14. Maddox
Chapter 14
Maddox
Regardless of rivalries, when an opposing team came to town, you offered them ice at your arena for practice. Usually, they only needed a morning skate the day of the game, but the Comets showed up a day early, having an open day on their schedule between their game in Chicago and their matchup with the Speed.
Unlike most teams, our practice ice was housed inside Speed Arena instead of a secondary rink in the suburbs. So, when the Comets borrowed our arena, we were in the building at the same time, on a sheet of ice a few levels below them.
There might be fierce competition on the ice, but there was a brotherhood when you reached the highest level of professional hockey. Guys had connections that went way back—from juniors, college, or time spent on another team in the pros—and were always excited to reconnect.
I was just off the ice from our practice, still in my skates, when a freshly showered Jaxon Slate approached me in the hallway .
He chuckled, taking in my attire of an all-black tracksuit with the Speed emblem over my right pec. “Looking the part, Sterling. How’s coaching treating you?”
Shrugging, I replied, “Can’t complain. Keeps me close to the game and the guys I care about.” I gave him a playful nudge. “Not all of us are built to play the game into our forties.”
“Hey!” Jaxon protested. “I’m only thirty-three.”
He might only be two years younger than me, but you couldn’t tell he was one of the older players on the ice. Jaxon’s talent was special, and he was still producing at a high level—some might say he was playing the best hockey of his career.
“You know, any normal human would start to slow down at your age,” I teased. “I really thought having a house full of kids—and teenagers, no less—would have stolen some of your focus.”
“Yeah, you wish.” He shot back with a smile. “They only give me more inspiration.”
I gave him a polite nod. I wouldn’t know what that was like.
“Your little guy still carving it up in the Hartford youth circuit with Mason’s kid?” Benji Mason was another of the Comets’ star players.
Jaxon barked out a laugh. “You know it. I can’t keep Beau off the ice. But I have to tell you, it’s incredible to rediscover the game through his eyes and watch the development happen. And boy, do I have a whole new level of respect for my parents and all the time and money they put into my youth hockey days. I was totally oblivious as a kid.”
“How old is Beau now?”
“Turned nine this past summer.”
I whistled. “Man, time flies.”
“Tell me about it. Amelia will be sixteen this spring, Jameson fifteen this winter. ”
Jaxon was a great guy both on and off the ice. He played a clean game, and his sportsmanship knew no bounds. He’d made a significant impact in the Hartford community with his charitable pursuits. And then there was his personal life. He’d fallen in love with a single mom and claimed her three kids as his own.
Shaking my head, I remarked, “Unreal. And the little ones?”
Without delay, he whipped out his phone, showing me the screen saver of his family. There were five children in total. He pointed to a little girl who was his spitting image. “Charlie is five now.” His finger shifted to an adorably chubby toddler boy. “And Max just turned two.”
“You’ve got a beautiful family, man.”
Jaxon’s eyes lifted from the screen to meet mine. “Yeah, they’re my reason for living. You ever think about settling down?”
I shoved both hands in my pants pockets. “You know how much we travel . . .”
He nodded in understanding. “I get it. It’s hard to meet someone who can withstand the rigors of our profession.”
That wasn’t exactly my issue, but I didn’t need to spill my guts to this guy. He had it all—the adoring wife, the family, the career that wouldn’t quit. He would never understand that losing my ability to play had left a giant hole in my life, and I wasn’t sure anything could fill that void.
So, instead, I brought the conversation back to him. “Braxton was showing me some clips of Charlie all geared up and skating like a little speed demon. He couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. Don’t tell the others, but I think she’s his favorite.”
Jaxon chuckled. “It’s not exactly a state secret. Everyone knows the two of them have a special bond.” He paused. “Speaking of Braxton, is he doing okay out here? ”
I nodded. “I can tell you with absolute certainty that he earned that A on his jersey.” An A designated a player as an alternate captain. “He really stepped up when I went down, even though he’d only been on the team a few months. He seems to be thriving here. Especially with Dakota by his side.”
“Yeah,” Jaxon said on an exhale. “I wanted so much to keep him close, to protect and guide him, but he needed the space to grow, to find himself. I’m glad he’s found that here. I just miss him, you know? We had just gotten a chance to reconnect when the trade happened.”
“He’s a good kid and a hard worker.” I joked, “Wonder where he gets it from.”
Jaxon held up both hands. “I’d love to take credit, but I was out of the house before he began playing full ice.”
