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Chapter 1

RYLAN

T he glass and steel facade of the Seattle Sasquatch's practice arena reflects the September sunshine, casting long shadows across the parking lot as I pull into my spot. My watch reads 7:45 AM, exactly fifteen minutes early, as usual. I'm nothing if not predictable. Training camp doesn't begin until tomorrow, but everyone on the team got a late night notice to show up today for a mandatory pre-training camp meeting. It's weird, but who am I to question it? I'm just lucky I was in town. A lot of the guys are taking advantage of our last few of days of freedom by getting away with their families or girlfriends and won't be back until later today, but the message from our GM was clear: we're all expected to show up, either in person or by video call.

The familiar weight of responsibility settles across my shoulders as I grab the coffee out of my truck's cup holder and head inside.

Photos and memorabilia from our team's short but eventful history line the walls of the hallway outside the meeting room. Everyone's favorite photo is, of course, the on-ice shot taken in the moments right after we won the Cup three years ago. It's a great photo, but right now it's a constant reminder of expectations we haven't met since that first magical season.

Unsurprisingly, I'm the first one to arrive, so I settle into my normal seat on the far side of the first row. Everything about this room screams high-end pro sports franchise, from the extra-wide, leather chairs, arranged auditorium style, to the way the team logo is subtly included throughout the space. The room's front wall is dominated by a large multimedia screen and several smaller screens and electronic whiteboards are positioned around the room.

My chair creaks as I settle in, steam rising from my coffee as I check my phone. No missed calls from Dad, thank god. Our last confrontation over his drinking still weighs heavy, but I push those thoughts aside. Right now, I need to focus on my job, and try not to let my nerves show. You'd think that after more than a decade years in the NHL, I'd have outgrown my beginning-of-season jitters, but you'd be wrong. Our team has a lot to prove after the disappointing last two seasons, and as captain, that burden falls squarely on my shoulders.

A couple of minutes later, Louis Tremblay, our number one goalie and my childhood best friend, walks in, a smile on his face, as usual. He drops into the seat beside me."Dude, what's the deal with this meeting at the ass-crack of dawn before camp even starts? I'm on about three hours of sleep right now."He waggles his eyebrows.

I roll my eyes."That right? So last night's date went well then?"

He gives me a filthy grin."Oh, fuck yeah. This girl was gorgeous. I actually felt kind of bad leaving after we were done."

"Really?"I say."I figured you'd be thrilled to get Carson's late-night text. Gives you the perfect excuse to avoid hanging around."

He shrugs."Eh, whatever. Maybe I wasn't that sad to leave. I'm just bitter about losing my last chance to sleep in for a while."He takes a sip from his own coffee."But seriously, what the hell is this meeting about? That text was weird, right?"

It's my turn to shrug."I have no idea, they didn't tell me anything."

My line-mate and friend Austin Cote strides into the room a moment later, followed by a clutch of other players, along with Kelly Garneau, the executive assistant to our General Manager, Carson Wells.

Some of the guys flash me nervous grins as they pass, while others bob their heads in greeting. Austin takes a seat behind us."Hey,"he says, his dark, assessing gaze taking everything in. When Kelly fires up the big screen, several of our other teammates have already connected to the video call, their faces looking like the opening sequence from The Brady Bunch , and there's some good-natured banter and ribbing while we wait.

When the commotion in the room has settled into an expectant hum, Carson Wells, our General Manager, and our new Head Coach, Travis Shaw, walk through the door.

Even though he's younger than most GMs in the league, Wells has a quality that commands respect. It might be the way he carries himself, or maybe it's that he's proven himself willing to make tough calls for the good of the team.

"Good morning everyone,"he says."I know this is an unusual time for a team meeting, especially since training camp hasn't officially begun. Thank you all for making time to be here, whether in person or virtually."

He gestures to Travis Shaw, standing beside him."Most of you have already met Coach Shaw, but for those who haven't had the chance yet, Travis comes to us from Florida's AHL affiliate. He's got eighteen seasons of NHL experience as a player, and we're excited to have him lead the team this year."

Travis gives a brief nod of acknowledgement, but doesn't speak. That's one of the things I've noticed about him in the few interactions we've had so far—he doesn't waste words.

"I know you're all wondering why we called this meeting,"Carson continues."We have some big news."

