Cold as (N)ice (Sticks and Vows #1)

Chapter 1

1

COEUR

Dallas, Texas

“ A re you insane?”

Barrett Coeur’s blood boiled as the words left his mouth. He knew he wouldn’t take them back, not for a second, no more than he’d give up his skates or his hockey stick.

Hockey was his lifeline, his constant, his escape—and he loved it fiercely. Just like that love, his sharp tone lingered, unapologetic. He stood his ground, glaring at Theo Batiste, who stared back at him with infuriating calm. The contrast between Barrett’s fire and Theo’s ice only added to the tension brewing between them.

“Non, I am désespéré,” Theo said bluntly, the other hockey player on the Coyotes spoke with a heavy mix of French and English that carried a sharp edge, matching his desperation. “She’s nice, sweet, and stuck. I just need you to ‘ire Irene for a little bit so she can get on her feet and…”

Barrett cut him off, incredulous. “Why can’t you keep your own housekeeper? Why me? Dude, you know I live in a nice place that stays that way because it’s empty. It’s just me. Other than a few fast-food wrappers and a couple of Coke cans—it’s clean.”

Theo didn’t flinch.

“She needs a job,” he said firmly, his eyes holding a silent plea that made Barrett uncomfortable. “And I need someone who will be nice to ‘er.”

Barrett scoffed, gesturing to himself. “And you want me?!”

“Yes,” Theo interrupted, his cool demeanor giving way to nervousness. “And I need Aimee not to get so upset about me ‘aving a single woman as my ‘ousekeeper.”

The pieces clicked into place, and Barrett narrowed his eyes. Theo wanted him to hire some female maid because his fiancée didn’t like her being around? Why? “Did you sleep with her? Is she hot?”

“Aimee? Oh, mais oui!” Theo’s offense was palpable. “She’s très belle , but I wouldn’t—oh—you meant Irene?” He shook his head, his expression turning to one of utter disbelief as he curled his lip in disgust. “No, not at all. She’s not ‘hot’ to me, and I would never jeopardize what I have with Aimee.”

Barrett folded his arms across his chest, trying to process. “Look, I know you’re some soft, fragile flower…”

The words barely left his lips before Theo’s fist connected with his jaw in a clean, practiced motion. Barrett staggered back, his jaw throbbing as he rubbed it, glaring at his friend. They weren’t on the ice and there was no call for that bit of zest to get his point across.

“Are you kidding me right now?”

Theo shrugged, unapologetic. “I’m not une petite fleur . I’m nice off the ice, but if you’re going to be a?—”

Barrett held up a hand, cutting him off.

“All right, all right. No need for another punch. But seriously, why me? What about Boucher or Lafreniere?”

Theo hesitated, his confidence faltering for the first time. “They don’t speak sign language,” he said quietly, almost reluctantly. “Irene has a son. He’s seven. And he’s deaf.”

The words hit Barrett like a slap. He froze, his mind racing. “How did you?—”

“I saw you signing to someone at lunch about a year ago,” Theo admitted, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It’s ‘ard to learn another language—English, French, or ASL—so I figured you might be smarter than you look.”

“Gee, thanks,” Barrett muttered, but his voice lacked its usual bite.

“Think about it,” Theo pressed. “She’s under a lot of stress, and I need to give her some peace of mind.”

Barrett’s walls started to crack, but he reinforced them with sarcasm. “Doing your dishes is that rough, huh?”

“No,” Batiste said simply, looking at him as if he was measuring him up. “It’s not my story to tell, and if you do this for me – I would owe you one. Let me know in a few days so I can put ‘er mind at ease, and you can meet ‘er.”

“You’re not gonna change my mind in two days, bro.”

“You never know.”

“Are you two coming or what?” Boucher asked, glaring at them angrily, and he understood why the other man would be so angry. The press had been coming down on him hard, and because of all the negative press – his job was now on the line. The higher-ups were talking about cutting his contract and letting him go if he didn’t change his image – and drastic discussions were flying around the locker room in an attempt to help the hockey player.

Yeah, being on the North Texas Coyotes meant you had to not only play but keep your reputation clean. No drinking, no gambling, and no womanizing… which was fine with him because they were just drama. Now, things would be entirely different if they said ‘ No PlayStation ’ because he was addicted to the console. It was how he spent his downtime, kept from blowing all his cash, and truthfully – it was how he kept his house clean.

