Misconducts & Temptation (The Crestwood Elite Hockey Academy #10)

26. Keaton

Chapter 26

Keaton

I shoved my way through the locker room doors, my chest heaving. The cold air hit me like a punch, sharp and unforgiving, but it was exactly what I needed. Out here, on the ice, everything else faded away. No father barking orders, no Lola scheming her way back into my life, and no Elodie haunting my thoughts.

Skates laced up tight, I stepped onto the rink. The ice was pristine, untouched. Just like I wished my life could be. I dug my blades in hard, propelling myself forward. Speeding across the surface, I could almost pretend I was free.

The anger bubbled up inside me like a volcano ready to erupt. My father’s voice echoed in my head, telling me how important this engagement was for our family. Marrying Lola would secure our business interests, he said. But all I heard was a lifetime of chains clinking into place.

And then there was Elodie. She had no right making me care about her. She was supposed to be just another face in the crowd at Crestwood, someone insignificant. But every time I saw her struggling with those stupid locker room chores or getting sneered at by her stepsisters, something inside me twisted.

She was my wife. Was I hardwired to care? Fuck, if I knew.

My skates sliced through the ice as I veered sharply to the left, nearly crashing into the boards. Dammit, why did she have to get under my skin? Why did her eyes have to hold that defiance and vulnerability that made me want to protect her?

I picked up speed again, driving myself harder and faster until my muscles screamed for relief. This was my sanctuary—this brutal dance on the ice where nothing else mattered but strength and precision.

I thought about Damien's words earlier—give up the inheritance for freedom. He made it sound so simple, but it wasn’t just about money or power. It was about everything I’d been groomed for since birth: control, dominance, success at any cost.

The ice beneath me felt like it could crack open any moment under the weight of everything pressing down on me.

But no one knew what went on behind closed doors. None of them understood that while they saw a confident star defender with a bright future, all I felt was suffocation and anger simmering just below the surface.

My skates carved deep lines as I circled back toward center ice one last time before stopping abruptly. Breathless and sweating despite the cold air, I stood there panting heavily.

Here on this frozen stage where control reigned supreme—where every move had purpose—I finally felt like myself again.

Even if it was only temporary.

I grabbed my stick from the rack and a puck from the neat pile behind the home bench, then skated to the blue line. I set the puck down and lined up my shot, taking a deep breath before firing it at the net. The sound of the puck hitting the boards behind the goal echoed through the empty rink. I repeated the process, over and over, each shot harder than the last.

As I shot, my thoughts drifted to my mother. She’d been gone for years, but her memory still haunted me. What would she say if she saw me now? Would she be proud of what I’d become, or disappointed by the man I was forced to be?

I hated that I cared about what she would think. She was dead. Her opinions shouldn’t matter anymore, but they did. They always did.

Another puck flew toward the net, slamming into the back with a satisfying thud. My mother had always been my refuge from my father’s relentless expectations. She saw me for who I was, not just what I could become. But now she was gone, and all that remained was his voice telling me who to marry, how to live.

I set another puck in front of me and stared at it for a moment. The ice beneath me felt like a fragile mirror reflecting everything wrong in my life. My mother wouldn’t recognize this version of me—cold, distant, controlled by someone else’s plans.

Another shot rang out. This time, it went wide, missing the net completely. I swore under my breath and set up another puck. What would she think about this arranged marriage with Lola? She’d probably be horrified, knowing how toxic Lola was and how much I despised her.

My chest tightened at the thought of her disapproval. Even in death, she had this hold on me—a reminder of what life could have been if she were still here.

I fired another puck at the net, channeling my frustration into every swing of the stick. Each shot was a silent scream against everything trapping me: my father’s control, Lola’s manipulations, and the walls I’d built around myself.

But even as I tried to shut out these thoughts, Elodie’s face crept back into my mind.

I took one final shot at the net before dropping my stick and standing there in silence. The rink was empty except for me and my thoughts—a stark reminder that no matter how fast or hard I skated, some things were impossible to escape.

