Chapter 1: Rinkmates: Chapter 1

“

e need to talk,” Ethan says firmly.

“Are you breaking up with me?” I say, but my publicist doesn’t think I’m funny.

On the contrary, his facial expression worsens as he throws his phone in my face.

“Shut up and read.”

Swallowing hard, I take his smartphone and read the headline of The New York Times Sports section and—oh damn. I’m so glad we’re sitting on this bench right now.

Hockey game in New York leads to further fisticuffs. Huntington is on the hunt for drinks and a ton of trouble again. Is this the end of the star player’s career?

Ethan theatrically throws his hands up, as if pleading with the universe to comprehend the monumental headache of handling my shit.

In any other circumstance, I would have another witty comeback ready, something along the lines of They call me Deadshot for a reason. My shots come like a hammer, just like my fists, but…well, not today.

Because right now, we’re far from the rink.

We’re sitting in a fucking police station, watching the harsh fluorescent lights cast shadows on the worn linoleum floor beneath my shaky feet while my assistant, Nina, works her magic nearby. She’s trying to salvage my tattered reputation after I lost my cool again and gave a rival player a lesson in bar breaking. Great for viral videos, not so great for my image, which has gotten worse and worse over the past few years.

I’ve had numerous discussions with my coach, and the only thing keeping me from losing my contract is my status as the top scorer in the league. But despite leading in scores, my coach made it clear that the lawsuits—yes, plural—and negative media coverage were tarnishing the league’s reputation, and if I don’t improve my behavior, I’d be let go.

And yet, here I am, tucked away in a quiet corner of the NYPD station’s rear office with an alcohol-drenched shirt and someone else’s blood on my jeans.

Classic.

My career’s over.

Ethan lets out another dramatic sigh and snatches his phone back. If I didn’t already feel like a mess, his judgmental gaze would do the trick. So, I glance away, trying to ignore headline after headline spreading across his smartphone while I run my free hand through my jet-black hair. Fuck. I fucked up.

Since I don’t know what else to do, I try to focus on Nina.

She’s standing across the office, separated by a large window, with her back to us. Her tight coils of black hair bounce with each fervent gesture as she argues in my defense, desperately trying to talk me out of it. When they brought me here, I felt as though I was a child again, being ushered into the back room and warned to stay silent while they worked to get me out again.

But alas, even with Nina’s efforts, all I can see are three stone-faced police guards and a disgruntled PR manager, pointing at me, clearly blaming me for everything. But how could they not? I can’t even be mad at them. The Boston Bears are missing their center for tomorrow’s game.

I practically smashed Houston with my fists.

My gaze locks with his agent and I offer him a smile.

I refuse to show any remorse in front of him. I don’t regret socking the fool, he deserved it, but I do feel bad for Nina having to clean up my mess. For my coach since I’ll be blocked for the next game for sure.

Oh, my fucking mess of a life.

It’s as if some deep-seated, self-destructive desire has been fulfilled, and at the same time, it’s eating away at me.

Damn me and my left hook.

Ethan scoffs. “‘Does Riley Huntington need timber? Because he chops down the bar!’ ‘Watch Riley Huntington taking down the Bears and defending better than their own defender.’ ‘Riley Huntington mistaking hockey for rugby.’ ‘Riley and his tantrums—a timeframe?’”

Ethan slams his phone on the bench and slumps over, his fingers raking through his usually perfectly styled golden hair.

I wish I knew what to say, but all I do is stare at the ugly floor again.

What the heck was there to say, anyway? It’s not the first time I get my ass booted because of my “rink aggression.” I’m an idiot. Always have been. Maybe it’s time to just accept it. But there we have my next problem. I just can’t. If only I could understand why this anger is consuming me from within, refusing to be swallowed down.

Away from the ice rink, I’m pretty chill; maybe a bit cocky sometimes, but mostly I like to think things through. But when it’s hockey time, my brain just goes haywire.

All I see is winning.

I don’t see players—I see rivals.

I see red.

After getting trounced by the Bears, that ass Houston wasted no time rubbing salt in the wound.

