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KENNETH

Kenneth’s chest rose and fell with the rhythm of his breath, sharp and steady as he sat on the bench, the cool sting of the ice beneath his skates grounding him in the here and now. The chill of the arena wasn’t enough to quiet the fire roaring in his veins. Their first game. The one that would either silence the critics or feed them like wolves at a fresh kill.

The Wolverines. A dream team by design. Top talent from all over the league. The best of the best, tossed together in a blender and expected to pour out perfection. On paper, they should’ve been unstoppable. But in reality? The odds weren’t exactly in their favor. Not because they lacked skill—far from it. But chemistry? That was the gamble.

Yet something surprising had happened in the weeks leading up to this moment. They hadn’t imploded. They hadn’t fallen into ego-driven chaos or let tempers divide them like everyone expected. Sure, there had been a few “little tiffs,” moments where pride bumped heads with pride, but nothing more than that. No locker room blow-ups. No fights on the ice. And Kenneth knew why—because not one of them would put up with childishness. They were here for something more. Something bigger than themselves.

They were focused. They were driven. They were dead set on proving everyone wrong.

Because if they didn’t? If they fell flat tonight in front of the eyes of the NHL?

Kenneth could already hear the jeering voices that would follow. Like vultures circling the dead, the media was already sharpening their talons.

"The Wolverines recruited the best – and brought out the worst…"

"Quebec has fumbled… and fouled."

"Experienced players = experienced failures…"

"What happens when you put the best of the best together… why nothing, of course!"

The criticism wasn’t just speculation. It was waiting in the wings, salivating. Kenneth could feel the weight of it settle in his chest like a cinder block as he leaned forward on his stick, his gloves flexing around the shaft with silent tension. He’d been in this league long enough to know that one game didn’t make a team—but it could absolutely break one.

He blew out a long, shaky breath through his nose, and just as he was about to look down and regroup, his eyes found her.

Jamie.

There she was, perched in the stands with a camera in her hands and a little boy bouncing beside her, all arms and giggles and complete disregard for the gravity of the game. Zachary. His boy. Their boy.

Kenneth’s heart stuttered in his chest, and he felt his jaw unclench as he watched his son dance in place, face bright, carefree. The innocence of it—so pure it nearly hurt to look at. But Jamie? She wasn’t bouncing or distracted. She was focused, zoomed in with her lens, filming the hits, the speed, the fury of the game. Recording everything that mattered to him. Her eyes scanned the ice like she belonged down here, too, a part of this team in her own right. She wasn’t just watching—she was invested. She was with him.

Their eyes met across the distance, and time warped, slowed, and froze altogether in a heartbeat of clarity.

She smiled at him, lips curving in that soft, knowing way that made him feel like everything was going to be okay. And then she blew him a kiss—small and quick and just for him—and followed it with a wink. That slow, intimate, I-see-you wink.

It undid him.

Right there in the middle of a warzone dressed in skates and shoulder pads, Kenneth felt his foundation quake. He grinned, helpless to do anything else. That fluttery feeling in his chest—that quiet, powerful punch of love—rippled through him. Jamie was here. Jamie was always here.

Candi never came to his games. She didn’t understand this life, this passion. She never tried. But Jamie? She didn’t just show up—she cheered. She chronicled. She flirted like he was the only man in the world. And in her lens, he was.

He loved her all the more for it.

The bubble of joy expanding inside him popped a second later when a loud smack echoed against his helmet. The sharp sound startled him, and he jerked, blinking rapidly as he turned toward the offender.

Jett Acton.

The man was grinning like a fool, his eyes dancing with mischief as he lifted his gloved hands beneath his chin, fluttering his eyelashes with mock romance before puckering up and making a ridiculously exaggerated kissy face.

Kenneth rolled his eyes, trying not to laugh, but Jett wasn’t finished.

“Look, Mary Poppins,” Jett said, voice muffled slightly by his helmet but loud enough to cut through the tension around them, “ pluck your schumck and pay attention – the other team just scored. We need to get back out there and show ‘em who’s boss, not sit here making googly eyes at your wife.”

The timing was brutal—but perfect.

Kenneth snorted, trying to suppress the laugh that rose like a wave in his chest. He tilted his head slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching despite himself. Of course, Jett was doing this. Of course, he was.

“You’re doing it,” Kenneth shot back, his voice rough with dry amusement, eyes narrowing slightly as he stared down the ice. “You’re doing it to Karen.”