“You didn’t have to be there to leave an impression, to become his inspiration,” I remarked.
Rocking back on his heels, Jaxon hummed. “I think he became the player he is today in spite of me. Growing up, our dad was pretty hard on him, expecting him to emulate my game. And when he couldn’t, it wasn’t pretty. I’ll leave it at that. ”
Yikes. Even after my parents split up, they still came together to support me as I pursued my hockey dreams. My dad had been more supportive than critical. He’d always said it was up to me how far I went in the sport, that no one else could do it for me, that there were no shortcuts.
He was right. The kids who thought they could screw around at practice or have their parents bargain with a coach for more playing time didn’t make it past youth hockey. I earned everything in my career, and it was because I always had those words from my dad playing in my head. I owed him everything. To think that Braxton’s father was one of those glass-banging assholes you saw screaming at eight-year-olds on the ice had me seeing him in a new light. Braxton could have easily become jaded, hating the game he played to the point of quitting. Instead, he’d persevered through that kind of pressure to become the incredible player he was today.
Jaxon turned his head from side to side, checking to see that the hallway was clear before asking, “You’re going to the thing at the karaoke bar tonight, right?”
My eyebrows rose. “Pipes?”
“Yeah, I think that’s what they said it was called. It’ll be nice to get everyone together before we go to war on the ice tomorrow.”
I was mildly confused. “Is there some kind of event there tonight? Usually, the team goes after a game, but they have tonight off.”
“Oh shit,” he cursed. “I probably wasn’t supposed to say anything.”
Realization hit me with the force of a sledgehammer. Now that I was no longer a player, I wasn’t invited to “player” gatherings.
There had always been a separation between the coaching staff and the team. They didn’t come out with us; they had their own little group. It didn’t matter that in my mind, I was still one of them; they saw me differently. And it didn’t help that I’d stopped going to Pipes on my own. Maybe they thought I was the one drawing a line with my new role.
Jaxon shifted uncomfortably. “Well, I better get going. Nat’s had the kids all day without me, and I’m sure she’s ready for a break. Catch you later, Maddox.”
“Yeah,” I said weakly as he walked away.
It was like right after the injury all over again—I felt isolated.
I fucking hated it.
I was reeling, feeling out of control in my own life. A single moment in time had created a seismic shift, throwing everything off track and setting me on a new trajectory—one I hadn’t chosen for myself .
Dropping my head back against the concrete wall, I closed my eyes, trying to get a grip on the rising emotions—anger, disappointment, regret. This was a problem that couldn’t be fixed, and I struggled to wrap my mind around my new reality even months after learning that my body had failed me.
I would have sold my soul to play just one more game. Because that’s what the game was to me—a part of my soul, an essential part of my identity.
My chest heaved, and my fists clenched at my sides. I needed to feel something, anything. And the only person who helped with that was keeping their distance, so maybe it was time to seek out an alternative.
Opening my eyes, I spun around to face the wall, taking a step back. I cocked my fist, ready to break my hand by punching solid concrete in my desperation to have some proof that I was still alive.
My bicep shook as I mentally prepared for the burst of pain.
Okay, here we go. Three. Two. On—
“Whatever this is, it looks promising. Care if I watch?” A voice cut through the haze, and I whipped my head to the side, my fist still suspended in the air.
Hannah Moreau—well, I suppose it was Berg now—stood a few feet away, legs and arms crossed, one hip propped against the wall as she eyed what appeared like a mental breakdown.
Okay, who was I kidding? It was a mental breakdown. I just wasn’t expecting an audience.
Palm up, her hand cut through the air parallel to the ground. “Proceed. Don’t let me stop you.”
She was the youngest daughter of Ace Moreau, the Comets’ head coach, and was married to my old college captain, Cal Berg. Hannah understood both sides of the game, having lived with a coach and a player. Maybe there was a reason that she’d been the one to find me when I was about to inflict bodily harm on myself. It was good that she did; I would have had a hell of a time explaining that type of injury to upper-level management and the training staff.
Dropping my hand to my side, I turned to face her fully, dipping my head in acknowledgment. “Hello, Hannah.”
Pushing off the wall, she stepped closer, a playfully sexy smile on her lips. “Long time no see, Maddox,” she purred.
Hannah was hot, and she knew it. She carried herself with a confidence other women couldn’t match, and they secretly hated her because she also knew how to talk to men.