My stomach clenches. I scan the room, realizing there are a couple of guys missing. Louis shifts in his seat beside me, and tension radiates off Austin behind us.

Carson continues."We made some significant changes to our roster late last night,"he says, his tone measured and calm."We've completed a trade with the Florida Jaguars."

My heart pounds against my ribs. Trade announcements are always nerve wracking. It means someone's not in this meeting because they're no longer part of our team.

"We've sent Liam Coulson and Darren Freeman, along with two prospects and our first-round pick for next year's draft, to Florida."Carson pauses, letting that sink in. A few muttered curses break the silence. Gino Santucci, one of our best defensemen, looks devastated—he and Liam have been best friends for ages.

"In return,"Carson continues,"we've acquired Jamie Pirelli."

The room erupts in whispers, but for a moment I can't hear anything over the sudden rush of blood in my ears. Jamie Pirelli. The first, and so far only, openly bisexual player ever drafted. I force my expression to remain neutral as my stomach twists.

My attention snaps back to Carson as he gives us the Cliff-notes on our new teammate: he was a first round draft pick three years ago. He was hailed as the next"Once In A Generation Player", the same way my older brother, Nick, was, years ago. But in Pirelli's case, the expected greatness hasn't materialized.

What our GM doesn't mention is Pirelli's reputation as a selfish player who's more concerned with his own stats than what's best for the team. Someone who causes endless drama, fights with his teammates, clashes with coaches and management, and who treats everyone around him like shit.

Truthfully, though that hasn't been my impression when playing against him. A specific memory surfaces: playing at home game against Florida last season, when Pirelli threw himself in front of Gino Santucci's slapshot to protect his goalie. He'd blocked the shot with his thigh and could barely skate afterward, but he'd stayed out and finished his shift. I remember being impressed in spite of myself; it wasn't the move of someone who only cared about personal glory.

But, regardless of my personal observations of Jamie Pirelli, having him on our team is going to be complicated.

"Additionally,"Carson adds over the murmurs,"we're getting their farm-team goalie, Tanner Sinclair."

Louis's body stiffens beside me at that.

"Pirelli and Sinclair will both be here tomorrow for the first day of Camp,"Carson says."I expect everyone to make them feel welcome."

I glance around the room, taking in the mixed reactions. Some guys look excited while others seem concerned. Austin's face behind me is unreadable, but his jaw is clenched. As captain, part of my job is to help smooth this transition, to make sure the team chemistry doesn't suffer too much from losing Liam and Darren, and try to integrate these new players as quickly as possible.

Carson's gaze sweeps the room one final time."Thanks for coming in early, everyone. The weight room's open if anyone wants to get a workout in."His mouth quirks up in a slight smile."Obviously, that's not required, since camp hasn't started yet. Union rules."He winks.

A few chuckles ripple through the room. Some of the guys are already standing, probably eager to hit the gym and work off some of the tension from this announcement.

"Rylan,"Carson says, catching my eye."Got a minute to meet?"

I nod, gathering my nearly empty coffee cup. Louis shoots me a questioning look as he stands, but I shrug. Your guess is as good as mine, dude.

The knot in my stomach tightens I follow Carson to his office. I'm sure he just wants to talk about helping the new guys fit in, but my mind races as I try to sort out what this change means for the team.

I've spent thirteen years in the NHL building walls so high that I'm not sure I know who I am behind them anymore. The thought of this kid rolling in here and owning who he is without apologizing or hiding makes my chest ache with the familiar feeling of shame.

"Coffee?"Carson asks, moving to the fancy machine in the corner of his bright, corner office while I take a seat in one of the leather club chairs by the window.

"No, thanks,"I say. I don't think my nervous stomach would appreciate more caffeine at this point.

He takes a seat in the chair across from mine. Leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, he meets my eyes."So? What are your thoughts?"

I hesitate. Carson's a great GM, and he's always encouraged us to be honest, even if he doesn't like what we have to say, but this situation is different. The decision's been made, the trade is done and it doesn't matter what I think.

"Well… I'm not sure what to think yet, but I know you make all trade calls with the team's best interests in mind."

He shoots me a wry smile."Very diplomatic answer. Well done, Captain, the PR folks would be thrilled. But I want to talk honestly right now. This conversation will remain between us. I'd really appreciate your honest opinion here."

