pull before setting it down on the table. As much as I respect my stepdad and feel lucky we have him in our lives, especially Mum’s, there’s one thing I hate about it—living in his shadow. I took his name because he’s my hero and I didn’t want to play under my dad’s, but with it comes pitfalls.

“Officially, Stepson,” I say on a long-drawn-out breath.

Sliding a couple of documents toward me, Sawyer rests his forearms on the table, his dark hair curled around the sides of his Blades cap. “Seen and heard good things about you. I was kind of shocked you stayed in the AHL for an entire season. Could’ve used you earlier. But … being totally honest with you”—Sawyer puffs out his cheeks—“there are a few guys on the team who think you landed a pro contract because of daddy.” He chuckles low. “There aren’t many British guys in the league, and, well, you started playing really late. You getting your shot in the pros just doesn’t track for some.”

I open my mouth to speak, but he’s clearly not finished.

“That said, you’re a killer in front of the goal, and I’m sold on you joining us. You might just need to win a few of the other guys over.”

The double doors at the front open, and laughter immediately follows. Tyler and a couple of other guys who play on the second and third forward lines filter into the room, but the moment he claps eyes on me, his smile fades.

Yeah, I was spot-on. He’s not changed one fucking bit.

He holds eye contact for a few seconds before he’s broken away when one of the guys nudges him on the arm, asking him to look at something on his phone. Tyler grins in response, but I can tell it’s muted. Part of me wonders if his reaction to whatever he’s looking at would be different if I wasn’t watching. The other part of me doesn’t give a fuck .

“Played with him back in Seattle, right?” Sawyer nods his head toward Tyler.

I run my tongue across my bottom lip, a sour taste overtaking the Gatorade. “Yeah,” is all I say, hesitant to add any more at this point.

“I don’t like him,” Sawyer says.

I snap my head to him, staggered the captain went there with a player on his team, especially one who’s still considered a rookie after only a single season with the Blades. “Why?”

He dips his head and lowers his voice a couple of octaves. “There was this guy who used to play for us a few seasons back. He was our assistant captain before he basically got kicked off the team when the Blades refused to renew his contract.”

“Alex Schneider?” I ask.

Sawyer nods subtly, his brows lifted in Tyler’s direction. “Well, he gives me Schneider vibes, and I don’t like it. Something tells me you aren’t his number one fan either.”

“How can you tell that?” I ask, offering a casual shrug.

He picks up his bottle of water and unscrews the cap, a smirk tracing his lips. “Because right about now, your faces match.”

I blow out a low-grade laugh. “I’ve got my thoughts on him.”

“Yep. And he has his on you—most of them he’s said out loud as well. He’s your main skeptic for sure.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” I counter. “So, is there anyone nice around here?”

Sawyer snorts a laugh. “Yeah, pretty much the entire team.”

“Feels like it,” I reply sarcastically, tracking Tyler’s movements to where he joins the table directly in front of us.

The doors push open again, and Jon walks in, a binder tucked under one arm, a blue cap covering his brown hair, and a coffee in his left hand.

Setting the cup and file down on a small table at the front, he props his hands on his hips as he waits for Tyler to stop talking.

Clearing his throat, Jon finally has everyone’s attention, and he tips his head over his shoulder toward the projector behind him. “All right, now that I’ve got everyone’s attention, I guess we can get on with things. First off, welcome back. There are a few new faces that I’m sure you’re all familiar with. Take the time to speak to each other because I’m not about to start carrying out kindergarten introductions. Second, the next couple of weeks are going to be like nothing you’ve experienced before. Some of you have been playing pro for years, and others are fresh into it. But let me tell you, this is going to be your hardest preseason yet.”

When Jon pauses, Tyler turns over his shoulder, grinning at me, but I ignore it, used to his games.

“There are no free passes here. Everyone will fight and earn their place on the team. Last season was one up from the shit show the fans had previously witnessed, but this right here is where we turn it all around. From now until June, you will live and breathe hockey, every single one of you.”

“Wait.” Tyler speaks up. “June? Like, that’s playoff territory.”

Jon’s hands slide into the pockets of his dress pants. “Damn right it is. You got a problem with that? Have you developed an allergy to success?”

I press my lips together to fight back laughter, and out of the corner of my eye, I notice Sawyer swipe a hand across his mouth.

“No,” Tyler replies.

“Good. And, yes, very astute, Bennett. June is indeed playoff time and not jet-off-somewhere-hot-and-tropical territory, like many of you here seem to think it is. This time in nine months, you will be a different player, a better player. You’ll all look back on this morning and wonder if you were the same person. There’s a lot of talent in this room, and I’m tired of watching it go to waste. The league is coming for us this season, and most of the teams are viewing games against the Blades as guaranteed w ’s. And to them, I say, Fuck that .”

A few claps and appreciative grunts echo around the room, and I turn to Sawyer. “I don’t believe he’s giving anyone on this team preferential treatment. ”

His green eyes settle on me. “Play your best game, get along with the guys, and you’ll be just fine.”

As the room begins to empty, I push my seat back and stand, ready to head toward the locker rooms and change for our first conditioning session when I feel a hand land on my shoulder.

I spin around, expecting it to be Jon, but instead, I’m greeted with a mass of dirty-blond hair and gray eyes.

The corner of Tyler’s lips tips up as he looks around at the rest of the room and then back at me. “Welcome to New York, Morgan.”