I know we have a code of conduct, and incidents of violence or misconduct can result in disciplinary actions. But the other teams are also aware of the code. It was a planned move, and I walked right into their trap. If I’m lucky, I’ll only be benched for one game.

Despite my best friend’s efforts to get me out before anything could happen, it was already too late. In just sixty seconds, Houston said the one thing that would always set me off. Jayce had no chance to talk me out of it. Even with all the anger management techniques I’ve learned, there was no stopping me.

And within mere seconds, my ears felt like they were getting pounded by a sledgehammer, my vision faded to black, and before I knew it, I was spitting blood.

And Houston? He was out cold.

“I thought we talked about this. I thought you learned from the past.” Ethan shakes his head, and I notice his black tie lying abandoned, a crumpled heap on the floor. His light blue shirt hangs loosely on his shoulders, collar splayed open in defiance of its usual pristine state.

This is a side of him I have never witnessed before.

I used to tease him about having a broomstick up his ass because of how impeccably put together he always is, but today, that image shatters like glass around me. “I’m constantly defending you to the league, Ri. You’re always on edge, and it’s becoming a real problem.” I open my mouth to respond, but he cuts me off. “I already told you, everyone is fed up with you. You get triggered so easily. Boy, you need help.”

“We tried therap—”

“No,” Ethan says, and for the first time, I feel like he’s on the brink of losing it too. My gaze snaps to the tension in his jaw, the way the muscles bulge and twitch. “You let me talk now. Keep flappin’ your mouth and you’ll be out on your ass faster than you can say ‘waivers.’ And with your reputation for brawling on and off the ice, no other team in their right mind would touch you. Everyone knows if there’s a headache on the team, it’s probably coming from you. We’re at a breaking point here. Either you get you need to change, or I’ll quit.”

My throat tightens and I struggle to breathe.

So he is breaking up with me. Almost.

I try to swallow down what Ethan just said.

His words strike me harder than any physical blow I’ve ever received.

As the saying goes, the truth can be painful, and right now, it feels like my entire world is collapsing around me.

My fingers drum impatiently on my denim-clad thigh, trying not to rip them apart. How can I possibly leave the Falcons? They’re more than just a team, they’re my family, and our journey to the top is just beginning. Without hockey, what am I?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

I can’t help it and stupidly blurt out, “But I’m leading in goals this season. They wouldn’t—”

“Sure, but rumor has it you’re a hotheaded dick making hockey look bad. Not only are you disappointing the kids who idolize you, but you’re also giving everyone fodder to label hockey as the epitome of toxic behavior. Congratulations, you’re turning the NHL into a laughingstock faster than you can lace up your skates. And hey, who needs critics when you’re doing such a great job making hockey look like a daycare for misbehaving toddlers?”

His voice rose until he shouted the last part, and I just blink. And blink again. Wow. He’s never screamed at me before.

“God, it’s okay, man,” I say, trying to breathe against the ringing in my ear.

“No, it’s not. And all those girls swooning over you won’t save your spot when your antics turn your career into something like figure skating.” He takes both of my shoulders in his hands and shakes me. “Wake! Up!”

“Okay, fine. I’ll take care of it,” I yell back, pulling myself out of his grip.

“You’ve said it over and over again. I’m done.”

A bitter laugh escapes my lips, almost sounding like a grunt. I’m at a loss for words, feeling incredibly uncomfortable in this situation. Laughing seems to be the only way to mask my inner turmoil right now.

“I got it, Ethan,” I repeat and glance at Nina again, but the expressions on the police officers’ faces tell me a lawsuit is bound to happen. “And I’ll take care of the damages at the bar.”

“Of course, you will, but this won’t fix everything. Houston has a nasty concussion and needs to play. You better pray for a speedy recovery. His coach is furious, and so is the team. No parties for you until the end of the season, do you understand? They’ll rip you apart.”

