Chapter 9
Mason
My muscles screamed as I lowered myself into the ice bath, the shock of the frigid water stealing my breath. I gritted my teeth and rode it out.
The cold didn’t just bite. It claimed.
Training camp was its own brand of hell. My lungs still burned, and my legs felt like Jell-O from the endless sprints and skating drills we’d just endured.
I submerged deeper, letting the cold do its job. Just as I started to zone out, the door creaked open and Phoenix King sauntered in, looking fresh as a daisy while I sat there turning into a popsicle.
“Coach wants to see you in his office when you’re done here,” King said, voice gruff as usual.
“Thanks. You know what it’s about?”
“Wouldn’t sweat it.” He shrugged. “Probably strategy talk.”
He lingered, then added in a lower voice, “Word of advice—Coach Murray’s a tactical genius, but his pep talks? Just smile and nod.”
I raised an eyebrow. “That bad?”
“You’ll see.” King smirked. “Wait until you experience the team bonding.”
And with that cryptic warning, he left. Perfect. After getting my ass handed to me all morning, I had to meet with the coach. I hauled myself out of the ice bath, muscles protesting every move.
As I headed for the showers, my thoughts drifted to Lila. She was supposed to swing by the condo today to begin transforming the place. If this meeting ran long, I’d miss her. Not that I needed to be there while she worked. I just... wanted to be. For decor reasons, obviously.
I showered fast, not wanting to keep Coach waiting. By the time I was walking down the hallway to his office, I’d braced myself for whatever came next.
I knocked. A gruff “Come in!” answered from the other side.
Coach Murray sat behind a hulking desk made of dark wood, hunched over a stack of play diagrams. The man looked as stern as his furniture: salt-and-pepper hair, a goatee, and a scar on his cheek that tugged at his left eye.
His Fusion polo was stretched at the collar, like it had survived a few too many locker room tirades.
“Have a seat, Callahan,” he said, motioning to the chair across from him.
Bookshelves crowded the walls, sagging under binders and trophies. His desk was a mess of papers, energy drink cans, and an old-school tape recorder. Behind him, smudged formations and arrows covered a whiteboard like scars.
I dropped into the hard wooden chair, waiting to hear what this was about. During practice, Coach carried a quiet intensity on the ice. In here, the air felt heavier.
“So,” he began, leaning back in his chair, “how are you finding Miami so far? Quite a change from the Great White North, eh?”
I kept my tone casual. “It’s different, but I’m adjusting. The guys have been welcoming. It’s a good group.”
“That’s what I like to hear, Callahan. Adaptability. It’s key. In this game and in life.”
He studied me for a moment. “Training camp going how you expected?”
“Yes, sir.” I waited, trying not to fidget. Small talk wasn’t Murray’s strength, and the longer he dragged it out, the more it felt like something big was coming. Whatever this meeting was about, I’d rather just rip the Band-Aid off.
“Good. Good.” He tapped his fingers on the desk. “You’re not new to this. I figured you’d come in ready. You know what it takes.”
This was sounding like one of those awkward dad talks where he was trying to tell me something important, but didn’t know how to start. I preferred when Murray barked orders on the ice.
“Mason,” he said, his tone shifting. “We brought you here for a reason. You know that, right?”
“To shore up the defense,” I said.
“More than that.” He leaned forward, steepling his fingers. “We need your experience. Your leadership. You on the blue line gives us a real shot this year.”
“Thanks, Coach. I’m here to help however I can.”
He scratched his goatee. “You’re not just any player. You’ve got the skills, the hockey IQ, the grit. You’re the kind of guy that only comes around once in a... blue lagoon.”
I braced myself. This had officially entered into the motivational speech territory that King had warned me about.
“You’re the missing piece. The linchpin. The... what’s the thing that holds up bridges?”
“The support beam?” I offered, fighting to keep a straight face.
“Exactly!” He snapped his fingers. “You’re the support beam of this team. Without you, we’re swimming with the fishes…metaphorically speaking, of course.”
I schooled my features into something serious, though inside I was struggling not to laugh. “I understand, Coach. I’ll do my best to live up to that responsibility.”
Coach stood and began pacing behind his desk. “This team, Callahan, we’re like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re gonna get, but dammit, we’re all delicious in our own way.”
I blinked, trying to process that particular metaphor. “Right.”
