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Chapter One

Jackson

“At what point of the day do we get cake?” Elliot asks, fiddling with one of the elastic straps of his forest-green suspenders as he shifts from foot to foot. The guy is incapable of standing still. “I was promised there would be cake.”

The ceremony doesn’t start for another twenty minutes, but for someone like Elliot Olsen, twenty minutes is a long time. Something he likes to make sure we know whenever we’re having a good offensive game because it means he spends a lot of time on his own in front of the pipes.

I personally don’t see it as a bad thing, but goalies are known to be a little weird.

Okay, maybe not a little weird. A lot weird. But Elliot wears it well.

“When I got married to Katy, I suggested there should be cake at different stages of the day,” Jonathan Peyton tells us, counting on his fingers as he lists them off. “Arrival cake, post-kiss cake, pre-speech cake, post-dinner cake, then the main-show cake.”

“Dude, that’s a lot of cake,” Carter Lockwood laughs. “Imagine the sugar high.”

“It would be magical,” my teammate Zach Reid replies, flashing his boyfriend a big smile. “I definitely wouldn’t say no to that.”

“Same. I don’t know why they didn’t take my suggestion,” Peyton says, perplexed.

Elliot falls into one of the chairs behind him and lets out a long, exasperated sigh. “Jacob told me about the cake he’s made, and it’s all I’ve been able to think about for days .” He wraps his lips around the rim of his champagne glass and throws the liquid to the back of his throat like it’s a shot, then bares his teeth in a grimace. “Champagne doesn’t taste the same when it’s not straight out the bottle or after winning the Cup.”

“Drinking champagne in anything other than the Cup is plain wrong,” Zach chuckles. The defenseman doesn’t have a dainty champagne flute in his hand, having swapped his bubbly beverage for a coffee. Although, the coffee cup looks just as dainty, given his huge stature. His laughter trails off as he furrows his brows. “Wait. How have you been waiting days when he only told you about it last night?”

“Exactly. It has been days because in Australia, it’s already tomorrow, so that means they have been waiting days, ergo, days .” Elliot waves his hand out to the side and rolls his eyes, silently saying, “Fucking duh.”

I frown in confusion, trying to understand his logic, but since I was traded to Chicago from Buffalo last February, I’ve learned not to question Elliot’s thought process .

Like I say, goalies . Weird creatures.

The five of us are standing on the edge of the courtyard, where rows of rustic white wooden chairs are neatly placed in two sections. They’re facing a colorful floral arch that looks out onto a sweeping view of the Santa Susana Mountains. It’s very picturesque and romantic. The perfect setting for my teammate Blaine Olsen—Elliot’s twin brother—to get married to his partner, Alex.

Sometimes I wonder what piece of advice I’d give myself in my rookie year. A tidbit to prepare myself for what was to come. I often think it would be this. That the second I signed my name on the dotted line of an NHL contract, I would also be waving goodbye to my off-seasons for the foreseeable future. Because the moment the hockey season ends, it officially becomes wedding season. There’s a small window every summer between the end of the postseason and the start of training camp, and boom , it seems like everyone is getting hitched. It’s a hectic dash trying to buy registry gifts and making sure the pants of my trusty wedding suit still fit over my thighs and ass, to booking flights to whatever scenic destination will be the backdrop to the vows being said that weekend.

Oh, and organizing childcare. Now that I’m a single father of two, it’s not as easy to up and leave for weekends on end. Yeah, my parents help out a lot. Having their help with the kids was the main reason why I requested the trade, but I don’t want to always rely on them because they do so much for me as it is. It wasn’t so bad when I was younger and had no kids. I lived for the evening reception, where I could loosen my tie and just… let loose with my friends.

But those days are long gone .

Last year, I managed to avoid most of the weddings I was invited to, using the excuse of wanting to spend the summer exploring our new home with my kids. But I have a lot of respect for Blaine and Alex, and I’m honored to be a part of their special day.

As if on cue, my phone begins to vibrate. I slip it out of my pocket, and dread crawls up my throat. It’s a video call from Ryan’s iPad.

Worry prickles up my spine, and I excuse myself from where my teammates are standing and walk over to a quiet corner of the courtyard to answer. My children’s faces fill the screen, and the first thing I notice is Isabela is visibly upset. Her cheeks are flushed a deep pink, and her eyes are glassy. My stomach churns, and my mind begins to race, thinking of all kinds of wild scenarios that could have happened to cause my daughter to be distressed, but I try not to let it show.