Had I once been attracted to her? Hell, yeah. There was even a close call at a club in Hartford a few years back.
At the time, I hadn’t realized she was a hockey legend’s daughter. As soon as Cal interrupted us and dropped that little truth bomb, I was out. Ace Moreau was notorious for warning players away from his daughters, and I wasn’t looking to stir up even more trouble in an already heated rivalry. Go figure, Cal had set his sights on the girl himself and stopped us out of jealous rage versus looking out for me.
“Wanna explain why you were seconds away from punching a wall?” she questioned, her blue eyes assessing me carefully.
I blew out a heavy breath. “Existential crisis. No big deal.”
“Sounds about right,” she mused, nodding.
“Your dad ever struggle with his career ending?” I was swallowing my pride big time by even asking.
Hannah’s gaze softened. “No, I think he knew it was time. There was more regret about chasing it for longer than he should have. He struggled to keep up during those final few years, losing minutes to younger guys, and I think that was a huge blow to his ego. ”
Ace Moreau had been a three-time champion with the Houston Heroes, the team that had drafted him. Once he was past his prime, they chose to let him go, and he’d team-hopped for nearly a decade, playing into his early forties.
I must have visibly deflated at her answer, as it didn’t help me, because she offered, “Cal, on the other hand . . .”
My ears perked up. “Yeah? He’s not happy in retirement?”
Hannah shrugged. “His situation isn’t the same as yours, but sometimes I think he wishes he was still out there with the guys. They go to practice, they play in games, and he’s forced to watch on. It’s not the same, you know?”
“Oh, I know,” I huffed.
“There’s almost a disconnect. He’s close but not close enough. And it’s hard for him to sit on his hands, acting calmly in the booth when something happens on the ice. He’s forced to analyze it in a neutral way when I know he wants to shove his foot up someone’s ass.” She laughed lightly. “Sometimes, I think he’d be better suited behind the bench, like you.”
“Yeah, because that wouldn’t spell disaster with my troublemaker of a wife,” a deep voice boomed further down the hall.
Glancing over Hannah’s shoulder, I saw Cal Berg striding toward us. He was a big dude, intimidating to most as he gave off the appearance of a Viking, but I knew him when he was just coming into his size. And I wasn’t exactly small myself, my six-three not far off from his six-five.
When he reached where we stood, he looped his arm around Hannah, pulling her into his side possessively. She peered up at him with stars in her eyes, teasing, “Oh, come on, you know I would make the best coach’s wife. ”
Cal snorted. “It’s bad enough you text me throughout the entire game while I’m on live television. I can only imagine you barging onto the bench if you didn’t like how something was going.”
She bit her lip to keep from smiling but was unsuccessful. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. It’s okay to ask for help, honey. We’ve been over this.”
He rolled his eyes. “I’d be forced to explain to the league office why my wife was screaming at a ref at ice level. At least now, I can lock the door to the press box.”
Hannah pouted. “So mean.”
Turning to me, his playful affection for his wife died, and those Arctic blue eyes hardened as his jaw clenched. “Maddox,” he addressed me gruffly. “Managing to keep your hands off women you have no business touching?”
I flashed him a cocky grin. “Never.”
A growl rumbled from Cal’s chest. I had said it to get a rise out of him and was pleased I’d hit the mark.
He was still pissed about the club all those years ago. To be fair, my hand had been up Hannah’s skirt when he caught us. And she hadn’t exactly been wearing panties. It wasn’t a great look. If he felt even half the level of possession over Hannah that I did for Bristol, I could understand why he was agitated. I wasn’t sure I would have the same restraint if I came face to face with someone from her past who had touched her intimately.
Hannah slid a hand up his chest. “You know, Christmas is coming up, and I wouldn’t say no to my gift being double-stuffed by two of the biggest men I’ve ever had the pleasure of rubbing up against.”
My eyes widened in shock at her words, but Cal reacted instantly. Her body was pinned against the concrete in a flash, and his hand was in her hair, gripping so tightly I heard her pained gasp.
Cal’s tone was lethal as he spoke to his wife. “You trying to earn a punishment, baby?”
What did it say about me that this display had my cock thickening?
Hannah couldn’t move her head with how he held her, but her throat bobbed on a swallow. Licking her lips, her reply was breathy. “Y-yes.”
“Maybe this time your punishment will be denial—and not the fun kind,” he growled, his face an inch from hers.
