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Chapter Twenty-One

Viggy

Hockey Rule #15: Trust your linemates with your life Media Rule #15: Trust no one with your story

The Aces Performance Center felt different at five a.m. Hollow. Empty. My footsteps echoed off concrete walls, the usual chaos of game day preparation still hours away.

My knee protested with each step down the hall. Not even on the ice yet and pain already clawed its way up my leg. But pain I could handle. The reporters camping out in the media room since that damn episode aired? The pitying looks? The whispers? That crap could stay locked outside where it belonged.

Movement in the video room caught my eye. Through the half-open door, dark hair spilled over hunched shoulders as Lily leaned into a bank of monitors. What was she doing here this fucking early? The sight of her sent electricity arcing through my veins before I could retreat.

Turn the fuck away.

But my traitorous body had other ideas. My fingers twitched, muscle memory kicking in—the silk of her hair sliding through them, her soft gasp when I’d tug the dark strands just right. I’d been a damn fool. While she’d been sifting through film for my weaknesses, I’d been falling for her one whisper at a time. Falling into the trap of thinking I could be happy after hockey.

Get your head on straight, Vignier.

I forced myself down the hall, jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth. The woman had already proven exactly how dangerous she could be. To my focus. To my team. To whatever remained of my heart after she’d carved it up for ratings.

Yet here I was. Still tracking her movements like she hadn’t already shown me exactly how this story ends.

“Early today, Cap?” Riley’s voice cut through my spiral. The kid lounged against the training room door further down the corridor, already decked out in his practice gear. His usual puppy energy muted. His eyes watchful as I approached.

“Could say the same to you.” My voice came out with a captain’s authority. The kid didn’t need to know how close I was to cracking.

He shrugged, but his eyes stayed sharp. “Figured you could use the company.”

No questions about the knee. No mention of the media circus. Just quiet support from a kid who’d somehow grown into exactly the kind of teammate you wanted in your corner.

Puppy’d grown up when I wasn’t looking.

“Thanks.” I clapped his shoulder as I passed. Infusing the word with all the words I couldn’t say. “I’ve got to check in with Jabari, then I’ll meet you on the ice.”

But as I shoved through the training room door, Puppy trailed in my wake. The room smelled like menthol and old sweat, as familiar as home. Jabari motioned me to the nearest table in the otherwise empty room. He worked over my knee—manipulating the joint, testing range of motion—all while pretending not to notice the way I white-knuckled the edge of the table.

Riley bounced on his toes beside the treatment table, his usual puppy energy dialed down to something more watchful. Not quite the wide-eyed rookie who’d shown up at training camp at the start of the year.

I would have preferred he’d left me to face Jabari’s torture solo, but if he was here, he might as well provide some distraction. “You go to O’Malley’s with the guys last night?”

The boy’s grin cracked wide before I even finished the sentence. “Yes! You should have come, Cap. The place was fire!”

Jabari smirked but kept his eyes on the joint. He didn’t need to say anything. The look said it all—Puppy was impossible to resist, and I wasn’t nearly as heartless as I might have wished.

I wasn’t the first captain to leave a team and I wouldn’t be the last. I needed to get my dramatic head out of my ass and win this series. And the next. And the next.

Because in the end, all I had was my legacy.

“Doyle’s being a dick.” Riley spoke to the floor. “But Silver’s keeping him in check. Team’s behind you, Cap.”

My jaw clenched. The last thing we needed was dissension in the ranks. Not with Chicago eager to capitalize on any weakness. “The whole team?”

“Most guys are solid.” Riley’s eyes tracked Jabari’s movements, that endless enthusiasm of his temporarily contained. “A couple are...” He shrugged, searching for the right words. “You know. Being weird about it.”

The need to protect my team, to hold them together, burned in my chest. Seventeen years building this brotherhood, and one fucking TV show threatened to crack the foundation.

“There.” Jabari pulled back, reaching for the tape. “How’s that feel?”

I flexed my knee, testing. “Good enough.”

Riley shifted from foot to foot, his natural energy barely contained. “The reporters are gonna be nuts today. All those cameras—”

The mention of cameras sent a fresh spike of betrayal through my gut. Lily’s face flashed through my mind—the way she’d looked at me that first night in the rain, all wide eyes and trembling lips. Before I knew she’d been cataloging every wince, every moment of weakness.

“The cameras aren’t a problem.” My voice came sharper than intended. “The knee will hold.”

“Chicago’s gonna come after you though.” Riley blurted it out like he couldn’t hold it back anymore. “After that hit last game? They know. The guys—we wanna help. Let us have your back, Cap.”

The earnest concern in his voice hit harder than any question about strategy. Here was this kid, barely old enough to drink, trying to protect his captain. The line between leadership and burden had never felt thinner.

“I don’t need protection.” Harsh, but the team needed their captain, not another complication. My father’s voice echoed in my head: “Winners find a way, son. That’s what Vigniers do.” The same words he’d used when I’d blown out my knee in Juniors. Pain is temporary. Legacy is forever.

