Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Kaden
Fix the Problem, Find the Solution
The ice feels like home.
This is all I need.
I glide from side to side, my skates cutting clean lines as I warm up for practice. After the shitshow of an interview last week, I’ve thrown myself into every drill, every conditioning session, whether we’re on the road or at home. I’ve spent hours in the gym, pushing my body harder than ever, and even more hours on the ice, trying to drown out the noise and focus on what I can control.
Today, I’m at the team’s practice facility, the familiar sounds of skates slicing the ice and pucks hitting sticks grounding me. The rink is quiet now, just a few of us here early, but the energy lingers in the air like it’s waiting to ignite.
This is why I’m here. This is what matters.
I circle around, my legs moving on instinct as my thoughts drift. That interview stirred up shit I haven’t thought about in years. It’s not the first time someone’s brought up my parents, and I know it won’t be the last. Their relationship has always been a topic people tried to dissect or twist, as if they couldn’t believe two men could raise a family as loving and as functional as mine.
But I’ve never hidden who they are. My dads love each other the way parents are supposed to—with loyalty, kindness, and a bond no one could break. I don’t understand why that’s so hard for people to accept.
I skate harder, letting the rhythm of movement settle my mind, and take a shot at the empty net. The puck sails cleanly into the corner, and a small sense of satisfaction builds in my chest. I’ve got a lot to prove—on the ice and off it—and this is where it starts.
I keep moving, gliding into a few more laps as I take in the other players warming up. Things are . . . better. Not perfect, but better. It’s been a hell of an uphill battle to get to this point, and even now, I can’t shake the feeling that the team still sees me as the outsider. The guy who showed up to take over, to rip the captain’s patch right off their jersey.
But that’s not why I’m here.
I’m here for the Cup. To retire in a couple of years alongside my dad’s legacy. And if I do it right—if I play like I’m supposed to—my jersey will go up in the rafters next to his.
That’s the dream.
I skate over to Linus, stopping just short of bumping into him. He doesn’t even bother to meet my eyes.
“How’s the form coming along? Still practicing?” My tone is neutral, but it’s clear I’m not sugarcoating anything.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Linus snaps, glaring at me. “You’re acting like I’m the problem here. I’m just playing my game—same as always.”
I cross my arms, holding his stare. “Your game needs work. If you can’t handle feedback from someone with years more experience, maybe you shouldn’t be here. There are thousands of players out there who’d kill for your spot.”
Linus’s eyes narrow, his face flushing with anger. “Who the hell do you think you are? Just because your parents were legends doesn’t mean you’re the same. All you do is ride their damn coattails.”
That hits a nerve. My hands clench into fists, but before I can say anything, the whistle blows.
“Kaden. Get over here.” Coach’s voice cuts through the tension like a blade.
I let out a loud breath, unclenching my fists, and skate away from Linus. Coach doesn’t wait for me to respond; he’s already walking toward the locker room.
I yank off my skates at the bench, sliding into my athletic slippers before following him. When I step into his office, he’s already sitting behind his desk, rubbing his temples like I’m the world’s biggest headache.
“Look, Coach, I was just trying to?—”
“Shut it, Kaden. Just shut the hell up.” He sighs heavily, leaning back in his chair. “Tell me the truth: is it drugs?”
“What?” I blink, startled. “No. Of course not.”
“Booze? This new woman you’re seeing? What is it?”
“I don’t understand the question,” I mutter, crossing my arms.
He leans forward, fixing me with a hard stare. “I’m the coach, not you. If I want your input, I’ll ask for it. Until then, you support your team and keep your mouth shut.”
“But we suck, and you know it,” I shoot back, leaning forward so he knows I’m serious.
“Yeah, well, sometimes there are things more important than winning. Like team unity. And, Kaden, you’re killing it.” He runs a hand through his hair, looking frustrated. “Sure, you can get the puck down the ice better than nearly anyone I’ve ever seen, but what good is that if no one’s there to back you up? This isn’t a solo sport.”
“They’ll come around,” I say, even though the words feel hollow.
“It’s not about them coming around. It’s about all of you working together. We traded players to balance the team—mixing rookies with veterans and building chemistry—but you’re a damn hurricane in the middle of it all. Help me, help them. Stop antagonizing your teammates, or we’re going to have to make some hard decisions next season.”
The blood drains from my face. He can’t mean that. Can he?
“Coach, you’re not serious,” I say, my voice low.
“I am,” he replies bluntly. “This hostility is tearing the locker room apart. I need to do what’s best for the team. Hire a PR person, get an anger management coach—hell, do whatever it takes to fix this. But if things don’t improve, you’re done here.”
I can’t even respond. My mind is racing, a mix of anger and disbelief churning in my chest. Without another word, I push the door open and head for the locker room.
I grab my bag, my movements stiff and jerky. His words echo in my mind, a reminder of what’s at stake. I’m not just fighting for a Cup anymore—I’m fighting to stay on this team.
But how the fuck am I supposed to fix this when no one else seems willing to meet me halfway?
As I leave the rink, the frustration bubbling inside me feels impossible to contain. Something’s got to give, and it sure as hell isn’t going to be me.
Thoughts of Valentina creep into my mind, uninvited but persistent. Despite our rocky moments, she’s been there for me, believed in me even when I didn’t deserve it. And of course, I had to go and fuck that up by blaming her for what happened at the community center. I don’t even know if I can fix this . . . fix us.
But how?