“Hey, what’s going on?” I ask, pushing my sunglasses to the top of my head so they can see me. “Everything okay?”

“Hey, Dad. Isabela’s upset that you’re not here. I told her you’re at the wedding, but she didn’t believe me,” my son, Ryan, tells me. He’s got his arm wrapped around his sister’s shoulders, and his iPad is propped up on his pillow where they’re sitting on his bed.

“I miss you, Daddy,” she whines, and then her chin wobbles.

Oh, shit. Here we go.

I suck in a sharp breath, waiting for the inevitable. My daughter might only be four years old, but it seems she knows how to play on my weak spots. Even though I’m expecting it—because she does this every time I’m on the road too—it doesn’t stop the stab in my chest when she lets out a choked sob and tears begin to fall down her cheeks.

Fuck. I never should have left Chicago, wedding be damned.

“I know, peanut, I miss you too. I’ll be home soon, okay? Do you remember why I came to California?”

She gives a shaky nod and hiccups. “B-b-blaine and Alex… getting married.”

“Yeah, that’s right.” I smile softly, keeping my voice gentle and calm. “I’ll take lots of photos so you can look through them when I’m home.”

She blinks at me with her big blue eyes. I can see the fat tears clinging to her lashes through the camera. “And cake?”

Some of the tension leaves my shoulders as I laugh. “I don’t think the cake will survive the flight home, but how about this? I promise I’ll take you to the bakery, and you can choose a cake. Maybe I’ll even ask Jacob if he can make you a special one.”

And just like a switch has been flicked, the tears suddenly stop, and an excited expression takes over her face.

“Okay,” she says gleefully, and I make a mental note to speak with Jacob about ordering a custom cake in the same flavors as the wedding cake when I’m home. Maybe it’s a bad thing to promise sweet treats in order to cheer up my kids, but hey, a bit of cake won’t hurt them.

I flick my gaze to Ryan. He’s so grown up for an eight-year-old. A part of me worries he’s had to grow up too quickly because of the shit he’s had to go through recently.

“Where’s Mom?” I ask.

“She’s downstairs. She said she has some work to do on her laptop,” he answers. “I said to Izzy that we can do some coloring until Mom can take us to the park.”

My head snaps to the side as music starts playing behind me. Peyton is waving his hand at me, motioning for me to follow. Shit, the ceremony is starting now.

I quickly return my attention back to my phone.

“That sounds like a good idea. You’re a good brother, Ryan, and peanut, I’ll be home tomorrow afternoon, okay? I’ve gotta go now because the wedding’s going to start shortly, but I’ll call you in the morning before my flight. Make sure you’re good for your mom, and have fun at the park.”

Ryan nods. “Okay, Dad. We will.”

“I love you both,” I say.

“I love yoooou, Daddyyy!” Isabela sings, and then Ryan ends the call with a quick “Love you, Dad. Bye!”

The call cuts off, and I drop my phone to my side, staring aimlessly out into the distance for a second.

It’s hard being a single dad. I’m constantly worried about whether I’m doing the right thing or royally fucking things up. There’s this huge part of me that believes I’m a bad father, especially now I’m leaving them for two nights to attend this wedding when I already spend so many nights away from them during the season. It follows me like a dark cloud, despite knowing they are perfectly fine with my parents or my ex-wife, Laura. She’s a great mom, and they need this alone time with her. But it doesn’t stop the ache deep in my chest that I’m failing them.

My kids and my career are the two most important things in my life. I’m one of the few single guys on the twenty-three-man roster for the Thunder, but I refuse to even contemplate dating again. Not until the kids are older, at least. Maybe I’ll consider it when they go to college or something. I simply don’t have time to fit another factor in my life when I’m already struggling to keep on top of everything.

“Yo! Wildsy!” Peyton calls out. “We’ve gotta go sit down.”

I nod, holding up a finger to let him know I’ll be right there, then bring up the text thread with my ex-wife. I fire off a quick message, hoping she won’t take this the wrong way.

Hey. Letting you know I’ve just had a call from Ryan. Isabela was upset about me being away. I know you’ve got some work to do, but could you take them to the park earlier than planned? Try to take her mind off me not being there?

Luckily, I don’t have to wait long for the reply.

Laura

I’ll finish this up and take them, but you know what she’s like.

