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One year later…

Dax Temple Is a Godsend.

That’s what the newspapers printed after his second week with the L.A. Hawks. Dax Temple—a blessing from heaven, exactly what the Hawks had been lacking, the man who would lead them to new glory.

Dax Temple—Demon on the Ice .

…They printed that after his fourth week because Dax was too aggressive on the ice. He’d shed his gloves and gone for the throat of an opponent too often to be mentioned in the same breath as God.

Then Dax met Jack “The Saint” West on the ice for the second time—a few months after that first catastrophic match that still haunted his nightmares to this day—and “demon” was quickly dropped as an analogy, replaced by “devil.”

Dax Devil . The name spread faster than a sexually transmitted infection during spring break. The press couldn’t have been happier. They made millions off the Devil vs. Saint headlines.

Dax had never appreciated the nickname. He knew what hell was like and he had no desire to ever go back, not even in name alone. But it wasn’t worth fighting, because the fans loved that shit. The sports news loved that shit. The internet loved that shit.

Nobody cared that Dax was incredibly annoyed by that shit. Fans reveled in the rivalry between the two players. Some were convinced that Dax was terribly resentful and had never gotten over his pride being wounded in that first game. However, most suspected that rivalry continued because the two had finally found an equal in one another, reminding each that he wasn’t invincible. No one wanted to hear that, especially not a professional hockey player approaching thirty.

The Hawks’ PR team said that Dax, of course, didn’t really hate the opposing player, it was simply a harmless rivalry that spurred them on to do their best on the ice.

But the PR team lied.

Because Dax hated Jack with a fervor that would have made the devil proud. And the reason for it had absolutely nothing to do with ice hockey. But no one knew that, and he wasn’t going to tell anyone. Nor was Jack. Probably because he knew Dax would kill him if he opened his mouth. Or because the only thing they had in common was the desire not to see their past printed on the front page of a tabloid.

Dax didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything that concerned Jack West as long as he received the occasional opportunity to kick his ass on the ice.

At least, it had been that way for ten years.

Until now.

“…And we are pleased to welcome Jack West to our team, starting next week! I am certain he will be a good addition to our squad. Everyone in the Hawks organization is happy about it.”

“Oh shit,” Matt Payne said loudly, dropping the helmet he had just pulled off his head.

“ What ?” Leon Alvarez, their best defenseman, shouted, rubbing his hair dry and staring dumbfounded at their coach, Parker Gray, who had just delivered the good news. “You can’t be serious, boss!”

“Okay, calm down,” Austin Fox intervened. The team captain saw it as his job to keep the peace, whether on the ice, in the locker room, or at the poker table.

At the words calm down , all his teammates in the locker room turned to Dax. He wasn’t surprised. Everyone here knew what he thought of Jack West, just as everyone knew he wasn’t known for staying calm.

Today, however, he made an exception. Today he said nothing. Today, he just stared stonily ahead, his lips pressed together, his hands on his knees. Oh, under normal circumstances he would have freaked out. If he wanted to, he could be the biggest asshole in the entire organization—as an annoying, curvy redhead had recently noted. It’s just that Coach Gray’s ‘news’ wasn’t news to him. He had known for three months that a trade was being discussed. And he had conscientiously used the time to suffocate his anger with brutal workouts in the gym, to drown his frustration in expensive scotch, to forget his worries in the warm beds of strange women. He wasn’t necessarily proud of the last few months, but he had needed all that to prepare for this precise moment. He needed to maintain his composure without letting on what this information was truly doing to him.

That’s because, although he hated that West still held such sway over him, he would hate it even more if others knew the depth of his response—most of all his team, who had been his family for years.

“Guys,” Parker Gray called out loudly and everyone reluctantly returned their attention to him. “I know this comes as a surprise, but we can use another fantastic center. No offense, Fox.” He nodded to the captain. “And you all know West is the damn best; after all, you’ve lost to him often enough. So, pull yourselves together. I’m sure West will be a great addition to the team. And we’ve just got to use the next few weeks right, before the first game.”