Barrett was actually a slob, but when you only had a couch, a small sofa table to put your food and drink on, a television, and a bed – it made things easy. Hence, the no need for a maid. Yeah, he liked his privacy, and having some woman dusting around him just made his skin rankle with irritation.

“Let’s go,” Barrett said, brushing off Batiste’s request once more. “And forget it.”

“Think about it,” Batiste practically begged, following behind him as he made his way to the rink where the other team members were waiting. He jerked his helmet on his head, snapping it into place, hoping to cover the mark on his jaw so Thierry didn’t tease him about it. “I need this, and she’s nice, Coeur.”

“Then she’ll have no problem finding a job somewhere else,” he retorted.

“Coeur…”

“We have practice, and we need to focus,” Barrett snapped, feeling pressured. “Drop it, or it’s definitely a ‘ no ’.”

S everal hours later, Barrett was driving his blacked-out Tahoe home when his phone rang. His agent had the best timing sometimes, and while he wasn’t expecting a call, usually it was to announce that he was on television, someone wanted an interview, there was a charity event he wanted him to attend or some other bit of garbage. He wasn’t like some of the other guys and had just lost his endorsement contract because he hated the shoes. He wasn’t going to promote a crappy pair of sneakers if he hated wearing them – period.

“Sup Jimmy…”

“Mon Coeur…”

“Dude, you know that crap creeps me out. I’m not ‘your heart’ – I’m your wallet, remember? Call me Coeur or just Barrett – and leave off the ‘mon coeur’ garbage.”

“It’s funny, and I have news…”

“Then let’s hear it.”

“I might have a bite,” Jimmy said in a voice that was supposed to be intriguing and tantalizing but came off as scummy. His agent really was a creep, which is what made him so freaking good at his job. The man could sniff out money anywhere, from any place.

“Am I hungry?” he joked, playing along.

“How many worms can my favorite little fishie swallow?”

“Seriously? I can eat my weight in gummy worms.”

“More than six figures?” Jimmy whispered – and Barrett missed his exit.

“What?” Barrett immediately asked, not messing around with the cutesy euphemisms. “Who’s offering more than six figures – not that I’m looking – but I’m curious. Who out there in the NHL is wanting to pony-up for a contract when we both know that I’m not the golden child? Who else are they looking at? What’s my competition? Are we talking endorsements, too? Talk to me, Jimmy,” he ordered and heard Jimmy’s satisfied chuckle.

“This is a new team – and things are starting to whisper in the wind,” the man teased excitedly. “Barrett, we’re talking big money, all the endorsements you could want, the works. You’d be on the starring team, leading the way, and they are willing to shell out the bucks to get you.”

“Who? Who is willing to shell out the bucks – because lemme tell you there are a few teams that I wouldn’t play for… and again – I’m not really looking,” he stressed carefully, pulling off at the next exit and making a U-turn. “I don’t want word of this getting out because I’m happy where I am.”

“They’re offering over a million a year.”

“A year?”

“Yes.”

Barrett cursed under his breath. Okay, that was a lot more than ‘six figures’ that his agent teased at. That was seven figures with a few commas thrown in – and nothing to sneeze at. He pulled over into the parking lot of a shopping mall, needing to focus. He threw the car into park, made sure the doors were locked, and took a deep breath.

“Gimme everything, Jimmy.”

“Quebec is launching a new NHL team – and they are looking for the best.”

“That’s not me…”

“They want you. They asked for you by name. Barrett, they are looking to hit the ground running and setting up a lineup for the Cup…”

“Are you freakin’ kidding me?”

“No. That’s why they are pushing so hard. They asked me what it would take to get you on board and…”

“What did you say?”

“I told them that you wanted a major brand endorsement immediately…”

“Good.”

“And that you wanted a contract for a minimum of five years, or if they cut you they would have to pay out the contract…”

Barrett chuckled.

Dang, Jimmy was the best. The man was like a shark with a chum bucket. If he smelled blood in the water, he was all over it. This meant that if he got cut or traded, Quebec would have to pay him out the five million dollars. It was a gold mine waiting to happen.

“They want you to keep up with the charity functions…”

“No problem.”

