Chapter 2
BEN
“Good work out there today, Michaels.”
Coach Stetson calls after me on my way to the locker room. I’m not surprised that he was watching me during practice; I could feel his sharp gaze following me on the ice. But in the two years he’s been the head coach of the Otters, he has rarely gone out of his way to compliment me.
I blink, caught a little off guard, but I manage a winded, "Thanks, Coach."
"No, I mean it.” His tone is firm but genuine as he takes a step towards me.
Even though I’m 6’2” and wearing skates, he’s still taller than me.
His nickname when he played pro was “Behemoth,” for obvious reasons.
He’s an absolute mountain of a man with shoulders so broad they could carry the entire team.
"You’ve been making smart plays, setting guys up, and putting in the effort on both ends.
That’s the kind of player we need. The kind your teammates can look up to. "
The praise hits me like a clean check—unexpected, but solid. My instinct is to brush it off, say something about how the whole team was working hard, but the look in his eyes tells me to just take the compliment.
"I appreciate that," I say with a nod.
"Keep it up.” He pats my shoulder before turning to walk away. "Effort like that makes a difference."
I watch him head back to the bench, a mix of pride and determination rising in my chest. I’ve had a lot of coaches in my lifetime, some better than others, but Coach Stetson is a cut above the rest. He was forced to retire young after a devastating, career-ending injury.
Now, at forty years old, he’s one of the youngest head coaches in the league.
He’s the kind of leader I don’t want to disappoint, not because I’m scared of him—though, if I’m honest, I kind of am—but because I respect the hell out of him.
The kind your teammates can look up to.
I’ve never been that guy. I’ve spent my whole career being good at one thing: taking care of me.
Stats, contracts, endorsements—those I can manage.
Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t have made it to where I am in my career without being an asset for my team.
I’m the guy you rely on to protect the net or throw the hit, just not the guy you come to for an inspiring pep talk.
For the first three years I played for this team, I was the person my teammates would come to when they needed a night out to get drunk or get laid. Often both. I was never the guy they’d turn to for advice on how to work through a problem.
But I wanted to be. And after a wake up call last Christmas, I’ve spent the better part of last season trying to be that guy, on and off the ice.
Emboldened by Coach’s praise, I stride into the locker room determined to pay it forward.
Most of my teammates are already in the showers, but Foster, Will, and Austin are milling about.
Austin Crawford is talking because he’s always fucking talking.
His blond hair is a mess like always, that smug grin plastered on his face like he’s in a perpetual highlight reel.
He never shuts up. Ever. Trash talk, chirps, or just running his mouth about anything and everything, like he’s afraid silence might kill him.
He’s fast, I’ll give him that. Skilled too, though he’ll remind you of that ten times a day, just in case you forget.
And somehow, beneath all the cockiness and chaos, there’s a guy you’d go to war with.
Annoying as hell, yeah, but when it counts, he’s got your back.
Plus, he’s not the team rookie anymore and I’ve decided to have more patience with him this year. Or try to, at least.
As I pass him on the way to my stall, I give him a similar shoulder pat to the one our coach just gave me. “Nice hustle today, Crawford.”
Austin eyes me warily, like he’s waiting for the backhanded part of the compliment. “Yeah?”
“I mean it. That goal you scored in the scrimmage? Gorgeous. Nice job finding the soft spot in the coverage.”
Austin blinks a few times, like I’ve spoken to him in a language he’s not entirely fluent in. Then he stammers, “Oh, uh, thanks. Yeah, thanks, man.” His face turns red, and he looks down at the floor like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.
I’ve rendered him speechless. Until this very moment, I didn’t know it was possible for him to voluntarily stop talking.
Austin grabs his towel and practically speed walks towards the showers. Once he’s gone, Will and Foster turn their dumbfounded gazes on me.
“What?” I ask.
“You gave Austin a compliment.” Foster is not one to waste words.
You could say that my closest friend and the team goalie is the opposite of Austin.
He’s not flashy or loud, he doesn’t brag, doesn’t show off, just does what needs to be done.
Whether it’s on the ice, at work, or anywhere else, he’s the best person I know.
And it’s a damn good thing, considering he’s dating my sister.
“So?”
“So you’ve never done that before,” my fellow defenseman, Will, explains.
He’s smiling as usual, his white teeth standing out against his dark brown skin.
On the ice, he’s a beast—a wall of muscle, towering over just about everyone else out there.
But off the ice? He’s our team teddy bear, stuffed with marshmallow fluff.
“Is Austin dying?” His dark eyes grow comically round. “Oh God, are you dying?”
“No one is dying,” I scowl. We’ve played with Austin for more than a year. Have I really never given him a compliment? I’ve given him plenty of shit–most of which he probably deserved. Then there was the time I punched him in the face. That he definitely had coming.
If you want to be less self-involved, try performing selfless acts.