Jett didn’t even flinch—if anything, the man thrived on the attention. With the cocky grace of someone who knew the spotlight belonged to him, he rose to his feet like he was about to mount a stage instead of step onto a rink. He flexed with the exaggerated swagger of a bodybuilder, his muscles tightening beneath the tight compression shirt. Then, with the casual bravado of a man with zero shame, Jett raised his hockey stick above his head, lifted his jersey, and rubbed his abdomen slowly—deliberately—as he gazed across the ice and laughed .

Kenneth followed his line of sight—to Jett’s wife. Karen was watching. And judging by Jett’s smirk, she was giving him exactly the reaction he wanted.

Something twisted in Kenneth’s chest. The sharp, bitter edge of frustration. He wanted to be alone with Jamie, but that wouldn’t happen for several hours now. He didn’t have that freedom or that time anymore. He couldn’t even sneak a private moment with his wife these days without the world barging in. The team, the game, and fans were starting to recognize them in the streets – and all anonymity was quickly fading fast.

The Wolverines were a thing – and the people knew it.

He reached up, a flash of irritation coursing through him, and yanked Jett’s jersey hard. The man toppled backward like a felled tree, crashing into the players’ box with a thud that echoed, his head knocking the boards, a skate skimming dangerously close to someone else’s leg. Players scattered and swore, startled by the sudden man-shaped projectile flopping like a stunned fish.

“Hey man… what the heck!”

“Acton, skates, dude! Skates! ”

“Owww ya’ big lummox! What’d you do that for?”

Kenneth didn’t care. He was already standing over Jett, hands fisted at his sides, face flushed. His pulse beat a war drum rhythm in his ears.

“No one wants to see you flexing and showing off your abs—we’re in the middle of a game!” Kenneth snapped, his voice sharper than he intended. But the emotion behind it burned too hot. “You wanna show her something? Show her you’ve got skills on the ice as well as the bedroom…”

“If only,” Jett muttered, low but not low enough.

Kenneth’s brows pulled together. The words felt heavier than they should’ve—weighted with something… off. He turned to look at the man sprawled on the bench, expecting sarcasm but finding something else entirely. Jett, as if he knew he revealed a weakness, leaped to his feet with a ferocity that was shocking – and went on the defensive.

“Don’t you say a word!” Jett hissed, shoving a finger into Kenneth’s chest hard enough to make him take a step back. “It’s my business and nun-ya! ”

“Nun-ya?”

“None of yours!” Jett snarled, his tone cracking just slightly at the edge.

And that’s when Kenneth really looked at him. Not the loudmouth, not the jokester, not the cocky showman everyone thought they knew. But the man . His jaw was clenched tight, eyes shadowed and glassy, lips pressed into a fine line. Kenneth had seen men under pressure before—battlefields of a different kind—but this? This looked like a man unraveling behind the armor, and he saw it.

“Are you okay?” he asked, softer this time, the heat in his voice replaced by something closer to concern. “If you need to?—”

“Are we gonna cuddle and hug now?” Jett shot back, venomous and mocking, making kissy noises as he leaned in. Kenneth recoiled instantly, repulsed—not by the man, but by the clear act of deflection. Defense. Denial.

“Don’t worry about me,” Jett went on, laughing without humor, “and let’s get out there before I have to deal with frustration , shame, and regret .”

Regret?

The word cracked through Kenneth like lightning.

Jett Acton regretted coming to the Wolverines? Kenneth thought, stunned, and then his mouth dropped open with shock and with understanding, just as something in the other man’s face broke. For a heartbeat, Jett looked unhinged. There was a flicker behind his eyes—like a mirror shattering, fast and final. The man was breaking , and he was begging with everything he had left to not be seen . He jabbed two fingers into Kenneth’s face, his voice barely holding steady.

“Back off! Quit asking! All I want from you is TWO GOALS… got it?”

Kenneth hesitated, the silence thick between them. His chest was tight. He didn’t know what the story was—and maybe he didn’t need to. This wasn’t about the team or the players, and Kenneth knew pain when he saw it. Deep, emotional, private pain - and right now, Jett was drowning in it.

“Then let’s go,” Kenneth said, his voice firm again, matching the other man’s intensity. “I’ve got you—on the ice and off.”

Jett didn’t say thank you. He didn’t need to.

“Good,” Jett snapped, then turned and started bellowing to the guys still on the ice, waving his arms like a madman. “Get over here! I’m ready! Move, move, move, and let’s goooo!”

Kenneth shook his head, lips curving faintly. “Yup. Let’s show them how it’s done…”

“Boooo-yah…”

They bumped gloves with a fierce, almost angry kind of energy and then exploded onto the ice. The air changed. The noise of the crowd swelled behind them, rising in a wave as Jett raised his arms high, feeding the frenzy like a lightning rod drawing storm after storm. The man thrived on attention and knew exactly how to work the crowd.