The weight of expectation—from him, the fans, from an entire hockey-crazed city—pressed down on me. I didn’t need to be responsible for even one more thing. “I need everyone focused on their own game.” Not worrying over me.

“But that’s not fair!” The words exploded out of Riley before he could catch them. He immediately looked mortified at his outburst. “I mean... you’ve taken hits for all of us. Let us return the favor.”

The raw honesty in his voice hit me like a sucker punch. Everything I’d done—playing through pain, hiding the extent of the injury—had been about protecting the team. About giving us the best shot at the Cup. My last shot. Because after this? The yawning void of retirement loomed. No more game day routines. No more brotherhood. Just...nothing.

Now those same instincts were forcing them to choose sides.

“Just play your game, kid.” I met his gaze, letting him see the steel beneath. “I’ve got this.”

He nodded, but his expression turned mutinous. “Whatever you say, Cap.” He attempted a grin. “But maybe I accidentally crash into anyone who gets too close to that knee, huh? Total rookie move. Can’t blame me for being clumsy.”

Jabari finished taping my knee in silence. The familiar ritual should have settled my nerves, centered my focus like it had a thousand times before. Instead, every wrap of tape felt like another countdown to game time. Another hour closer to proving everyone right—or wrong—about exactly how broken their captain might be.

“Need anything else?” Jabari asked, but I was already pushing to my feet.

“Fresh roll of tape for my stick.” I shifted, testing the stability of Jabari’s work. “Equipment room.”

Riley’s “I’ve got your back” followed me into the hall. Good man. But right now, I needed space. Needed to get my head straight before—

The sight of her knocked me back a step.

Lily stood in the equipment room doorway, her ancient laptop smashed to her chest like armor. No camera crew. No professional mask. Just her looking more gorgeous than she had any right to.

My heart slammed against my ribs even as my muscles locked down. Fight or flight instincts warring with the memory of her skin under my hands.

She stiffened at my approach, those blue-green eyes meeting mine with a mix of guilt and hope and dread. “Jack—”

“Don’t.” The order came out raw.

But she stood her ground, chin lifting in that familiar way that used to make me want to kiss the defiance into an entirely different emotion. “I need to tell you something.”

“Pretty sure I’ve heard all I need to hear from you.” I moved to brush past her, focusing on the shelves of tape behind her head. Anywhere but the slight tremor in her hands or the way her throat worked as she swallowed. Anywhere but the memories of those hands on my chest, that throat under my lips.

“Malone’s offered me my own show.”

That stopped me cold. “Am I supposed to say congratulations?”

“My own series, my name in the credits. Creative control. Everything I spent three years fighting to get back.” Her voice cracked on the last word. “I’m going to turn it down.”

The urge to reach for her strangled me, automatic and unwanted. Just days ago I’d have pulled her close, let her bury her face against my chest while she worked through whatever was putting the lines of strain on her face. The need to protect her warred with the memory of watching my private struggles play out on screen. Of knowing she’d been cataloging my weakness even while sleeping in my bed, making me think I could have something beyond the game.

“Congratu-fucking-lations.” The words came out harsh, masking how seeing her still twisted me up inside. How walking into my kitchen felt wrong without her perched on the counter, stealing sips of my coffee while grilling me about game strategy. Another thing she’d probably used to dissect my weaknesses for her viewers.

“I wanted you to hear it from me.” She wet her lips, and damn my treacherous body for tracking the movement of her pretty pink tongue. “Your episode opened doors—”

“Can’t tell you how glad I am that I helped your career.” I pushed the words out, razor-sharp and cutting. “Since you’ve made it crystal clear that’s what matters to you.”

The hurt that flashed across her face made my chest ache. She swayed slightly, like my words had physical weight. But then her delicate chin tipped up again, her shoulders squared up, and the moment passed. The vulnerability in her eyes warred with determination—a combination that stripped my defenses as effectively as her lips against my throat in my darkened kitchen. The memory flashed through my mind. Little more than a week with her, and she’d left me more exposed than any injury I’d fought to hide. More vulnerable than any weakness she’d captured on film.

“It’s not that simple.” Her fingers found that spot on her wrist—the tell I’d learned meant she was fighting for control. “I just... I needed you to know.

Something in my chest cracked. The need to protect warring with the memory of limping into the empty weight room, my fist slamming into the wall as the pain in my knee became unbearable. Of sucking in one deep breath after another, silently begging for the pain to stop. A moment of weakness I overcame that night, but that she’d framed up for public consumption. Proof of my weakness. She’d been hunting for weakness even while letting me think—

No. Not going there.

“Fantastic.” I grabbed the tape I needed, desperate to escape before my control slipped. “You got what you wanted. Hope it was worth it.”

But as I turned to leave, her quiet voice stopped me. “Jack, I—”

The raw honesty in her voice hit harder than any shot I’d taken on the ice. My protective instincts screamed to comfort her even as my brain recalled exactly why I couldn’t trust those instincts around her.

