2. Ethan
2
ETHAN
The rink is cold, but I like it that way.
I wouldn’t be the Ice King if the chill in the air didn’t excite me. The chill sharpens my focus, makes everything clear and crisp. I can see the ice beneath my skates mirroring the cold determination in my eyes.
Liam whips the puck to me from the left wing. He’s a twenty-three-year-old player coming off the back of an injury, but he’s got loads of talent. His pass is perfect, a clean and sharp bullet aimed straight at my stick. I catch it with a snap of my wrist, the impact sending a vibration up my glove.
My skates slice through the ice as I dance down the center, the puck gliding effortlessly under my control. Two defenders wearing the practice blue kits converge on me. I can sense them tense their bodies, ready to squeeze me to a stop between two walls of muscle and aggression.
Not today.
I fake left, then right, their bodies shifting with my deception, letting free a gap that I burst through, leaving the ice roaring behind me. Their sticks dart out— too late, missing by inches.
My heart pounds from the thrill as I run toward the blue line to face off with Ryan Connors. Ryan is the Blizzards captain and one of the best defenders in the league.
He watches me approaching, his unlikely combo of smug smile and focused look telling me he’s not going to make this as easy as the other two.
Good. I thrive on challenges.
We circle each other like predators, assessing each other's strengths. I feint to the left, drawing him in, and then aim for a shot as his brick-wall body moves in to block. I expected that move. A quick duck, a shift in my weight, and I’m past him.
The crowd erupts in cheers. No one beats Ryan easily. But I’ve done it for the third time in a row during this practice. It’s one of those days that no one can stop me.
The goal looms ahead, the goalie crouched and ready and I already know the outcome as I wind up and swing. I watch the puck rocket past the goalie, slamming into the back of the net with a satisfying thud.
“Yes, Carter!”
“Nice moves, Carter!”
“Keep that up and we bring home the Stanley Cup this year!”
The rink erupts with further cheers. And Coach Andrew blows his whistle while clapping as he calls for a team swap.
I skate to the bench with my practice teammates, donned in our red jerseys. Liam, skates up to me, grinning from ear to ear. "That was insane, man!" he exclaims.
“Not bad yourself. Thanks for the pass.”
“Man, I love playing on your line. You make it so easy to get apples.”
I nod, acknowledging the compliment, but my face remains impassive. The rush of scoring fades quickly, replaced by the familiar emptiness. I skate off the rink, Ryan falling in step beside me.
“Great move out there,” he says, clapping me on the shoulder. “You’re in top form.”
“Thanks.”
Coach Andrew steps up to me. "Great goal, Ethan. Keep it up."
I force a smile. "Thanks, Coach."
The rest of the team congratulate me, most going on with banter and teasing Ryan about me rinsing him. He jokes back, a complete natural at it. Amid the laughter and camaraderie, I feel like an outsider looking in. Their enthusiasm is a stark contrast to the emptiness I feel inside.
I'm good at hockey. Really good. But it doesn't fill the void.
I watch the rest of the practice from the sidelines, and at the end, the coach calls a team huddle.
“Good workout today, boys. We’ve got the match tomorrow, so watch your game clips, familiarize yourselves with the opponent, and get one hundred percent motivated for the game tomorrow. We’ve got a match to win.”
“Go Blizzards!” Ryan calls.
The rest of the team roar the phrase in response and punch the air.
“Special announcement,” Coach Andrew announces. “There’s a team night out tonight for bonding. The team bus will be out to pick everyone up from their point of choice. Liam will help us collect addresses.”
A chorus of approval fills the air. Everyone's excited.
Not me. I hate these things. The forced camaraderie, the endless chatter. It's a performance, just like everything else in my life and I’d rather avoid it.
Liam approaches me, his eyes full of hope. "You coming, Ethan?"
I shake my head. "Not going."
Liam’s smile falters for a moment, but he nods and moves on. We’re somewhat close, as the coach tasked me with mentoring him. Liam knows me well enough not to argue.
As the team starts to filter toward the locker room, greeting each other with nods and waves, a few say hi and I acknowledge them. Most of my teammates think I’m a proud ass who doesn’t like to socialize because I’m the best player on the team. I’m not new to having people who don’t think much of me and, mostly, I let them think what they want. Most don’t know the half of it.