I want to make a snarky remark about how another head injury wouldn’t make much of a difference when it came to Houston, but I keep my mouth shut. After all, what good would it do? Praying seemed like the only viable option at this point. But, well, the big man upstairs has better things to do than listen to my petty requests. He must’ve used up all his divine spark crafting my life of luxury in the lap of a rich-ass family. All I ended up with was a trust fund the size of a small nation’s GDP and a family hating my every being. So, in my case, money does squat to bring me joy.

“Look,” Ethan says, dragging his hand through his hair once more. “Nina and I have been talking. We both agreed you’ve got incredible potential. You could go all the way to being the number one player in history. But you won’t get there if you can’t keep your temper in check. In fact, you’re so close to losing it all, and the sooner you understand, the better. I’ll be honest with you, I’m not sure you’ll be a player after this season, whether we win the Stanley Cup or not.”

My stomach knots as the truth hits me.

The worst part?

I knew it.

The moment Houston started provoking me, I knew it was a trap to get me off my game. I knew if I lost, it could be my last hit.

And yet, I did it anyway.

My foot taps nervously against the floor. “I’ll do whatever it takes,” I whisper, but as the words leave my mouth, I can feel doubt creeping in. Maybe Houston was right about me all along—just a spoiled nepo baby who doesn’t deserve to be on this team. My family’s influence and wealth had gotten me drafted while players like him had earned their spots. And just like that, the demons in my mind come to life again, whispering I am not worthy enough and all my success is because of my father’s achievements.

Because, well, it is.

My parents were the ones who molded and manipulated me into this career, paying for everything until they saw their desired outcome of a successful hockey player son. The bitterness rises in my throat as I contemplate the fact that money can solve everything according to my parents. Everything but my damaged self.

Ethan claps me on the shoulder. “Yes, you will because there’s no other choice. Houston’s just as loaded as you, and I’ve got a hunch we’ll need to go all in when we hit the courtroom. Let’s hope it’s just a concussion and nothing more.”

The door creaks open, and out strides Houston’s agent, a bald man in a tailored gray suit screaming corporate power. My stomach plummets at the sight of him, but then I notice Nina trailing behind, her bright smile a stark contrast to his imposing presence. I make a conscious effort to reign in my emotions. After all, Nina wouldn’t be beaming if it were truly the end of the world for me.

I observe as Houston’s agent saunters toward the entrance, completely disregarding my existence. He swings open the front door, and we’re hit with a wave of chaos from eager reporters and flashing cameras.

I cringe.

Of course, the whole circus has gathered out there to hear my side of the story after being hauled away by the cops again just three hours ago. It’s only seven in the morning, but these journalists never take a break.

Nina clears her throat, and when I finally look up, my sweet assistant is giving me the evil eye. And honestly, I can’t even blame her. She was thrilled to land this job. I am a star player, but, just as my dear old dad loves to say, I’m also the only mistake he’s ever made. Maybe Nina is starting to think so too.

“Good or bad news first?” she says, standing there like the little shy girl she’s always been.

The first time Ethan brought her along, I didn’t think she’d cut it, because she looked like she was twelve. She’s always flaunting her pink lip gloss, sporting merch from pop stars, and gulping down three hot cocoas daily. But here she is, outshining Ethan and me in handling lawsuits with finesse. She’s a maestro with numbers and a pro at connecting the dots, and when it’s time to call out my shit, I’d rather it come from her than Ethan. I bet those policemen were pleased to chat with her and not us. Ethan is the grumpiest guy I’ve ever met and I’m me. She’s dazzling. Her flawless brown skin and infectious smile could thaw the iciest of hearts. Despite our rocky start, she’s become something akin to my little sister.

“Bad,” I mutter, ignoring the disapproving look Ethan is giving me. I guess every word I say is bound to be off today.

“They won’t drop the case, so it’s going to court,” Nina says.

I rake my hand through my hair in frustration. Damn it. Mercer, my coach, will kill me. The team will. Dad will.

“But,” Nina interjects, wagging a finger at us, “they’re leaving the statement up to us and won’t use any footage against us, so we can control the narrative.”

Ethan lets out a sigh. “The narrative. You mean him being an idiot?”