Elodie’s words echoed in my mind as I stared at the empty net. “ You’re amazing.”

The nerve she had, talking to me like she knew my life, my struggles. She was just the scholarship kid, cleaning up after us privileged assholes. What did she know about pressure, about expectations that crushed you from the inside out?

And yet…

I hated that a part of me wanted to listen to her. She made it sound so simple, like I could just step away from my father’s shadow and into a future where I called the shots. The draft was my ticket out—my escape from this suffocating life where every move was dictated by someone else.

But if I did go to the draft and my father cut me off, what then? My whole life, I’d been groomed for this path, every decision made for me. The thought of being truly on my own was both thrilling and terrifying.

I’d married Elodie to get her away from her shitty life, from poverty and all of it. But defying my father meant risking everything we had. There was no guarantee I’d even make it to the NHL; the draft was a gamble with no certainty of success. What if I failed? What if I dragged her into an even worse situation than before?

The ice beneath me felt like it could crack open any moment under the weight of these thoughts. My skates carved aimless patterns as I circled back toward center ice one last time before stopping abruptly.

Maybe she was right about the draft. Maybe it was my chance to reclaim some semblance of control over my life. But the fear of failure gnawed at me like a relentless beast, reminding me that breaking free came with risks too great to ignore.

"I thought I'd find you here."

I stiffened, my muscles tensing at the sound of my father’s voice. Turning slowly, I saw him standing by the door to the ice, his presence a dark shadow against the bright lights of the rink.

"You're a terrible shot," he said, his tone cold and dismissive.

I looked away, feeling the sting of his words. "That's why I'm a defender," I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah, well, you and your wife have that in common," he said. I could be mistaking it, but I could swear there was a hint of respect in his voice.

I narrowed my eyes, turning back to face him fully. "What do you mean?"

"Elodie and Lola got into a fight in your room after you left. I heard banging, and when I went in to see what was going on, I saw Elodie on top of Lola, hitting her head on the floor."

A smirk tugged at my lips despite myself. "Did Lola touch her?"

His expression darkened. "I saw a busted lip and a bruise on Elodie's face."

Fury surged through me, making my hands clench into fists at my sides. The thought of Lola laying a hand on Elodie made my blood boil.

"You… you care about her, don't you?" My father’s voice held an edge of surprise.

I didn't answer immediately. The realization hit me like a slap in the face—I did care about her. More than I wanted to admit. More than I should have allowed myself to feel.

Seeing my silence as confirmation, he continued, his tone softer but no less manipulative. "You know this complicates things, Keaton. You were supposed to focus on securing our future with Lola's family."

My jaw tightened as I struggled to keep my emotions in check. Every word he spoke was another reminder of the chains binding me to his plans—plans that didn't include someone like Elodie.

But Elodie wasn’t just someone . She was my wife. She had become more important than any deal or business arrangement he could conjure up. And knowing she’d been hurt because of Lola only fueled my resolve.

“Did you know she had the audacity to tell me to let you be your own man?” My father’s voice was a mixture of disbelief and grudging respect.

Pride bubbled in my chest, unbidden and unexpected. Elodie, standing up to him. The thought alone made my heart race.

“She’s a fierce defender of yours,” he continued. “You don’t always find that in a wife.”

“Mom defended you,” I pointed out, my voice sharper than I intended.

“Yes. She also insisted you play hockey as a way to channel the chaos inside of you. Insisted it was a constructive way to do it.” He sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t know what you want from me, son.”

I glared at him, feeling the weight of years of unspoken words pressing down on me. “What I want from you?”

“I’m trying to ensure our family legacy is still vibrant and… meaningful,” he said, his tone almost pleading. "That, when people hear the family name, there's fear and respect… not chaos and mischief and debauchery."

“Lola cheated on me,” I said flatly. “How can I have a vibrant relationship with a bitch I can’t trust?”

His nose wrinkled in distaste. “Must you be so crude?”