I glance out the window over Carson's shoulder. The snow-capped Olympic mountains blur as I think about the disaster that was our last season. We spent most of the year at the bottom of the standings, without a snowball's chance in hell of making the playoffs. It was easily the worst season of my entire career, and I'm not anxious to repeat it. I suck in a breath."Well, the guys are frustrated and disappointed after the last couple of years."I clear my throat."I'm a little concerned that adding someone like Pirelli could make the room a bit… volatile."I swallow hard."But we'll make it work,"I add hastily.

Carson nods."I understand your concerns. I'm well aware of Pirelli's reputation as a problem child. But Travis Shaw got to know him while he was down in Florida, and he's got a lot of confidence in the kid."

Carson leans back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face."Look, Rylan, I need to be straight with you about something. Ownership isn't happy."

Ownership being pissed is never a good thing.

"They wanted to blow the whole thing up after last season. They pushed to trade everyone except Tremblay and start fresh."He holds my gaze."I fought hard to keep this group together. I was able to convince them that our core is solid, and a few strategic changes could make a huge difference."

My earlier coffee turns sour in my gut. Last season was awful, but I didn't believe we were that close to the team being dismantled. Since we're still so new to the league, I guess I thought the world might cut us a little slack. But I guess winning the entire thing in our first season set some pretty high expectations.

"This trade for Pirelli?"Carson continues."It's a compromise. The owners wanted wholesale changes, I wanted minimal disruption. We met in the middle."He drums his fingers on the armrest."But I'll be honest with you, Rylan. If things don't turn around fast, I might not be able to hold them back."

The weight of responsibility settles more heavily on my shoulders.

"How long do we have?"My voice comes out rough.

"Hard to say. But we need to show significant improvement by the All-Star break."His expression is grim."They're not going to sit through another season like last year."

Well that's pretty damn clear. The All-Star break is in February, about halfway through our 82-game season. Either we make this work—fast—or the team gets torn apart. No pressure. I rub at my temple, a headache coming on.

"According to Travis Shaw, Pirelli was in a difficultsituation. The Jaguars..."Carson pauses, choosing his words carefully."Well, I'm sure you've heard the rumors. Travis doesn't think the kid got a fair chance to show what he's capable of."

I've heard the rumors about the shit that goes on in the Jags' locker room. Everyone has. There's never been anything concrete, but it's enough to paint an ugly picture of a team that's very"old school". It certainly wouldn't be the most welcoming team for the first openly queer player to be drafted. But Florida won the draft lottery that year, and Pirelli was unquestionably the best player. They would have had to out themselves as complete bigots if they'd passed him over. Taking anyone else would have made their prejudice crystal clear, and it would have been a PR shitstorm.

"Kid's got incredible natural talent,"Carson says."The Jaguars tried to force him to play their way, to be someone he's not. Here, we want our players to be themselves."

I swallow hard, the familiar guilt churning in my gut.

He clears his throat."Because of the altercation he had with Belov, they were motivated to move him, so we got him for a lot less than he's worth."

I nod slowly. And at the end of last season there was a fight between Pirelli and their team's biggest star, a Russian powerhouse named Vladimir Belov, that was all over the hockey news.

"Travis believes Pirelli could be a real asset. But I won't lie, it's a risk,"Carson continues. He runs a hand through his hair."If Travis is wrong about him, or if Pirelli can't or won't leave his antics behind..."He lets the sentence hang.

He doesn't have to say the words. If this gamble doesn't pay off, it won't only be Pirelli's career on the line. It could be the final nail in the coffin for our whole team.

"I'll do everything I can to make it a smooth adjustment,"I tell Carson, meaning it, despite the knot in my gut.

Some of the tension leaves Carson's shoulders."I know you will, Rylan. I'm counting on you to help get Pirelli onboard. The guys respect your leadership. You've never let personal issues get in the way of what's best for the team."

If he only knew. My entire career has been built on keeping my 'personal issues' locked away, deep in the darkness of the closet.

"Whatever you need from me."My words are automatic. Being the captain means putting the team first, no matter what. Even when it means welcoming someone whose presence makes me question things about myself that I've spent years trying to ignore.

But this isn't about me or my... issues . I square my shoulders."We'll make it work."

I just wish I felt as confident as I sound.