Again, all eyes landed on Dax, as if everyone were waiting for his permission to like West. Matt even tentatively placed a hand on his arm as if he sensed that Dax needed emotional support. Dax continued ignoring the room. He had enough to do, trying to force down the heat building in his chest that was making it difficult to breathe.

It was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous! He was better than this. Better than his damn emotions and anger. The ice had always been the one place in his life where he could find peace and calm, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to let West ruin that.

“The PR team is busy preparing for the press conference, when the trade will be announced,” Gray continued, but Dax was no longer listening.

God, it sucked. It was so incredibly shitty. He would no longer be able to avoid West. He would be forced to have interactions with him, have to sit with him on the same plane, bus, in the locker room…

“Dude, why aren’t you freaking out?” Matt muttered to him, nudging him with his shoulder.

“I already knew,” he replied tonelessly.

“How? From whom? Nobody knows that stuff until Gray tells us!”

He merely shrugged and refrained from replying. Matt had been his best friend for seven years. They had joined the Hawks in the same season and gone through the same rookie rituals together: supporting each other after brutal training sessions and heartbreaking defeats and sharing their insecurities as well as their triumphs. Dax had been there for Matt when his grandfather, who had taught him to ice skate, died unexpectedly a few years ago. Matt hadn’t revealed to anyone that the reason Dax had sprained his wrist wasn’t because of intense practice on the ice, but rather because he’d tripped over his own doorstep. And completely sober, too—which was more embarrassing. But not even Matt knew why Dax was truly mad at West.

“…Otherwise, you will all be briefed in the next few days about what you can post about West’s trade or say in interviews,” Gray said, drawing attention to himself again. Dax reluctantly looked at him.

“Who’s briefing us?” Fox wanted to know.

Matt grimaced. “Please, not the dragon. I swear, every time I talk to Forth, chills run down my spine. That old woman is in league with the real devil. She probably put cameras in the restrooms herself to make sure we wash our hands after we pee, just so that no journalist could ever claim otherwise.”

“Leslie is scary,” Fox agreed, shuddering.

Gray snorted loudly. “Incomprehensible that this group of 200-pound men can be brought to their knees by a sweet old lady.”

Oh, please. Dax had once observed the coach hiding behind his car as the Head of PR marched out of the administration building, clipboard at the ready.

“You can relax. Lucy James oversees the press conference.”

A general sigh of relief made the rounds… but the hairs on the back of Dax’s neck stood on end.

Lucy James.

Just hearing the name made his whole body stiffen. He had given her two weeks before she quit. That was eleven months ago. Everyone liked her. The whole team thought she was this smart, pretty, kind creature who made their lives easier.

Dax knew better. Yes, she was smart and, shit, she was pretty, way too pretty for his taste, but she wasn’t kind, and she definitely didn’t make his life any easier. On the contrary. As far as he was concerned, he wasn’t the devil around here, no matter what the press said— she was.

“So, in summary,” Gray continued, “keep quiet until Lucy tells you otherwise; is that clear?”

“Of course, clear as day. We’d do anything for sweet Lucy,” Leon said with a sigh and a hand on his chest. “It’s a shame she has that stupid rule about not messing around with players. Otherwise, I would have already—”

“Hey,” Matt interrupted sharply, giving him a warning look. “Don’t be like that. Otherwise, I’ll tell Lucy you called her ‘sweet,’ and you know what happens then: You wake up tomorrow morning without your favorite body part.”

Dax snorted. Not because Matt was joking, but because it most likely was true. He’d never known a woman who became so infuriated when someone called her ‘sweet’ or anything similar, which was one reason why he still didn’t understand how Matt could be friends with Lucy—the traitor! Dax couldn’t figure out how anyone could voluntarily spend time with her. Maybe she had a few magic tricks up her sleeve he didn’t know about. Maybe she lived with a bevy of underwear models. That would at least explain why Matt hung out with her.

Leon rolled his eyes. “Good gravy, now we can kiss our freedom of speech goodbye.”