“Absolutely not,” she exclaims, feigning shock, as if I haven’t acted like a complete fool—which we all know is the case. “We’ll make it seem…less foolish, but yeah, okay, it’s clear we need to change things.”

She looks at me and I don’t say anything, so she raises her eyebrows and I nod. “Yeah.” Yes, we do have to change something.

And that something is me.

News alert. I’ve been struggling with myself since birth.

“Oh, and…” Her voice falters, and I sense her struggle to speak.

“What else?” I ask.

“Well…” She hesitates, her gaze dropping to the floor, biting on her lower lip.

“Out with it.” Ethan gestures impatiently, urging her to speak faster with a wave of his hand.

“You won’t like it, but your father posted bail, so we’re free to leave,” she adds reluctantly.

I lean back, my head banging against the wall. Of course he did.

“He called me and said you didn’t pick up and—”

“Nina,” I groan, cutting her off midsentence. “I didn’t respond for no reason. I wanted to shut him down.”

“Oh,” Nina murmurs, her gaze flickering.

“It’s okay, he always finds a way to use his money on me. Thank you, though. Thanks for pulling all the strings in there, you’re an angel,” I chime in, offering her a strained smile as I push myself off the bench, feeling the ache in my muscles from colliding with several tables.

“Wait.” Ethan’s voice stops me in my tracks.

I turn around, my tall frame towering over Nina now. I notice her swallowing nervously as Ethan speaks again.

“I hate to repeat myself, but Riley…this is it,” Ethan says sternly, his green eyes locking with mine. “You need to pull yourself together and remember it’s not just your job at stake here. Ours is too.”

I slump my shoulders in defeat, cursing my inability to separate work and personal matters. But before I can utter another pathetic excuse, Ethan interjects, “So, let’s make sure we don’t waste your talent. We have an idea about how to pull you out of this, but we’ll discuss it later—when you’re sober. For now, trust that Nina has everything under control.” Ethan turns to face her. “You have everything under control, right?”

Nina straightens up. Her gaze locking onto him, her dark eyes suddenly wide as saucers. “Y-yes!” she says, sounding almost on the verge of adding a formal sir, yes, sir. “I had an idea to fix it all,” she adds, looking up at me. “But we’ll need to make some changes. Okay, a lot of changes.”

“I’m aware…”

“Ri, all you have to do is cooperate. Understand?” Ethan says.

I shift my gaze between them and suddenly get the sense that they’re up to something big. I want to ask for details, but Ethan interrupts me with his trademark scowl. “Go home, freshen up, and do something non–hockey related. Clear your head and, um, no girls. We’ll come visit you later.”

“Something non–hockey related that doesn’t involve girls?” I say with a smirk playing on my lips. “It might be a challenge.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Ethan grumbles as Nina chuckles until she catches his icy glare, prompting her to clear her throat and straighten up once more.

“Thank you, guys,” I say, meaning it and wanting to finally get out of here, but Nina points to a back door, urging me to use it instead.

“You don’t have to confront them, Ri,” she says gently.

I shake my head. “I chose to punch the guy, so I have to face the consequences.”

“You just want to give your TikTok girlies something to obsess over again,” Ethan says, sighing.

“That’s what you said,” I say.

Nina rolls her eyes but hands me my sunglasses. “Just remember to keep your shades on this time, your eye looks…unwell. We don’t need a repeat of last month’s headlines.”

I take the glasses and want to ask where she got them, but I drop it because Nina always has everything I need at hand. She’s like my fairy godmother, ten times faster than everyone.

I slide on my black sunglasses and run my fingers through my hair, attempting to tame the unruly tangles. But despite my efforts, some stubborn black strands still hang in front of my face, brushing against my cheekbones. My shaggy haircut has grown out a bit too much for my liking.

“Yeah, we have enough to do with the ones this week,” I hear Ethan grunt once more as I push open the front door, mentally readying my best PR smile. I may have ruined a lot tonight, but thank God I negotiated for a hefty cut of the merch sales. After all, if my antics are going viral, I might as well cash in.