I go straight for my locker and pull out my phone to check my messages. As expected, there's one from my uncle.
Call us, Ethan, or we’ll have to come to Chicago to see you.
— Frank Carter
A cold dread washes over me. Just like him to sign his name as if this is some official correspondence. It probably is to him. I’m the official cash cow to the Frank Carter family.
I sigh, rubbing my temples. The locker room is a cacophony of noise, a swarm of bodies jostling for space. I can’t make a call here. When I rise to my feet, Ray—my locker room partner to the left— lifts an eyebrow in question. I nod back at him. I need a moment, a quiet space to make this call.
I slip out of the locker room, the noise fading behind me. The rink is empty, save for the ice crew cleaning up. I find a secluded corner and pull out my phone. There’s no need holding off on the call.
I dial my uncle's number, stomach knotting in anticipation. He picks up on the second ring.
"Ethan, son," his voice is thick with fake warmth.
“I saw your text,” I cut to the chase. "What do you want?"
There’s a pause, then instead of his voice, it’s his son—Jake’s sharp and arrogant voice fills my ear.
“Don't let that Chicago air get to your head, Ethan. We shouldn’t need to remind you where you came from.”
My blood boils. Jake is three years older than I am, but he’s about the most entitled person I’ve ever met. He’s always had everything handed to him and I doubt he’s ever had to work for a penny in his life.
"What do you want?" I repeat, refusing to bite at Jake’s bait.
"Thanksgiving is coming up," my uncle says, his voice dripping with false cheer. "We were hoping you could send something over."
I grit my teeth. This is what it's always about. Money. For the holidays, for their business venture, or someone’s failing health. It’s always about the next cash I can wire or credit card I can provide. They don’t care about me; neither did they care about David.
“I’m busy now, Uncle.”
Frank sighs, the sound heavy with exaggerated disappointment.
“You’re ungrateful, Ethan,” Jake’s snake-like voice is back on the phone. “Pops just wants you to send something home for Thanksgiving. It’s only right, seeing as how he took you and your brother in when no one else would.”
His tone sends a fresh wave of anger coursing through me. “You mean your dad took us in to get hands on our parents’ assets.”
“Stop fighting boys!” An elegant soprano cuts in from the background.
I hear the whoosh of the phone being snatched from someone’s hand and silently wait for the next voice. It's Gloria, my aunt. Her voice is soft, the fakest sympathetic tone I’ve ever heard. "Ethan, honey, it's been too long. We miss you. And David, of course...” Her voice trails off.
"Don't," I growl, my voice barely a whisper.
David. My jaw flexes. Her saying my brother’s name is like twisting a knife in my gut. The memories of David and me come flooding back. We were two lost boys in a world that didn’t care. We clung to each other, a lifeline in a stormy sea. He was the smart one, the dreamer. I was the protector, the fighter…but I didn’t protect my little brother well enough.
I can hear her gasp. "Ethan…I just want to know if you’ll finally be coming home in December? If David were here, he’d insist we spend the holidays together?—”
I end the call, my fingers trembling. I lean against the cold wall, trying to control my breathing. They always bring David into it, as if his memory is a weapon to wield against me. The one thing I can’t bear is hearing them speak about my kid brother, the only family I ever cared about.
David and I became wards of Frank after our parents died. Living with that greedy bastard, his manipulative wife Gloria, and their bullish son Jake was hell. As soon as I discovered I was good at hockey, I threw myself into it, determined to get David and me out of Duluth. As soon as I signed my first professional contract, I moved out and took thirteen-year-old David with me.
My brother was goddamn genius, and he grew up fast, like me. While I played hockey, he took care of our home. He was my nutritionist, gym instructor, cook, housekeeper. He learned everything at the speed of light and ensured I had everything I needed to be comfortable.
David was the good one, the humane one. He balanced out my hard edges, kept me from going down a dark path more times than I can count. I loved hockey, but hated the publicity that came with it. He prepared me for interviews, and helped me navigate the press. He was my perfect half, and now he’s gone.
I close my eyes, trying to block out the pain. But it's there, a constant ache in my chest. I’ll never see his cheeky smile again, never hear that roaring laughter.