“There’s one slight issue,” Jimmy began and then laughed. “It’s ridiculous, and I don’t think it’s anything, so let me handle it. You know me and contracts.”

“I do,” Barrett grinned. “I’m not saying ‘no,’ but I’m interested. Get the problems worked out, get something solid, and call me after hours when you have it laid out and ready to present.”

“You know I love ya man…”

“Because I make you a fat load of cash,” Barrett quipped bluntly, only to hear Jimmy laugh before he ended the call. Yeah, they had a very blunt, very open, very business-like arrangement that simply came down to money. If he earned it, Jimmy would get him more. If he blew it, Jimmy would cut him and find another player.

Driving home, he was lost in his thoughts. He loved his team and got along with them for the most part, but man, that was a lot of money to consider. If he took a deal like that, then he would be starting over in a new city… but back in his home country. He was a Canadian citizen and had gotten his visa to play when he came to the United States because that was once where the money was. Not anymore, apparently…

There was a lot to consider and he didn’t have all the answers yet, so until it was ironed out, nothing was happening.

Period.

Pulling into his garage twenty minutes later, he shut off his SUV and pressed the remote to close the heavy door behind him. Privacy was a constant battle—people occasionally snooped around his property, hoping to snap a picture or, worse, snag something personal.

Just three months ago, he’d caught someone rifling through his trash and had to call the police. Since then, he’d taken extra precautions: the garbage stayed in the garage, his mail was routed to a P.O. box, and everything was addressed under "B.C. Heart"—a nod to " Coeur ," the French word for " heart ."

Some fans got strange, but others?

They crossed the line.

His house in Dallas was in a decent neighborhood—not one of the ritzy gated communities, and it didn’t sit on acres of land. It was practical, convenient, and good enough for now. As the garage door rumbled shut, he keyed in his passcode to disarm the alarm and exhaled deeply, feeling a small measure of relief as he stepped inside.

Home.

And he hesitated.

Looking around with open eyes as he replayed Batiste’s conversation regarding his maid. The counters and stove were spotless from the last time he’d hired Merry Maids to clean the house for him. His beloved couch was sagging in the middle where he plopped down on it every night – and sometimes slept. There were cords strung all over the floor because he hated game remotes that worked on Bluetooth. It never failed. There was always one that lost connection and ended up getting you killed in the middle of a game.

He had a massive television the size of a full-size mattress mounted to the wall and speakers that stuck out on the sides… but that was it.

No pictures.

No décor.

No cozy scents, he thought sniffing and frowned, moving to sniff under his arms – and wincing. Yep. He stunk. Walking back to the luxurious bathroom, he paused, giving it the same cursory look from earlier. Pretty standard – shower, tub, toilet, sinks – but no cologne bottles, no pictures, no nice towels hanging on the rack. He didn’t even have a bathmat, but rather tossed his dirty towels down and stepped on them until he did laundry.

“Maybe I could use a maid…” he hesitated and texted Batiste as he turned on the shower, letting the water warm up.

I’m not saying yes – but would she be opposed to cooking something every once in a while so the place smelled nice? Does she do your laundry? How’s she feel about doing the shopping for me?

She does it for me – so I’m sure she won’t mind. Besides, it’s two days a week unless you need more. I know she needs the money.

Lemme think

Just say YES, dork.

For that? NO

Yes

No

Think about it?

And Barrett’s stomach rumbled, causing him to sigh heavily as he put the phone down on the counter, stepping into the shower, ignoring the last text as his phone beeped. The water sluiced over him, easing some of his strained muscles from the strenuous practice earlier. Instead of enjoying his shower, he stood there, eyes closed under the waterfall and heard another text message.

Batiste was pushy – and he hated being pushed around.

Sighing heavily, he shut off the water and moved to grab his towel off the hook and hesitated. Cursing in frustration, his voice echoed off the empty walls as it dawned on him that there were no clean towels because he hadn’t washed them. The towels were all on the floor, under his feet in a pile, waiting.

Angrily, he snatched his phone, reading the screen.

Irene just texted.

She said she could use the work asap. She cooks, cleans, will do laundry, whatever you need, but she just needs to be able to keep a roof over her son’s head.

Fine.

Barrett replied tersely – and dripped water all the way from his bathroom into his bedroom, looking for something to dry himself with that wasn’t filthy.