Fair Game (The Rules of the Rink #1)

Prologue

. . .

Will

June

Brooklyn

Public service announcement: I don’t want to be a pro hockey player anymore.

Scrubbing one sweaty palm across my jaw, I brace an elbow on my knee and try to act like this hasn’t turned into the complete shit show Dad feared it would.

The Seattle Rogues.

The NHL’s most recent expansion team, who finished at the bottom of the league last season, just selected me in the draft.

I mean, there was never any doubt that my name was going to be announced as the first-round pick, but why, after years of the worst team in the league missing out on their first choice, did the lottery that was the draft have to screw me over?

The Seattle fucking Rogues.

I’d rather cut off my balls, toss them in a deep fryer, and offer them as entrées to the people sitting in this room.

And that’s the worst of it. Some of those present might as well eat my hairy ball sack. They pretty much own the rest of me.

“I fucking knew it.” Emmett Richards, assistant coach for the Rogues, stands from where he was sitting on the couch opposite me and walks the few paces in my direction, hand outstretched for me to take. Behind his black-framed glasses, his eyes crinkle with the kind of grin I struggle to return.

“On your feet, son,” my dad—Jensen Jones, former Seattle Scorpions goalie—turns to me and whisper-hisses through his teeth.

I rise to my feet and take Emmett’s hand, and a round of applause echoes around my parents’ large living room as the TV glows above the fireplace.

The former New York Blades defenseman rests his other palm on my right shoulder, squeezing his fingers gently.

“Fate had a hand in tonight, I’m telling you.

The Rogues need a generational talent like you, Will.

And by the time you join us after a few years in college, I know you’ll be proud to wear the green-and-gold jersey. ”

He clears his throat, and my dad stands, too, offering his hand for Emmett to take. Emmett continues speaking as he releases my hand and shakes Dad’s.

“Over the past ten years, Seattle has grown into a hockey epicenter, and I know when you finally sign with us, the Rogues will be an absolute force. Maybe even bigger than the Seattle Scorpions.” He sounds like he’s convincing himself at this point.

Of all the expansion proposals put to the league, a second team in Seattle was not one hockey fans were predicting.

I guess that’s what happens when huge corporations with more money than sense—over three billion dollars in the bank, to be precise—swoop in and make an offer that’s too hard to refuse. Sure, hockey in Seattle is big these days, but the same could be argued with places like Toronto.

Who didn’t get the goddamn first-round pick.

Dad quirks an unsure brow, dropping his hand from Emmett’s and sliding both into the pockets of his black dress pants.

“You’re going to have to forgive me here, Emmett, but I don’t see it.

This next season will be the Rogues’ third, and we both know it takes years for a team to gain any kind of traction in the league.

Even with a fancy arena and the fan base to fill it. ”

Tension-filled silence falls between the two guys who once played against each other on the ice, although it feels more like a rivalry has formed tonight.

My family is hockey crazy. My mom, Kate, and my twin sister, June, are both Seattle Scorpions fans through and through.

My dad is an NHL Hall of Famer, having helped lead the Scorpions to three Cup victories, and is the goalie coach for the New York Blades.

He had me and June skating before we could walk.

I had dreams of playing pro for one of the prestigious teams.

But in four years, I’ll sign a contract and join the team no true hockey fan wants to acknowledge. Twenty-three players who celebrate a regular season win like they just won the Cup. It’s fucking embarrassing.

“Well, this is … awkward,” Mom declares as she walks into the living room and kisses me on the left cheek. “Congratulations, honey.” Her eyes flick to Emmett’s and then Dad’s. “I know the Rogues weren’t your first choice, but—”

“Last fucking choice,” Dad interjects, earning a stern glare from Mom.

She smiles at Emmett while he scratches at the back of his neck.

Poor guy. He’s a damn good coach, but even a miracle wouldn’t be enough to steer the Rogues on course.

“Four years of the NCAA league in college, and you’ll be a pro hockey player. It’s what you’ve been working all these years to achieve.” She finishes her sentence and raises a glass of wine to me, Dad, and Emmett.

Without drinks to celebrate, all three of us nod our heads.

Mom casts her eyes around the light-blue living room like she doesn’t live here, looking about as uncomfortable as we all feel. “What time are Jessie and Mia arriving?”