I bristle slightly. I can hear the unspoken accusation in her words.

Why are you surprised? You caused this .

It’s not something I can deny because, yeah, I did cause this in a way. The move from Buffalo to Chicago was my doing, but it was necessary. Laura’s and my relationship ended three years ago, shortly after Isabela’s first birthday. We tried to make it work, but to put it bluntly, we fell out of love. We tried to put on a show that everything was fine for the sake of the kids, but when she got her dream job at a broadcasting network in Manhattan, we decided it was best to file for divorce to allow her to go into this new venture of her life without any legal tie to me. The new role would also involve her traveling a lot more, and I hated the thought of leaving the kids with nannies when they could have been with family while I was on the road.

So, I suggested putting in a trade request to move to Chicago and take sole custody of the kids. My parents live in the suburbs, and that way, the kids could stay with my parents while I’m on the road to provide some stability. Luckily, Laura agreed, and she visits whenever she can. But now, I can sense this underlying blame that I’m the reason Isabela struggles with separation anxiety and why it’s always me she wants whenever she’s with Laura. She doesn’t seem to understand that I’m trying my best, and as long as the kids are happy, healthy and safe, surely that should be enough.

Sighing, I slip my phone back into my pants pocket and scrub my hands over my face.

“Dude, everything alright, eh?” Peyton appears at my side and claps my shoulder. “We’ve gotta take our seats ’cause it’s about to start.”

“Yeah, all good,” I say because technically, it is.

Isabela is fine. Ryan is fine.

Everything is fine.

So why can’t I make myself believe that?

I take my sunglasses from the top of my head and slip them back on over my eyes. I follow Peyton to our seats, taking a side step to grab one of the champagne flutes and swallowing it in one large gulp before returning it to the tray. Hopefully, the fizz will ease some of the tension now lingering at the base of my skull.

Peyton sits down next to our defenseman Adam Kendrick and his wife, Maria, along with Zach and Carter. Elliot’s moved to stand at the front with Alex’s brother Jacob, and my newly retired teammate Ethan sits in the first row with a few of Alex’s friends and colleagues.

The ceremony is only a small, close-knit group, and when almost everyone has taken their seats, I notice there’s an empty chair next to me at the end of the row. At the same time, the hair on the back of my neck prickles with awareness.

No, no, no . This can’t be happening.

Slowly, I turn to glance over my shoulder, and my body trembles when I see him. Dressed in a three-piece navy blue suit that fits his long, lean form like a dream, he oozes sex and sophistication. It’s clear to see how he’s made several best-dressed lists and received awards for the most handsome man. They used to call him the golden boy of the NHL. Not only because he had stellar stats to match his stellar appearance but because he had the type of personality that could win over even the toughest of critics.

He used to be known as the poster boy power forward.

I was fooled once before by the charm and the expensive suits and crystal-like blue eyes, but I won’t be fooled again.

But despite my better judgment, I’m unable to tear my eyes away from him, watching him greet people as he passes. They fawn over him, so eager to say hello and shake his hand. I wouldn’t be surprised if people dropped to their knees and kissed his fancy designer loafers. He has this air about him that causes people to gravitate to him whenever he’s in a room.

I know about that all too well.

When Peyton jumps up and stretches over me to slap Hayden’s back in a hug, my jaw clenches.

It seems the world wants to fuck me over a little bit more and flip me the double proverbial finger today.

He sits graciously in the empty seat next to me, crossing one leg over the other, and flashes one of his signature smiles my way.

“It’s nice to see you again, Wilde.”

My spine stiffens at the slight rasp of his voice, and my traitorous cock doesn’t fail to notice. It clearly hasn’t forgotten the times I forgot the world existed while he whispered sweet nothings into my ear.

Ignoring how my heart rate suddenly spikes, I tip my head to look at him. Dark sunglasses cover what I know are piercing, steel-gray eyes. I can still picture them so vividly from the number of times I’d lost myself in them. The early afternoon Californian sun highlights the sharp line of his clean-shaven jaw and chiseled cheekbones. His face has always looked like it’s been cut from marble. I used to think he was too handsome for hockey. And like a fine wine, he’s only getting better with age.

Fuck. I hate that my body still comes alive whenever he’s around. A feeling that I’ve only ever experienced with him.

And I hate it even more so because he’s the only person to ever break my heart.

My ex-teammate. My first love.

Hayden Cassidy.