In the Neutral Zone with my Best Friend (Romancing the Sun Kings #3)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

WADE

Ever have one of those moments where life takes a left turn when you were about to make a right? Life is great. Seamless. Moving along as expected. Then, something happens that changes everything.

Like a text from your friend, saying they got the PR job you recommended them for. Seems innocent enough. Except this is Aubrey Sutton—my best friend.

Or used to be anyway.

I’ve known Bree since I was ten years old, but over the last year, we hardly talked or texted. At all.

Which is odd, considering we once talked and texted regularly. But I get it. Life happens. However, for Bree to go radio silent and not even reply to my texts? For a year? That’s not our norm.

Still, she was the first person who sprang to mind when the paparazzi showed up at the arena after a news leak revealed that Payton Maxwell, our star center, is connected to British royalty.

I’m still wrapping my head around that bit of trivia.

I figured the Pay-man hailed from an uppity English family—how could he not when his full name is Payton Gerard Maxwell the 3rd, and he sounds like he came from a polo match?

We needed someone equipped to handle press like that, and I happened to know someone who fit the bill to a branded T.

I glance at Bree’s text again.

Bree: Wade, they hired me! I got the job! Thank you so much for the recommendation. You’re a lifesaver!

See? It’s a win-win situation—she needed a job, and we needed a publicist to help navigate our growing popularity. Among other things, like a rookie doing something stupid. Don’t even get me started on that one.

I put my phone down and tug the towel hanging around my neck over my head to dry my hair. The rest of the guys straggle in from the showers to finish getting dressed.

Coach worked us hard today, on and off the ice. Plus, I had an extended training session with my goalie coach. The Sun Kings are on a winning streak, and we aim to keep it.

Right winger Mathéo Barbier, aka Barbie-man, lifts his chin at me in acknowledgment as he walks by, followed by Elias Brunner, who plays defense.

Those two stick as close to each other off the ice as on.

Maybe it’s because they’re both transplants from different countries—Canada and Switzerland—so they have a lot in common.

Plus, Elias is the only other team member who can speak some French with Mathéo, despite claiming Elias’s French is a Swiss dialect of his mother tongue. But you didn’t hear that from me.

Payton strolls in, hashing out the last play during practice with Ethan McKennen, who’s paired on defense with Elias, aka the E-team.

“Coach said play up the center. When I passed the puck, you were supposed to feed it to Brunner,” Ethan says, pointing to his partner, “so he could backhand it to Barbier.”

Pay-man nods but then shakes his head. “Yes, if I were blocked. I wasn’t, so I made the shot.”

Ethan pops him on the shoulder. “This was practice, bro. Save the goals for the actual game and get with the program.”

“Bloody hell.” Payton stops, clutching his towel at his waist with one hand while gesturing with the other. “Give a man credit where credit’s due, at least. I passed the biscuit to Barbie-man on the first go.”

Our team captain, Luke “Jammer” Jameson, grunts and shakes his head. “Whatever you need to show up ready, Pay.”

Payton snorts but grins with mischief. “What a lot you are.”

After pulling on his jeans, Elias stands next to Ethan. “You’re both right.”

Ethan scowls at him. “We’re not in Switzerland, Brunner. Pick a side.”

I tug on my joggers and face them. “Fellas, take a rest. We need the E-team at their best tomorrow. Just do your job.”

They look at each other, then relent and nod. They’re mostly blowing off steam over our game tomorrow night against Savannah, the team we love to hate largely because one of their players seems to have it out for Payton. Probably because he’s one of the best snipers in the league.

Thankfully, Luke is a great captain. He knows how to handle the guys on the ice, and he keeps his cool with the refs.

But I’m the peacemaker in this bunch. Not sure how I wound up with that job, but I don’t mind.

As goalie, I can’t be captain, but I can contribute some of what I learned in keeping the peace with my two sisters, one of whom—Piper—plays in the Professional Women’s Hockey League and is a spitfire, to boot.

I knew my younger sister was destined for hockey the day she slammed me in the gut at age nine with my own hockey stick. The girl packed a punch, and she still does, whereas Ellie, my youngest sister, recently started college to become a lawyer, which suits her argumentative side.

A chirp from my phone pulls me back to the bench, and I’m not at all prepared for what I see there.

Bree: They want me to start right away. Any chance I can stay with you until I find a place?

I stare at my screen, as if I misread her message. Or am I hoping she’ll send another text, telling me she’s joking?

But she doesn’t.

This, I did not see coming.