Emmett pushes back the sleeve on his white dress shirt to check his watch. “Anytime now. Jessie needed to finish up on a call with the general manager, and then he was going to pick up Mia and the girls.”

Mom’s eyes grow wide. “Drew and Marley are coming too?” She downs the rest of her wine in one hit.

For saying this woman co-owns one of the biggest legal practices in the country, she sure as shit can’t hold it together when we’re hosting a draft party and there’s a chance we’ll run out of breadsticks.

But given that Jessie Callaghan—former Seattle Scorpions forward and Rogues head coach—will call the shots on my future pro career, Mom will go to any lengths to keep that man happy.

Even if they’ve all been family friends since before June and I were born.

When Mom turns on her heel and makes for the kitchen, Dad looks like he wants to say something, but is cut short by the doorbell.

“June, will you get that, honey? It’s probably the Callaghan family!”

“When have we ever referred to them as the Callaghan family rather than their first names?” June mocks beneath her breath as she slides her phone into her jeans pocket and walks toward the entryway, long, dark hair swishing down her back as she moves.

She’s barely said two words since the draft program started, and with the way she has her head buried in her phone ninety-nine percent of the time, I forgot that she was within earshot.

Not that it matters. June already knows how I feel about tonight’s outcome. As twins, we’ve always been able to read each other’s mind, although it’s not hard to sense my devastation—it’s written all over my face.

More silence descends on the room before Emmett thumbs behind him. “I’m going to go help out in the kitchen.”

“You need to do a better job of looking happy about this,” Dad says after a few seconds. With only us left in the room, he doesn’t bother whispering.

I shrug and exhale a deep breath. “Are you happy about it?”

Dark brown eyes similar to my own fix on me.

“Of course I’m not. Your ability is unmatched, and you have the makings to become one of the greatest forwards of all time.

” He scoffs and runs a frustrated hand through his dark hair.

“And if Jessie waltzes in here and pretends like he would’ve been happy with a team like the Rogues when he was a first-round draft pick, then I’ll likely lose my—”

“Lose your what, JJ?” A deep voice cuts my dad off. Only Mom ever refers to Dad using that nickname, although nothing about the way Jessie says it is endearing.

Dad and Jessie’s close friendship has been built around hockey. As former teammates and now coaches for different teams, they’ve always had a ton of respect between them. Respect that I can tell is being tested right here in this room tonight.

Jessie narrows his bright blue eyes at Dad.

“You knew before tonight that there was a real chance that Will would be a Rogue, and it’s high time you got used to it.

We’ve got the best facilities and coaching staff in the sport, and Will …

” Jessie sets his eyes on me, and I really do try to smile.

“Will is going to have a fucking great career with me guiding him every step of the way.”

When it comes to the latter, I have zero doubts. Jessie—or soon-to-be Coach Callaghan—has consistently had my back, and we’ve always had a special bond. Hell, I’m even named after his late brother, who died when he was a few days old.

“Gah! Will! First stop, the University of Minnesota, and then Seattle!” Marley—Jessie and Mia’s fifteen-year-old daughter—strides into the room and wraps her arms around my shoulders, planting a kiss against my chest.

She’s only three years younger than me, but I tower over her petite frame.

If anyone can draw a grin from me, it’s Marley and her sunshiny personality. Once again, I try to look happy. She frowns when I fail, tipping her head to one side and studying me.

“I thought the NHL was your dream. You’ve been going on about it since I could understand words.”

“Playing for Toronto was his dream. The Seattle Rogues are beneath someone like William Jones.”

I roll my eyes as Drew Callaghan—eldest daughter of Jessie and Mia—perches her head on her sister’s shoulder.

“I don’t think I’m superior, Drew,” I drawl.

She quirks a brow, and I actually smile.

“I know I’m superior.”

Drew deadpans as she joins the circle our group has formed in the center of the room. With Jessie and Dad engaged in a debate over expansion teams and their importance in the league, I focus my attention on Drew and Marley.

“Here’s a little tip for you, Jones.” Drew squeezes her thumb and forefinger together until there’s a tiny space between them. “When you arrive in Minnesota in August, try and work on that cocky attitude. A twenty percent reduction should render you tolerable.”