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RHETT

“I’m sorry, Bear. I’m trying.”

I know it’s not enough the second the words leave my mouth. The look on Coach Barrett’s face—tight, unreadable—confirms it.

“Well, trying isn’t enough anymore, Sutton,” he mutters, his voice low and sharp as we stop in the hallway outside the press room.

I shift my weight, resisting the urge to run a hand over the back of my neck. “This isn’t something you just… learn overnight, you know? I’m— I’m not a natural-born leader, okay?”

“Oh, trust me. I’m aware,” he says, and it lands like a punch. “But you’re going to have to figure it out.”

I let out a breath and glance down the hallway, wishing I could pace. Wishing I could be anywhere but here. “Yeah, well… what if I can’t?”

“That’s not an option.”

Of course it isn’t. Nothing ever is with him. “I don’t know what you want from me, Bear,” I mutter. “I told you— I’m not ready for this. I’m not…”

My voice trails off. I almost don’t want to say it out loud. But I do.

“I’m not him. I’m not Bennett.”

Bear’s jaw tightens, and I can see the flash of frustration in his eyes before he speaks. “And boy, do I know it,” he says, like it physically pains him. “Bennett is someone I trust. Someone I believe in. Someone I know cares about this team just as much as I do.”

He pauses.

“And for whatever reason, he believes in you.”

“I didn’t ask him to do that,” I say quickly. Too quickly.

“And it doesn’t matter. Because it’s done.

” He exhales. “It may be against all my better judgment, but the facts stand. This is your eleventh season in the NHL. Your tenth with the Storm. Even if I still see you as the loose-cannon kid I reluctantly agreed to take a shot on, the reality is—you’re a veteran now.

The guys look up to you. The fans adore you.

And with Bennett’s endorsement—not just to me, but to the GM and the rest of the back office—my hands were tied. ”

I stare at the floor and blow out another breath, slow and steady. My shoulders feel like they’re bearing the weight of the whole arena.

Because, well, they are now.

“But the main thing you’re forgetting here, kid,” he says, voice calmer now, “is that you accepted the job.”

I close my eyes for a second, swallowing hard. My hands move to the back of my neck, fingers curling in my hair the way they always do when I’m trying to hold myself together.

“I know.”

“So do it,” he tells me. “And don’t make me regret allowing you to.” He claps a heavy hand on my shoulder. “You’ve got a practice to lead in twenty minutes. Get your head in the game before then—or I’ll do it for you.”

Bear turns on his heel then, and even though he’s halfway down the hall in seconds, I don’t move. I just stand there, watching until he disappears around the corner toward his office.

Then I mutter under my breath, “That an option, Bear? Because I’ll fucking take it.”

I’m alone now. Just me, the echo of his words, and a hallway that suddenly feels too damn quiet.

I take a few unsteady steps backward, shaking my head.

I catch something out of the corner of my eye—and immediately come to a stop.

“Oh shit,” I mutter.

Because I’m not alone.

Caroline.

Of course.

Let me tell you something?—

I grew up living most of my life in the cold. I love it. I thrive in it. I feel most alive when I’m in it.

And Caroline Barrett? She is winter personified.

Fair skin, dusted with the faintest freckles across the bridge of her nose—visible only when she stands directly in the light—like frost crystals glinting on the ground at sunrise.

Icy blonde hair, cut blunt just above her shoulders, framing her face like a halo.

Eyes pale blue, the color of a frozen lake on a clear morning—the kind you skate across as a kid and never forget, because for a moment the whole world feels like magic.

Her cheeks and lips are always flushed, like she’s just stepped inside from the cold.

She wears white year-round and somehow never fades into the background. When she walks into a room, people stop and stare, like they’ve just seen an angel.

Some people say her personality matches the season: cold, harsh, overbearing.

But those people don’t really know Caroline.

Not like I do.

There are women in this world who don’t know how beautiful they are.

Caroline is not one of them. She knows exactly what she is. Telling her she’s stunning would be a waste of breath. She doesn’t need your compliments.

She’s a challenge. One that can’t be won with charm.

And right now, she’s standing in front of me—arms crossed, expression unreadable but probably leaning toward annoyed—and somehow, she knocks the air out of my lungs faster than Bear’s lecture just did.

Still, I can’t help the smirk that forms.

The words slip out before I can stop them.

“Well, someone better call the Austin Zoo.”

Her eyes narrow, and I lean casually against the wall, grinning down at her like the jackass I know she thinks I am.

“Because it looks like there’s a cub on the loose.”

She gives no reaction, but that just eggs me on.

“Or, on second thought, maybe don’t. You looking for some honey, Cub?”

“You get less surprising by the day,” she says flatly.

“And you only get more beautiful.”

She’s not having it. Not that I expected her to be.

“Save your charm for the media, Sutton. I’d say you’re going to need it.”

She pats my shoulder like she’s done with me already and starts to walk past, but I haven’t even started yet.

“So you think I’m charming? ”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Only enough to eavesdrop on me?”

That gets her to spin around. “I wasn’t eavesdropping.”

“Bullshit, Baby Bear.”

“Sorry, I wasn’t aware you owned the hallways of the entire building,” she snaps. “Is that a new clause in the captain contract?”

I roll my lips together and tilt my head toward the press room. “I saw you in there.”

“Yes.” She gives me nothing else, but she doesn’t have to. I know she goes to every press conference she can.