“And the Cup?” His eyes gleamed. “We’re gonna chase that Cup like it owes us money. We need you locked in. Like in that movie with the guy and the big speech… You can take our lives, but you can never take our... something.”
“Freedom,” I said. “Braveheart.”
“Exactly! That’s the spirit. That’s what I want from you—Braveheart energy. Glory. And all that other good stuff.”
“Absolutely, Coach,” I said, somehow managing not to laugh. King hadn’t been kidding. This guy was a walking motivational meme gone rogue.
Coach rubbed his hands together like he was wrapping up a sermon. “Remember, teamwork makes the dream work. And winners always run the extra mile.”
I almost laughed at the absurdity of it all, but caught myself. He was serious, and I needed to be too. “I’ll keep that in mind, Coach. Is there anything else?”
He shook his head, looking pleased. “That’s all for now. Go out there and be the support beam you were meant to be.”
“I won’t let you down,” I said, rising to shake his hand. “I’m here to win. Whatever it takes.”
Coach gripped my hand tight, looking me dead in the eye. “Good! Get out there and be the hero we need. Or the one we deserve. Either works!”
He was a blender of mixed metaphors and action movie quotes. Somehow, it worked. I left his office, fired up and ready to take on the world.
Twenty minutes later, I was gripping the steering wheel, knuckles white, as I glared at the red Corvette crawling in front of me. “Come on, Grandpa. The speed limit’s not a suggestion.” I resisted the urge to lay on the horn.
The drive to my condo was short, but Miami traffic didn’t care. I missed the simplicity of my life in Canada: small towns, straight roads, the ability to see for miles in any direction. Here, everything was twisty and congested, like someone had designed the city while on a bender.
“Come on,” I said again, drumming my fingers on the wheel. Most days, I didn’t care how long it took to get home after practice. Today, every red light felt personal.
Lila was stopping by.
Apparently, that was all it took to make me feel like a teenager with a crush. Pathetic.
I’d conveniently scheduled all her visits during windows when I’d be home. Just in case she needed anything.
She’d been transforming my condo into something actually livable. And slowly turning my thoughts toward something decidedly less wholesome.
She wasn’t my usual type. Yeah, Lila was drop-dead gorgeous. Long blonde hair, knockout body, the whole package. But it was more than that. She was easy to talk to, genuine in a way I wasn’t used to. I was used to attention from aggressive types, all flash and ego. Lila had warmth. Humor. Brains.
I pulled into my spot, and the humid Miami air slammed into me as I stepped out of the car. I missed the crisp bite of Canadian fall.
As I rode the elevator up, my thoughts drifted exactly where they shouldn’t.
I wanted Lila in my ‘sex dungeon’ of a bedroom so bad it hurt.
She drove me crazy. But everything about her screamed long-term commitment.
She was the kind of girl you’d bring home to Mom and Dad.
And I wasn’t ready for anything like that right now.
Still, I’d regret it if I didn’t try to convince her to have some casual fun with me. Maybe she’d surprise me. A guy could hope.
When I stepped into my condo, the place felt different. Better. The moose and plaid were long gone, replaced with clean lines and soft textures. Lila had worked her magic.
Funny. I thought I’d hate Miami. But the team had been solid from day one. The city wasn’t half bad if you ignored the soul-crushing heat.
And then there was Lila.
The doorbell rang, and a jolt of anticipation zipped down my spine. I crossed the room and opened the door.
Lila stood in the doorway, and the flirty yellow dress hugged her curves perfectly. She looked like she’d stepped out of a sunbeam with her golden-blonde hair cascading over bare shoulders, catching the light. Her smile could knock a man flat.
“Hi, Mason,” she said, voice warm and confident.
“Hey.” I stepped aside to let her in, catching a whiff of her subtle perfume. “Place is looking good.”
“Thanks. You’re home again?” she teased, one brow arched. “Don’t you have an office to be in?”
I turned, biting back a grin. The fact that she still didn’t know I played pro hockey was… entertaining. “I work from home sometimes.”
“Is that so?” She winked, and my pulse kicked up a notch.
“Want a drink?”
“Yes, please. Water’s fine.” She set her canvas bag of design tools on the coffee table.
“I’ve got sweet tea, if you’d prefer.”
Lila laughed, the sound doing strange things to my insides. “Sweet tea, huh? Sure, I’d love some.”