The line sounds like something you’d get in a fortune cookie, but it’s actually from a book I’ve been reading called I Bet You Think This Book Is About You: A Guide For The Egocentric.
We all laughed when I unwrapped it last Christmas, my whole family sitting around my parents living room.
A gift from my older sister, Tara, who had always given me grief for being full of myself.
It's only been in the last year that I realized she, and everyone else in my family, actually felt that way.
My parents used to sit through every one of my games, freezing their asses off in those old rinks, hauling me from tournament to tournament like it was their life’s mission.
My siblings gave up weekends and vacations because my hockey took priority over everything else.
There was never a conversation about it. It’s just the way it was.
And me? I just expected it. It was normal. The world was supposed to revolve around me and hockey because it always had and probably always would.
Not anymore.
“He was an asset to the team today,” I say, turning away as I start to strip off my sweaty gear. “I guess I’m trying to show my appreciation a bit more. Or whatever.”
Will opens his mouth like he’s about to comment, but closes it again. His eyes flit to Foster, who gives him an almost imperceivable shake of the head.
“What?” I ask irritatedly.
Hesitantly, Will asks, “Does this have anything to do with your blast from the past the other day?”
I glare at Foster who raises his hands. “Beth told him.”
“Your girlfriend’s got a big mouth,” I glower at him.
“I’ll thank you not to talk about Beth’s mouth. I’m rather fond of it.”
“Ugh–gross, Man.” I throw a towel that he dodges with ease. “Don’t talk about my sister’s mouth.”
“You’re the one who brought it up.” His face splits into a rare grin.
I can’t bring myself to be upset with Beth after the scare I gave her last week. One second I was chatting with her and Foster, and then without warning, I was jaywalking across a busy intersection. It’s not like I had a choice. Once I’d spotted Maddy across the street, I had to go to her.
Ten years. Ten years and it felt like nothing had changed. I don’t know why I thought seeing her again would feel different. Easier, maybe? Like time would’ve dulled my feelings for her.
But the instant her gaze met mine, I was gone. Just like that, everything I’d buried, every stupid hope, every broken promise, every ounce of love I never managed to shake, came rushing back all at once.
I shake my head, pushing away the thought of her looking as stunned as I felt. That fiery red hair catching the sunlight. The blue eyes I’d happily drown in. The long legs that used to wrap around me.
“I’m just trying to be a better teammate.
It’s got nothing to do with Madelyn.” It’s a bold face lie.
Because it’s got everything to do with her.
And not just our chance encounter, which hurt just as much as it helped.
Seeing her for the first time in a decade was like slicing open a wound that never properly healed, but it also made me feel things I thought I’d never feel again.
Hearing of her engagement last year sent me into a self-destructive spiral that lasted several months.
I threw myself into a relationship with a supermodel I was completely ill-suited for just to feel less alone.
When things with Valentina ended in disaster, Beth not only helped me pull myself together, she forced me to take a good hard look at my life and relationships.
I’ve been selfish. Not the loud, obvious kind that screams for attention, but the quiet kind. The kind that takes without realizing, that assumes people will always be there because they always have been.
Looking back, I see things so clearly now: the moments I put myself first. Not because I didn’t care, but because I didn’t think past my own wants and needs. I’ve hurt people I love, not on purpose, but does that even matter? Intent doesn’t erase the damage.
I hate the way it feels, knowing I’ve let people down. Knowing I’ve taken for granted the ones who’ve stood by me, even when I didn’t deserve it. Realizing that if I hadn’t been so self-involved, things may have been different. I might not have lost her.
I don’t want to lose anyone else. I can’t.
So, I’m done with excuses. No more brushing it off or pretending I didn’t know better. I do know better now and I’ve spent the last nine months trying to be a better teammate, son, brother, and friend.
I’ve changed. Seeing Maddy confirmed that for me. The old Ben would have gone to the nearest pub to find comfort in a bottle or the arms of a willing stranger when Maddy turned me down for a coffee. Instead, I went back to my condo and sent the email I’ve been thinking about sending for months.
Big Buddies is a non-profit organization I’ve long admired that matches mentors with at-risk kids. I’d just told Beth and Foster that I was thinking about volunteering right before my run in with Maddy and they both thought it was a great idea.
Even though it was a Sunday, someone at the organization got back to me right away and after filling out some forms and providing them with a clean criminal records check, they accepted my application and welcomed me to the program.
I suppose I shouldn’t have been so surprised by how quickly everything came together.
They probably don’t have pro hockey players signing up to mentor kids every day.
The volunteer coordinator said they would be happy to work with my schedule, which can be a bit unpredictable.
I’m still waiting to be matched with a kid, but I’m really looking forward to giving back.
I haven’t been this excited about something for a long time.
And to be perfectly honest, I need the distraction.
“Just don’t give Austin too many compliments,” Foster tells me as I’m heading for the showers. “If his head gets any bigger, he won’t fit on the bus.”
I grin at him, grateful for the subject change he just gifted me. “Noted.”