She doesn’t miss a thing.

“And?” she eventually asks when I keep staring down at her.

I rub the back of my neck. “Was it as bad as I think it was?”

Her eyes stay on me longer than I expect. That look—it’s different. Makes me feel unsteady, like she’s seeing through something I hadn’t realized I was showing.

“Yes,” she says bluntly.

“Did I at least look good doing it?”

I try to keep it light, like that’ll undo whatever just passed between us.

“Do you really think you need to ask me that question?”

“No,” I exhale. “I know I did.”

She turns to leave again, and something makes me call out after her. “Cub?”

Nothing.

“Hey, Cub?” I jog a few steps to catch up, reaching for her arm. She shrugs out of my touch, spinning around.

“What, Rhett?”

“Have I already blown it?”

She exhales sharply, her feet coming to a stop, and her voice shifts—back to professional mode.

“A significant portion of the fan base is very excited to see you as Captain. Your new jersey sales are already through the roof. There are a fair number of media sources bringing up your reputation, of course, and some questioning if you’re the best fit when looking at the records of other players on the team, but?—”

“I’m not asking for the analytics,” I cut her off. “I’m asking what you think.”

Her eyes bounce between mine for a long beat.

“I don’t think it’s any secret that you don’t have my vote of confidence.”

“Yeah,” I sniff. “Guess not.”

She opens her mouth like she’s going to say something else, but then her phone buzzes in her hand. She glances at the screen.

“I have to go.”

“Where are you going?” I ask, still trailing after her.

“I have a meeting.”

“About what?”

“A job.”

“A job?” I echo.

She just graduated from her master’s program and she has a job opportunity already?

Attagirl.

“Don’t you have practice?” she asks, eyebrows raised.

“Is it the TV analyst job? The one that’s open now after Donaldson retired?”

She purses her lips, and I think for a second she’s not going to answer me. “Yeah, actually,” she eventually says.

“Oh, you’ve totally got that in the bag, Cub.”

She shoots me a look.

“Why do you say that?”

I want to say something slick, something funny. But for once, I don’t.

“Because you’ve earned it.”

That stops her. She turns fully toward me, brows knitting together.

I meet her gaze and hold it. The air thickens between us, quiet but charged.

For a second, I see the slightest flicker of something unfamiliar in her eyes.

Something that makes me wonder if the wall she’s had up for me for years isn’t as bulletproof as she makes it seem.

Now would be the perfect time to be genuine. To pull back my own curtain. Be entirely vulnerable.

So, naturally, I fumble it immediately.

“Also, you’ve got a face for TV if I’ve ever seen one, Cub.”

And just like that, she snaps right back into usual form. “Well, I’d tell you what your face looks like it’s good for, but I’m trying to keep things professional here now.”

I lean down, whispering near her ear. “It’s okay. No one’s around. You can say sitting. You wouldn’t be wrong.”

She stands up on her tiptoes, getting close enough to my ear to send a shiver straight down my spine. “I’d rather sit on a bed of nails.”

I pull my head back, leaving just a few inches between our faces and meeting her eyes.

“I knew you were kinky.”

She rolls her eyes.

I love when she does that.

Hell, I love when she does just about anything.

“So how are we celebrating after you get the job?” I ask.

“If I get this job,” she muses, “I will be celebrating with the filthiest martini Austin has to offer.”

“Great. I know just the place.”

I don’t. Not even the slightest idea.

But I’ll figure it out by then.

“In fact, we can go there tonight, if you want.”

She scoffs. “Drinking the night before your first game of the season? Really off to an admirable start, Captain. ”

Shit.

What the hell am I doing?

I shake my head, trying to rein myself in. “I wasn’t planning to drink,” I lie. “Just treating you.”

She hums, clearly not buying it.

“So… where should I pick you up from?” I ask.

“Nowhere.”

“You want to meet there instead?”

“Nope.”

“Come on, Cub,” I groan. “It’d be fun.”

We’re at the door to the broadcasting office now. Caroline turns and looks back at me as she grabs the door handle.

“Rhett, there are a few thousand women in Austin who would jump at the chance to have a little fun with you. Why don’t you ask one of them?”

“Because I don’t want a woman.”

It slips out fast—too fast. No time to cage it in charm.

Her brows raise.

“I mean,” I clear my throat. “I want you.”

Now they pinch together.

And even though we both know it’s true, I clear my throat and soften it—for her, not me. “I want to go with you.”

She presses her lips into a tight line. “How many dates do I have to turn down before you stop asking?”

“At least one more.”

“Fine,” she says.

I perk up.

“No,” she finishes.

She starts to open the door, but I stop it with my hand against the frame. “Just as friends then?”

Her gaze flicks up to mine, thoughtful for the briefest second. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because we’re not friends. ”

“Because we’re so much more?”

She gives me a dry smile. “Only in your dreams.”

I blow out a long breath.

This woman’s going to be the death of me.

And honestly? Some days, I don’t think I’d mind.

Caroline slips through the door then, pausing just as it’s about to close to look back at me one more time.

“You have no shortage of company, Rhett,” she says. “You don’t need me.”

And maybe that’s true.

But it doesn’t stop me from wanting her anyway.

The door clicks shut behind her, and I’m left standing there like an idiot with my hand still on the frame.

The hallway goes still.

It’s the kind of quiet that doesn’t feel peaceful.

Just familiar.