“Please,” she whined, her hips shifting against his.
Did these two not realize they were in a public place? Perhaps they didn’t care.
Cal released her, and Hannah sagged against the wall, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her skin was flushed, and the pulse point at the base of her throat fluttered wildly.
Jesus, maybe I’d dodged a bullet. I don’t think I could have handled that woman. Even for a single night. Good on Cal for having a firm handle on her, though. Watching the two of them was enough to make you believe that there was a perfect match for everyone. Hannah had undoubtedly found hers.
The tiniest hint of a smirk graced Cal’s lips as he said, “It was great catching up, Maddox. Good luck tomorrow.” He looped his arm around Hannah’s waist and led her away.
I was left standing there stunned, watching them leave.
“What have you found yourself in the middle of now?” Bristol’s voice behind me was accompanied by heels clacking on the polished concrete floor.
I made sure to adjust myself in my pants before turning to face her.
It turned out to be a pointless exercise. Cal and Hannah might’ve gotten my engine started, but Bristol had it roaring to life. The security guards were sure to get a show today .
She was dressed in a navy blue wrap dress that brought out the color of her eyes while showcasing her soft curves, and the tie called to me. My fingers itched to tug on that thick band of fabric holding it together, to watch it fall away from her perfect body before I devoured her—first with my eyes, then with my mouth.
“Maddox?”
Fuck, I nearly groaned at the sound of my name on her tongue. What I wouldn’t give to hear her screaming those two syllables in ecstasy.
“Hmm?” What were we talking about again?
She raised an eyebrow before folding her arms beneath her chest, pushing her breasts against the stretchy fabric of her dress, the creamy swells begging to be tasted. It had been so long since we were together that her unique flavor had become a distant memory. I needed a refresher course, stat.
“That little display. How did you find yourself in the middle of it?”
Oh, that.
Yeah, wasn’t going there with her. You didn’t bring up past fucks—or almost fucks—with a girl whose pants you were currently trying to get into. It was a terrible idea, the worst. Chicks had a habit of comparing themselves to others and always found themselves lacking. It made zero sense as women were like a beautiful bouquet of flowers. Their differences made them unique. I’d sampled my fair share, and I could honestly say I liked them all.
Although, none of them had me craving another hit quite like the one standing before me.
Shoving both hands into my track pants, I replied, “Just catching up with an old college teammate.”
Bristol’s pale blue eyes narrowed. “Didn’t realize Hannah played Division 1 men’s hockey. I feel like I would have heard about that. ”
I tilted my head. “And exactly how do you know Hannah?”
“Please,” she scoffed with a roll of her eyes.
“Connecticut girl. Right.”
It wasn’t a stretch to say all Comets fans knew Hannah. She was not only their head coach’s daughter, but she also served as their anthem singer. How I hadn’t noticed that before our interaction still irked me. I should have known who she was, but in my defense, the smokeshow who showed up to the club that night bore no resemblance to the sweet girl who sang the anthem. And Hannah was a super common name.
It was an honest mistake. That was my story, and I was sticking to it.
Deciding to blow off her line of questioning—knowing it would only end badly for me—I changed the subject. “You know anything about the team meeting up with the Comets at Pipes tonight?”
It was a long shot, but she was friends with a player’s girlfriend and, as she’d pointed out, a Comets fan, so maybe she had heard something. Why I needed to dig into the catalyst for my earlier tailspin, I would never know. But talking to Hannah about Cal having some of the same post-retirement feelings did help ease the ache. That, and the pretty redhead standing before me, eliciting a reaction. If I had to guess, Bristol’s presence was the more helpful of the two.
Something about her took my mind off everything else in my life. Like when she was near, we were in a little bubble and nothing could touch us, like the rest of the world didn’t matter.
Plush pink lips pursed as she mulled over my question. “As a matter of fact, I do.”
“Care to share?” I prompted.
“I don’t know.” Bristol shrugged. “You wanna tell me why you were all cozy with Cal Berg’s wife before he stormed in and pushed her up against the wall? ”
I cringed. She’d been watching longer than I’d thought.
“Not particularly.”
“Then I don’t think I’m interested in sharing what’s happening at Pipes tonight. Why should I give up classified information if you’re unwilling to give me something in exchange?”
My brows rose high on my forehead. “ Classified ?”
She smirked, turning on her heel and tossing over her shoulder, “I said what I said.”
What the fuck was going on tonight?