Kenneth skated to position, the world narrowing down to the cold, the puck, and his teammate. Say what you would about Jett Acton—he burned hot, reckless, and wild—but he showed up . Every time. He gave 110 percent and demanded the same from everyone around him.

Boucher gave quiet tips under his breath to keep from undercutting Savage, their captain and anchor, but Jett? Jett shoved them with everything he had. Goaded, dared,and forced them to be better.

And it worked. They worked.

Kenneth flicked the puck across the ice, slicing through defenders. Jett snatched it like it was drawn to him, gliding effortlessly before slapping it past the goalie’s legs with a clean, vicious snap.

The crowd erupted.

“Ooooh that’s gotta hurt, bro!” Jett called out to the goalie, grinning like a devil and holding his stick high like a war banner. The guy had a doctorate in talking smack, and it showed.

Kenneth skated over, his breath puffing in the cold air, and met Jett’s eyes. The look they shared wasn’t loud or flashy—but it was real .

“I owe you two, brother,” Kenneth said.

Jett’s grin widened, real pride shining through. “Yeah, you do—now pay up!”

“On it…”

And he did .

Kenneth’s skates sliced across the ice with deadly precision, his breath misting in the frigid air as he locked eyes on the puck. The world blurred around him—roaring fans, flashing lights, the shriek of metal on ice—none of it mattered except for the feel of the stick in his hands and the laser focus in his chest.

One shot.

The puck sang as it collided with the back of the net.

Then another.

Smooth. Clean. Lethal.

Like clockwork.

The horn blared, and the arena erupted. The crowd was a thunderstorm—shouting, stamping, throwing hats, waving signs with his name and number scribbled in frantic marker. The scoreboard blazed overhead like a spotlight sent from heaven itself.

6 to 2. Victory.

They’d done it. They’d buried the other team.

Kenneth skated toward the bench, his heart thundering in his chest like a drumline. High-fives met him. Slaps on the back. The clatter of sticks against the boards. He nodded, grinned, and even let out a whoop as he bumped helmets with his linemate. His lungs burned, sweat dripped from his brow, and for a fleeting moment, the adrenaline masked everything else. The rush of triumph. The physical high of winning.

But as his blades left the ice and his skates hit the rubber matting in the tunnel, the celebration started to fade—like fog being peeled away by something colder underneath.

He glanced back once. The team. The lights. The noise.

And then, deeper than all of it, somewhere in the pit of his stomach, came that thought again.

A quiet ache. A truth he didn’t want to name.

They’d won the game.

But Jett?

Kenneth exhaled slowly through his nose, jaw tight as he pulled off his gloves. That man—his teammate, his friend, his brother on the ice —wasn’t just skating through a streak. He was unraveling. Slipping. Coming apart at the edges. Kenneth had seen it—the way Jett lingered a second too long in the locker room, how he stared at his phone like it might punch him in the gut, how his jokes had gotten quieter, his eyes duller.

Something was happening. Something bigger than a missed goal or a bad shift. And it scared Kenneth more than any puck to the ribs ever could. One man’s attitude could infect the team and the atmosphere, and it couldn’t happen. If he had something going on at home, he couldn’t bring it into the locker room or the ice.

He didn’t know how to fix what was breaking inside Jett. He didn’t know if he could.

Kenneth wiped a hand across his face, sweat mixing with the sting of unshed frustration. He was used to action. To strategy. To stepping up and doing something. But this? This silent kind of suffering? It made him feel helpless and reminded him of his own past, and that was a feeling he hated more than losing a game.

But he saw it. And now that he did, he couldn’t unsee it.

He couldn’t just pretend that everything was fine because the scoreboard said they were winners tonight. Not when someone he cared about, a teammate, was quietly losing a different kind of battle.

But he’d be darned if he didn’t try.

And Kenneth?

He didn’t back down from a fight.

Not when it mattered.

Not when it was personal.

He squared his shoulders and turned toward the locker room. Because victory wasn’t just on the ice, it was in showing up when it mattered most – and if Jett didn’t want to discuss things with him, then maybe it was time to bring in ‘ the big guns’ .

Jamie.

* * *

T hat night, after Zachary had finally drifted off to sleep, Kenneth stood at the edge of his son’s bed for a long moment, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest. There was something grounding in that quiet, something steady and warm about the way Zach clutched his stuffed dinosaur under one arm, his lashes resting softly on his cheeks. Kenneth smiled faintly, brushing a hand over the boy’s messy curls, and eased out of the room with a sigh.