“Freedom of speech isn’t always a good thing,” Dax remarked, patting him on the shoulder.

“Ah, of course, now he speaks,” the defender remarked sourly.

Fox sighed heavily. “Okay, I expect you all at eight this evening. Before the season starts, we’ll probably have to engage in a few teambuilding activities. Some of us seem to have forgotten our manners.”

Teambuilding activities meant something like beer, poker, and pool, so fuck yeah, Dax could go for that.

“Leon didn’t forget his manners just today,” Matt murmured, “he lost them with his first seven-figure paycheck.”

“Hey, I heard that!” the defenseman complained loudly, then added more softly, “And could you please not say that in front of my mom when she comes to the opening game? She’d never forgive me if I showed she’d failed in my upbringing.”

Dax chuckled softly and closed his eyes while Matt wondered if Leon ever considered thinking before opening his mouth. Fox suggested electroshock therapy. Their coach pointed out that it could potentially affect Leon’s ability as a player—a few well-placed jabs to the ribs would do the trick.

And for the first time in three days, Dax felt relaxed. As usual, the bullshit coming out of his fellow players’ mouths distracted him from his life outside of hockey.

Ice hockey was his home. He wouldn’t let that go, not even for Jack West. He would simply learn to coexist alongside him. That was all. He had survived worse.

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” Gray exclaimed happily. “This is our year, people! With West, we have the best chance in the NHL for the Cup. Oh, yeah, Temple, can I talk to you outside for a sec?” He raised his eyebrows and nodded toward the locker room exit.

Great.

“It’ll be fine, Dax,” Matt murmured over his left shoulder, patting him on the back. “I know the West thing is suboptimal, but…we’re all on your side. Hey, if you want, I’d be happy to trip him during his first practice. With me, people will believe it was an accident.”

Dax smiled weakly before standing with a sigh. That was nice to hear, but it wouldn’t solve his problem. “I’ll think about it. Thank you,” he grunted, knowing it was always good to have a plan B. “See you later.”

Dax raised his hand in farewell before following their coach outside. He had little desire to talk about their new addition, but he knew better than to anger the boss before the season even started.

As he closed the door, his phone vibrated with a message, so he pulled it out of his pocket.

Could you stop ignoring me? Just talk to me?

He cracked his jaw and deleted the message. He wasn’t that into talking. Neither were the two brunettes who had been with him last night, thank God. There were so many more satisfying things you could do with your mouth…

His coach apparently had a different opinion.

“Explain this to me, Temple,” he said tensely, holding out a piece of paper.

Confused, Dax blinked and took it. It was a blog article from some sports gossip site and, of course, there was a picture of him under the glowing red headline.

Three-way, Dirt, and Drama—The Ice Devil in Rare Form

“Hmm. Charming headline,” he noted.

“The picture is even more charming,” his coach said grimly.

Dax agreed with Gray. There were definitely more flattering photos of him out there. At least the women hanging on each of his arms looked pretty and happy, and only half as drunk as he was.

“Do you expect me to read the article?” he asked with sincere interest. “I don’t have to. I was there.”

"Well, I thought you must have gone insane because, by ten that evening, you were already so drunk you announced to everyone you were about to have a threesome. You even told a six-year-old boy he shouldn’t take school too seriously—he should become a famous athlete instead; that’s the way he’d get everything he wanted!”

“Honestly, what’s a six-year-old kid doing outside a sports bar at ten at night?” Dax grumbled. “It’s not my fault his parents don’t take better care of him."

“Good God, Temple, do you ever listen to yourself?” Gray hissed, a vein popping out on his forehead. "Tragically, that’s not the worst thing you said that evening!”

Dax frowned and cocked his head. Admittedly, the whole evening was a bit blurry, but he was certain he hadn’t said truly reprehensible, dirty things until he was in his loft with the two pretty ladies.

“Want me to jog your memory?” Gray asked somberly. “You said you thought Coca-Cola was disgusting and you preferred Pepsi.”

What was Gray babbling about? “So what?”

“Coca-Cola is the Hawks’ biggest sponsor, Dax!”