He was about to make something of his life for fuck’s sake. He suffered all those years and I was just about to start paying him back. Studied sports medicine and was in his final residence year, and then he had that horrible accident on Christmas day two years ago.
And just like that, the light’s gone out of my life.
I know he was rushing to cater to another whim of Frank’s family. But they didn’t care—the fucking bastards. I’d have cut them all off if David didn’t make me promise on his deathbed to still take care of them. He was just too good. And nothing makes my blood boil hotter than the fact that the only Carter who apologized at the funeral was Mandy, Jake’s younger sister. She’s the only one of them who has any decency.
I slide down the wall, sitting on the cold concrete, alone with my demons right there.
Memories of David are a sharp pain in my chest. I see him as a young boy, looking up at me with hopeful eyes. He was my reason for fighting, for pushing myself to be the best.
And when I reached the top, he was the one who held me together. Without him, I’m just a bunch of broken pieces. And if he saw me now, he’d tell me to push on and not let Frank and his family get to me.
I stand up, brushing the ice off my clothes. I need to get back to the locker room before someone sees me like this.
As I walk back, I force on an imperceptible mask. It's all I have right now.
The locker room is still a chaotic blur as I step back inside. But the bodies are now moving out.
Ryan appears, a towel draped around his waist. "You okay, man?" he asks, his voice filled with concern.
I nod, trying to sound casual. "Yeah, just tired."
He studies me for a moment, then nods. "You sure? You seem off."
I force a laugh. "Just a long day."
Ryan gives me a skeptical look. "You know, you don't have to pretend with me, Ethan. I know you better than anyone on this team."
I look away, unable to meet his gaze. I don't want to talk about it.
"How about you join us tonight? It’ll be fun. You need to relax."
I hesitate, then shake my head. "Not tonight, Ry. I have to go home,” I mutter, already regretting the confrontation.
“Something special waiting at home?” Ryan teases, but his tone is gentle.
My mind immediately flashes to Holly Bennett, the beautiful stranger now occupying my house. The first time I met her, she was a distraction from my misery. Now she’s a complication I didn’t see coming. The approaching Christmas season is the worst time to have a housemate, especially one I can’t trust. Lauren, our team therapist, advised me to live with someone for a while, to change some things in the house to help let go of some of the pain that David is no longer there.
Lauren said changing things and having a new roommate might help me better adjust. But Holly isn’t someone I can easily ignore.
Ryan watches me, waiting for an answer. “Remember that time we went to a club after the preseason game in L.A.?”
He chuckles. “Yeah, you were smitten by that redhead beauty. Came back sulking, claiming all women are liars.”
“I was never smitten,” I grumble. “Or sulking.”
“Sure, you weren’t.” Ryan laughs harder. “I’ve never seen you talk to a woman for more than ten minutes, let alone dance with one. You were definitely smitten.”
“Get out,” I growl, but there’s no real heat in it.
“Why’d you bring her up? Been dreaming of her lately?” Ryan smirks, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
I refuse to answer, heading toward the showers. “Go keep the team in check at the dinner, Ryan. We have a match tomorrow.”
“You know, you’d be a damn good captain if only you could relax once in a while.” Ryan mutters.
“Bullshit,” I snort and walk into the bathroom. “I’d be the worst captain ever. You’re good at it.”
From outside the bathroom, Ryan calls out, “I’m so happy with the compliment, I’m thinking about coming in there to thank you properly.”
“If you do that, you won’t be playing tomorrow,” I shout back, a reluctant smile tugging at my lips.
As the hot water cascades over me, I let the tension ease from my shoulders. Holly Bennett. Lauren had said her ex-boyfriend cheated on her and she’s here for a fresh start. That man must be as blind as a bat…or stupid. No way any functioning, sane man cheats on a woman like that.
I’ve dated my share of beautiful women, but none of them were the five-foot seven, red-haired, green-eyed stunner with curves that would make a monk sin. Maybe she’s a horrible person, and that’s why the guy ditched her.
There’s a certain something about her that makes my blood boil as well. She makes me uncomfortable in different ways.
I finish my shower and head back to my locker. The room is empty now, the only sound the faint hum of the rink outside. I dress quickly, my mind still whirling.
I’d better steer clear of Holly Bennett.