Do I want to see Bree? Hell, yeah. Do I want her living with me? Not sure. After a year of near silence, I honestly don’t know what to expect. Between Bree’s PR work with the Texas Stars and a boyfriend I’m not even sure exists, I don’t have a clue about anything going on in her life.

When she stopped answering my texts, I resorted to keeping up with her on social media.

Funny thing is, I never saw any pictures of her with him.

Just group shots with her friends on her personal private feed, and nothing but business on her professional profile. All of which I found somewhat strange.

What if she’s changed? I know I have to some degree. A year is a long time not to see or really talk to each other…

Wade: I thought they’d get a room for you at the Sandpiper Inn.

Bree: No room at the Inn (smiley face, Christmas tree)

Finally, the expected joke, but I’m not laughing. I’m still baffled as to why she ghosted me. We’ve never not communicated for that long. What if things are awkward or weird between us?

Even if they are, she’ll likely spend most of her time stuck in an office somewhere in the arena while I’m on the ice, practicing. And during games, I’ll be in the crease, focused on the game and doing my job. With my travel schedule, we won’t see much of each other.

And when we are together, we’ll pick up where we left off, like always.

Maybe…

I sit on the bench and plant my forehead on my fists, staring at the floor as I try to figure out what to say to her.

We’re about a quarter of the way through the first half of the season, and so far, we’re ranking near the top.

Focus will be key in carrying our winning streak through the rest of this half and into the second.

A distracted goalie means shots on goal turn into points for the other team. Not good.

A pair of feet walks past me, then backtracks. “What’s up, Cowboy? Bad news?”

Water drips from his hair, landing on his shoulders, as Luke stares down at me with a puzzled expression.

Do I look messed up? She’s not even here yet, and I’m already losing my game face. “Nothing serious.”

His brows drop. “You sure? If you need help—”

“I can handle it.” I force a smile, trying to convince myself and my team captain that this will work out just fine, as my nana would say. Suddenly, I’m missing her homemade chocolate chip cookies and the ranch with a fierce ache.

Maybe a touch of homesickness? I haven’t visited in over a year and, well, home and Bree are pretty synonymous in my mind.

Like I said, she and I go way back. The Suttons used to own the property next to my family’s homestead in Texas.

We grew up together, went to the same schools, and ran in the same friend circles.

My younger sisters treated Bree like a big sister because she was almost the same age as me.

When I discovered my love for hockey and realized I could be good at it, some things changed, but that didn’t mean we didn’t stay close. Kind of like one big happy blended family, and I was the big brother.

Maybe seeing her again will be like a homecoming without horses. Or cookies. I can show her around Sarabella and help her get settled. Shouldn’t be too difficult.

I pick up my phone and tap out a reply.

Wade: Mi casa es su casa. When are you arriving? I’ll pick you up from the airport.

Bree: Thank you! I knew you’d have my back.

Wade: Always. Just send me your itinerary.

Bree: Is today too soon?

I think my eyebrows merged into my hairline.

Bree always did have an impulsive side and still does, apparently.

I scrub a hand down my face, mentally tallying what I need to do to get my one-bedroom apartment ready for her.

I can take the couch, but I should change the sheets and clean up my room so she’ll feel comfortable.

Wade: Not a problem. Just tell me when to pick you up.

Bree: No need. I’m parked in the lot.

Wade: Haha, very funny. Seriously, when will you be here?

Bree: Not kidding. Walk outside.

I take a beat to assess my situation, like when I see an opponent flying my way with the puck, and I have a split second to decide to go right or left, up or down.

My hair’s still wet from my shower, and I’m partially dressed.

A bunch of half-naked hockey players surround me, and my best friend has suddenly shown up on my doorstep after a year of silence.

What’s my move?

After tugging on a clean T-shirt, I push my feet into my slides and take off toward the door.

That same feeling I get when I’m in the crease, moving as fast as I can to block shot after shot, attempts to overwhelm me.

It’s like I’m watching myself in slow motion, frustrated that I can’t move faster.

Like a madman, I rush out of the locker room, heart pounding and head swimming. I’m in so deep, I barely register Jammer’s booming voice shouting after me or the smack of multiple feet sounding down the hallway behind me.

All I can think about is holding her in my arms when she hugs me. Because Bree, as they say, is a hugger.

And she has never, in all the years I’ve known her, felt like a sister to me. Far from it.

And then it dawns on me. One thing definitely hasn’t changed.

I’m still in love with Aubrey Sutton.