Oh, yeah. Right. He shrugged. “So what?” he repeated.

“So what?” Disbelief distorted Gray’s features. He was only about ten years older than Dax, but at the moment, the expression on his face was reminiscent of his father’s when Dax dragged him out of the casino.

Dax gritted his teeth and gripped the dice in his pocket like he always did when he thought about his father…or needed to stop himself from losing his temper.

“This morning, they were on the verge of pulling out as a sponsor! If Lucy hadn’t talked them out of it, I’d have benched you for the first three games for the principle of it. You should be kissing her feet.”

Lucy . Lucy, Lucy, Lucy.

God, how was it that she could make him look like a complete idiot without even being there? Okay. It would be a lie to say he hadn’t thought about kissing her several times this past year. Her feet never played a role in these visions, though. On the other hand, her mockingly pursed lips… Yes, he’d like to get to know her more intimately, but only to shut her the hell up—damn it, the woman pissed him off!

He crushed the dice in his pocket in his fist while forcing a calm expression onto his face. It would be a tactical mistake to let Lucy James know that she was getting under his skin. Besides, Gray would no doubt rush to her with that information, just because he found it too damn funny.

“Honestly, Gray, you’re the one who talked Clark Senior into buying fucking West—and now you’re asking why I freaked out yesterday? Does our dear owner even know what you’re doing to our team because of it?”

The coach narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. “You knew? How? The negotiations were kept secret!”

“I’m an amateur fortune teller," he replied dryly. “I read it in my tea leaves.”

If Gray’s expression was any indication, he didn’t find this funny. That was a tragedy; Dax thought he was hilarious.

“Okay, it doesn’t matter," Gray replied curtly. "That still doesn’t justify the fact that you angered our sponsors and insinuated that you don’t give a shit about children and education.”

“You don’t understand,” Dax replied tonelessly. “I don’t give a shit about the press or West, but I actually believe all the rest of it is very important.”

Gray sighed heavily and ran his hands through his hair. “Shit, Dax, you have to get it together. You and West, you’re both grown men. Set aside your feud. And honestly, when you’re on the same team, there’s no reason to beef anymore."

Oh, he was wrong.

"Dax, the team is loyal to you," Gray whispered urgently, taking a step toward him. “They only hate West because you do. So…give it a try. I don’t want to see you two at each other’s throats during practice. Save that for the opponents! As for this article,” Dax clearly saw a muscle bulge in Gray’s jaw, “it’s not the first of its kind. The last three months have been disastrous.”

“So? I was on break.”

“The press wasn’t, Dax. It can’t go on like this. Your jersey sales are in the crapper and ticket purchases have plummeted. You broadcast bad vibes, and your image has never been so shitty. Everyone likes the charming, funny devil. But the devil who advises children to drop out of school and shows more middle fingers than sense? Not so much. You arrive at your press conferences late and unprepared. You drink too much. You ignore calls from the marketing department. You don’t want to do interviews…I’ll be honest; you’re a certified PR nightmare. You make marketing angels cry.”

Dax narrowed his eyes. “Were those Lucy’s words?”

“It doesn’t matter whose words they are, they’re true.”

Fuck, yeah, they had to be Lucy’s. Only she used such fantastical comparisons.

“What do you want to hear, Gray?" he asked hostilely. “That I’ll be a good boy? That I’ll bow to Leslie’s PR regime and only allow myself to be photographed with a Coke in my hand?”

Gray looked at him in abject resignation. “Honestly, there’s nothing left you can say. It was just too much. And now that West’s coming…Let’s just say PR and Marketing are worried that you’re going to make life difficult.”

Yup. Those were valid concerns.

“Bullshit. I’m fitter than ever and it won’t affect my game.”

“No, but it will affect the damn ticket sales and the goodwill of our sponsors!”

"Fine," he murmured darkly. “I promise to pull myself together.”

Parker Gray shook his head and scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably. “I’m afraid that’s not enough for us anymore, Dax. We’ve come up with…another solution.”

Confused, he frowned. “What solution?”