He closed the door quietly behind him and leaned against the frame. The house was dim now, shadows painting long strokes across the walls, and the hush felt like a weight pressing into his chest. The kind of silence that didn’t calm—it only reminded him of everything left unsaid.

He rubbed the back of his neck, hesitant. How did someone even start a conversation like this?

Talking to your wife about another couple's failing marriage was not exactly romantic pillow talk. It was the kind of conversation that made things tense, that could derail a perfectly good night—the kind of night where he wanted to hold Jamie close and get lost in her laughter, her warmth, her scent. But he couldn’t shake the image of Jett earlier that evening; jaw clenched, eyes stormy, words bitten back too late.

Kenneth had seen regret before. He’d tasted it. And whatever was happening with Jett—whatever was festering under the surface—felt like something dangerous. Like a crack in the ice that could spread if they ignored it too long.

He was still lost in thought when Jamie stepped into the room.

She appeared like a vision in the soft golden light of the bathroom doorway, one hand on the frame, the other on her hip. She wore lingerie he’d never seen before—black lace and deep red satin that clung to her in all the ways that made his brain short-circuit and his blood rush south. His heart skipped a beat. His breath caught in his throat.

And then she froze.

“What’s wrong?” Jamie’s voice rose in panic, her playful pose collapsing. “Is this not what you’re looking for? Do I have TP stuck to me…?”

Kenneth blinked, startled back to the present, and immediately shook his head. “No… oh gosh, no.”

His voice cracked, and he did a double take, because— goodness . She looked incredible. His jaw worked for a moment before words caught up to the thought. Jamie was amazing—every single day. Wildly unfiltered, genuinely kind, and heartbreakingly beautiful, especially when she didn’t even try to be. She was the kind of woman who threw herself on top of his son to tickle him until they both laughed so hard they snorted. Who kissed Zach good night like he was her own flesh and blood. Who loved with everything she had and never looked back.

Kenneth felt the twist of guilt and love churn in his chest.

“Jamie,” he started softly, sitting down on the edge of the bed and resting his elbows on his knees. “One of the guys on the team is having a tough time with his wife—and he’s one of the ones that married to take the job.”

She stilled. “Like you.”

He nodded. “Like me.”

Jamie padded into the room, her footsteps soft against the floor. “And it’s not going so great.”

Kenneth shook his head, the tension in his shoulders tightening further. “Not like this,” he said honestly, looking up into her eyes. “I know what a miracle this is and how lucky I am…”

“How lucky we are,” she corrected, her voice a quiet balm as she sat beside him and slid her hand into his. Her thumb brushed over his knuckles. Warm. Reassuring.

Kenneth swallowed hard, overwhelmed again by how deeply she got him. “It’s Jett. I don’t think he and his wife are… together. He said something tonight about regret and got really mad after it slipped.”

Jamie winced. “Regret? Karen’s a sweetie, but they are very different.”

“But so are we,” Kenneth replied gently. He turned to face her, eyes searching hers. “I think if they can talk, reach each other, or…”

“You are such a sweet man, aren’t you?” Jamie whispered, touching his cheek. The affection in her gaze nearly undid him.

Kenneth flushed, glancing away. This was all too vulnerable. Too tender. It felt like emotional territory he wasn’t supposed to be walking into—especially not about someone else’s marriage. But it mattered. It all mattered. The team. Jett. His family. This woman beside him.

“Sometimes you can’t help everyone, Snack Cake,” she murmured. “No matter how hard you try.”

He gave her a look, a pleading one this time. “Could you maybe talk to Karen and get her to open up and talk to you? Or maybe we can help from behind the scenes…?”

Jamie hesitated. “Getting involved can cause problems,” she warned. But then her smile softened. “But yes. I’ll invite Karen to coffee and see if she needs a shoulder to cry on.”

Relief washed through him. He exhaled deeply. “Thank you,” he said, and meant it.

Jamie gave his hand a squeeze. “Now,” she grinned, eyes dancing again, “can we talk about something else? Something romantic ?”

Kenneth arched a brow. “Depends what you’ve got in mind.”

“I got some great shots of everyone on the ice tonight,” she said proudly, “and an intense one of you that I sent off to get blown up to an 8x10. I want it on the wall—right next to a photo of you holding the Stanley Cup when you guys win it.”

He laughed—genuine and full—and the tight knot in his chest finally started to ease. Her laughter joined his, and in that moment, everything felt a little lighter. A little more possible.

“You’re the best,” he murmured, pulling her in.

“I know,” she said with a smirk, melting into his arms like she was made for them.