“Save it for your next episode.” I kept my voice flat, controlled. “But I’ve got a game to prep for. And you’ve got...” I gestured to her laptop. “Whatever this is.”

Her soft “good luck” followed me into the hall, lodging beneath my ribs like a blade.

I stalked down the hallway, every step a fresh jolt of pain. Physical. Emotional. The whole damn package wrapped up in one limping relic of a hockey player.

Should’ve known better than to think I could have something real with someone like her. Hockey was all I had—all I’d ever have.

At least until that was gone too.

“Cap! Wait up!” Riley’s voice hit my ears a second before his footsteps thundered behind me. I turned around to see the kid burst around the corner at full tilt, arms loaded with gear, practically vibrating with his usual unstoppable energy. A practice jersey dangled from his teeth.

“Mmphh!” He tried to talk around the fabric, lost his grip on a stack of pads, and nearly went down trying to catch them before they hit the floor.

Despite everything, my lips twitched. I grabbed the jersey from his mouth before he could choke himself. “Slow down, Puppy. What’s the rush?”

He bounced on his toes as he straightened, face lighting up like I’d just offered him ice cream. But something flickered beneath the enthusiasm—concern trying to mask itself behind his megawatt grin. “Saw you talking to Sutton.” His eyes darted toward the equipment room, then back to me, head tilted. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” My response came automatically. Captainly.

Complete bullshit.

Riley’s expression said he knew it too, but he couldn’t quite contain the physical energy thrumming through him. He dumped his armload onto a nearby bench, gear clattering to the floor. “Right. Because you always look like you’re ready to put your fist through a wall when you’re ‘fine.” He punctuated this with air quotes, nearly knocking over a water bottle in his enthusiasm.

I scrubbed a hand over my face. “You got something to say, kid?”

“Yeah! Actually—” He bounced again, then seemed to remember this was meant to be a serious conversation. He planted his feet deliberately, squared those lanky shoulders of his, and put on what I’d come to think of as his “man look”—though the effect was somewhat ruined by his baby face. “I get why you’re pissed,” he said. “The episode, the timing, all of it. But Cap...” His serious expression lasted about three seconds before a grin broke through. “That stuff about you losing your edge? Like you’re some kind of liability to the playoff run? It’s all bullshit. Everybody knows it.”

“Do they now?” My voice came out harder than intended.

“Yeah!” The word exploded out of him as he went back to talking with his hands. “All that crap about you being stubborn and putting yourself before the team? Anyone who’s played with you knows better.” He gestured toward my knee, then immediately started shadow-boxing the air. “Even Doyle’s interview was edited to make you look bad. He admitted it last night.”

The kid’s loyalty gutted me. “She had no right to expose team business like that.”

“Maybe.” He nodded so hard his whole body quivered. “But you’ve been different lately. Less...I dunno. Less growly? More like actual human-person Viggy instead of hockey-robot Viggy.” He demonstrated the difference with exaggerated facial expressions and robot arms.

Christ. When had the hyperactive puppy gotten so perceptive?

“Get your gear sorted.” I fought back another smile as he started collecting his scattered equipment. Behind him, the corridor began to fill with more people. Players arriving for the morning practice, more trainers, coaches. People I’d worked with for a lot of years. “Get ready, Puppy. Time for practice.”

He gathered up his stuff, but darted a grin up at me. “Hey, Cap?”

“Yeah?”

“Whatever happens? We’ve got your back!” He punctuated this with a fist pump that sent half his gear tumbling again. “Oops! I meant to do that. Totally meant to do that. Working on a new pregame ritual!”

He spun around, nearly taking out a water bottle cart, and moonwalked backward down the hall while shooting finger guns my way.

I watched him bounce away, wondering when exactly I’d lost control of this whole situation.

The locker room stood empty now, the usual game day chaos replaced by heavy silence. Just me and my thoughts. Dangerous combination these days.

I sank onto the bench, finally letting myself feel the throb in my knee. The tape job would hold, but the real question was whether my head was in the game.

The team needed their captain focused. The fans needed their hero charging toward one last Cup run. My father needed his legacy secured.

And I needed...

The scent of citrus and spice lingered in my nose. The memory of Lily’s voice echoed in my ears.

Fuck.

I wanted to hate her. Should hate her. The episode had laid bare every vulnerability I’d fought to hide. But even now, knowing what she’d done, my traitorous mind conjured the softness of her skin. The way she’d curl into me in the early morning light. The sharp intelligence behind those sea-glass eyes when she really looked at me.

“Get it together, Vignier.” My voice bounced off cement walls. “Game face.”

But alone in the quiet, I could admit the truth—game face or not, Lily Sutton had gotten under my skin in ways no injury ever could. And walking away from her might prove harder than skating on a busted knee.

I pushed to my feet, testing my weight. The knee held. It would have to hold.

Because that’s what captains did. We carried the weight—of expectations, of responsibility, of choices that stripped us raw—and we kept moving forward. Even when every step hurt like hell.

Even when we had no idea what waited on the other side of our last game.