“I’m just telling the truth.” I shrugged.

“And yet, you marry a stranger,” he said, his voice hardening again. “You knew nothing about her. How could you know you'd trust her?”

Flashes of Elodie filled my mind—the way she carried herself with quiet strength, the moments we’d shared over the past couple of weeks that revealed more depth than any superficial encounter with Lola ever had.

“She would never betray me,” I said firmly. “She ain’t the type.”

“How could you know that?” he asked, genuine curiosity in his eyes for once.

“I didn’t,” I admitted, my voice softer now. “When I first decided I wanted to marry her, I just didn’t want to marry Lola. But now…”

“Now, it’s different?” he guessed.

I met his gaze head-on, feeling a clarity I hadn’t felt in years. “Yeah,” I said simply. “Now it’s different.”

I leaned on my stick, feeling the weight of my father’s scrutiny. "I guess I saw something in her… I don’t know. She gets me."

"And you’re not just fucking around?" His eyes narrowed, searching for any sign of weakness. "You won’t divorce her three years from now or whenever you decide you're over it?"

"I don’t think you understand," I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them. Admitting this out loud, especially to him, felt like stepping off a cliff. But once I started, I couldn’t hold back. "The thought of Elodie with another man makes me feel a burning kind of anger… I can’t explain it. I would kill him and then I would kill her for?—"

"For making you care?" His voice softened, a rare vulnerability creeping in.

I wanted to deny it, to shut down and keep my guard up. But I couldn’t. Instead, I nodded.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "That’s how I felt about your mother. Fuck." He pinched the bridge of his nose, looking more human than I’d ever seen him. "You’ve really fucked everything up, you know."

"I know." My gaze met his. "I also know I'm man enough to deal with the consequences."

"You are?" His brows raised, surprise flickering in his eyes.

I nodded again, feeling a strange sense of clarity. For once in my life, this wasn’t about pleasing him or living up to some impossible standard. This was about Elodie and me—about fighting for something real.

He studied me for a moment longer, then sighed heavily. "You better be right about this."

"She's my wife," I said, my voice steady. "I have to take care of her. And if I can't play hockey… I'll come work for you. I'm not putting her back in the shitty life she came from just because of my fucking pride."

My father gave me a long, hard look. The kind that made you feel like he could see right through every layer of your defenses. "You know," he finally said, his tone softer than I'd ever heard it, "your mother was usually right about everything."

“Yeah.” I nodded, a lump forming in my throat.

"Even you," he continued.

I blinked, taken aback by the rare admission. My fingers itched for a cigarette, but I forced myself to stay focused.

"Look," he said, stepping closer. "You go to the draft. You get drafted. You make a team." He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. "Then, you know what, Keaton? Who am I to stand in your way?"

I furrowed my brows. Something bubbled in my chest, something I hadn't really felt before. Something like… hope. "What?"

"I'm going to trust your mother on this," he said. "Hell, even your wife said it. But if you can do what only less than five percent of people can, you should do it. Even if it means you pursue that instead of the business." He took a deep breath before continuing. "And… and if you make it, I won't cut you out of the will. But only if you take this seriously—this and your marriage, Keaton." His eyes bore into mine, and for once, I saw something other than cold calculation in them—something resembling sincerity. "I only ever wanted you to succeed."

"There's more than one way to succeed," I said quietly.

He grunted, but didn't comment.

My chest burned with a mix of emotions—pride, determination? I wasn't sure which one was stronger, but I knew I was ready to find out.

He nodded slowly, as if weighing my words. "Maybe you're right," he said at last. "Just... don't screw this up. You don't find women like Elodie every day. Hell, most don't find them at all."

"I know," I said. "I won't."

As we stood there on the ice, the cold air biting at our skin, I felt a strange sense of resolution settling over me. For the first time in years, I had a path that was mine to choose—a chance to prove that there was more to me than just living up to someone else's expectations.

And with Elodie by my side, maybe—just maybe—I could finally become the man I'd always wanted to be.