As I stepped into the kitchen, she launched into a quick project update. “The new drapes and chandelier are getting hung on Thursday. And the tables I showed you? They’ll be here next week. It’s all coming together.”
“Sounds good,” I called back, pouring her tea and adding electrolytes to my water.
I returned and handed her a glass, then nodded toward the couch.
“Oh, I don’t want to interrupt your work,” she said, eyeing my laptop on the coffee table.
“Nah, it’s fine,” I said, waving her off. “I could use a break.”
We settled on the couch. For a moment, we just sat in easy silence while she sipped her tea.
“How are you settling into Miami?” she asked, crossing her long legs.
I ran a hand through my hair. “It’s different from what I’m used to,” I admitted. “I’d like to do some more exploring, check out the beaches. It’s a big change from the small town I grew up in.”
“Miami has a lot to offer,” she said with a spark of enthusiasm. “Beaches, food, art, music. It’s a vibrant city.”
“How long have you lived here?”
Her eyes lit up. “I grew up in Alabama,” she said, slipping into a thick Southern drawl that made me grin. “Came to Miami for college and just… never left.”
“So you know it pretty well,” I said, holding her gaze. “Maybe you could show me around? Help me get my bearings?”
She tilted her head, eyes flicking over me. “I’d be happy to play tour guide. There’s a lot to see. The Art Deco District, Wynwood Walls, Vizcaya. When’s your next free day?”
“How about Saturday?”
“Saturday works,” she said, her blue eyes sparkling.
“Perfect.” I couldn’t stop the grin that spread across my face. “Let’s make a day of it. I’ll text you this week, and we’ll figure out the details.”
The doorbell rang, slicing through the easy banter between us. I frowned, reluctant to burst the flirtatious bubble we’d settled into.
“Expecting someone?” Lila set down her glass.
“Not really.” With an apologetic shrug, I stood and headed for the door, pulling it open to find Gideon standing there, looking like he’d walked straight off a fashion runway. His eyes lit up the second he spotted Lila over my shoulder.
“Lila, darling!” he exclaimed, breezing past me like I wasn’t even there. “You look absolutely fabulous!”
They hugged, and I felt a sharp, unexpected stab of jealousy. How were Gideon and Lila on hugging terms? And why hadn’t he mentioned it?
Gideon launched into a mile-a-minute rundown about a new club in South Beach. “It’s the hottest spot in town right now. VIP section, celebrity DJs, the works. You simply must come with me Friday night!”
Wait, Friday? No way. She couldn’t be out partying all night before our plans.
Before I could say anything, Gideon kept steamrolling. “DJ Lux is spinning this week. I can get us on the list, no problem. Come on, Lila, what do you say? You in?”
I aimed a pointed glare at him, attempting to beam my displeasure straight into his skull. Gideon, the bastard, just smiled smug as hell.
Lila glanced at me, hesitating. “I don’t know. I already made plans for Saturday…”
“Oh, come on,” Gideon coaxed. “One night out won’t kill you. A few drinks, some dancing. It’ll be a blast. You can’t say no!”
“Well, maybe…” she started to relent.
“Perfect! It’s a date!” Gideon clapped his hands, triumphant. He turned to me and caught my glare, but just fluttered his lashes like an imp. “What’s with the look, Mason? Jealous you’re not invited?”
“Just... surprised,” I grumbled.
“Surprised by what? That people still go out and have fun?” Gideon quipped, clearly enjoying himself.
“Something like that,” I responded dryly.
“Tell you what. Why don’t you join us?” Gideon beamed. “It’ll be epic.”
I hated clubs. The noise, the bodies, the pointless shouting over music. None of it appealed to me. But the thought of Lila out there with Gideon—without me—twisted something inside my chest.
“I guess I could put in an appearance,” I said, like I hadn’t just signed up for my own personal hell.
“Yes!” Gideon fist-pumped like he’d just hit the jackpot. “Friday night. Club Azul. I’ll text you both the details. And wear something sexy, Lila. I have a feeling this night is going to be one for the books.”
“I can’t wait,” Lila said, her smile bright.
Gideon dusted off his jacket sleeve with a flourish. “My work here is done.”
I crossed my arms. “How about your actual work?”
He waved me off on his way to the door. “Later, Mase. I have more important things to do. Like finding a new outfit for Friday.”
I watched him stroll out, shaking my head at his antics. What the hell had I just agreed to?