Chapter 19 Grady
Before eight, the player lot sat mostly empty.
The security guard waved me through without comment. Same guy who'd worked mornings for six years. Neither of us knew each other's names. By tomorrow, mine would mean something different from what it did today.
My usual spot. Engine off. Hands on the steering wheel, no white-knuckle grip.
The off-season silence filled the Lakeshore Forum. No blade-scrape from the ice or bass-heavy music bleeding through from the locker room. Only ventilation hum and the sharp bite of ammonia on polished floors.
Outside the locker room door, I paused.
Checked my breathing—even.
Carter Hayes sat at his stall, packing with the efficiency of a man who'd performed the ritual many times before.
"Morning, Cap."
"Morning."
My bag hit the floor, and a familiar sequence began.
Carter folded a practice jersey along the numbers. "Surgery's scheduled for June. Eight to ten months after that."
"That's what they're saying?"
"That's what I'm telling them." He reached for another jersey. "Doctors are hedging. I'm not."
"You planning on coming back?"
"Planning on it. Whether it works out is another conversation."
The door swung open. Seb and Luke walked in together.
Side by side. Luke's hand briefly at the small of Seb's back as they navigated the doorway.
They split toward their respective stalls. Luke's two down from mine. Seb's across the room.
"Volkov."
"Kincaid."
Seb said something too quiet to hear. Luke glanced up and responded.
Seb smiled, small but genuine.
Even Petrie relaxed. He'd made it through his rookie season, and everyone expected him back next season.
I zipped my bag. Time for my exit meeting. Management summoned me, and I knew what was coming.
Halfway down the hallway to the management suite, the photographs started. Former captains on both walls. Decades of them.
Mine wasn't there yet.
These men had held the role and then passed it forward when their time ended. The franchise didn't stop at the transition. It evolved.
Footsteps approached from behind. Coach Rourke stopped beside me and looked at the photographs without comment.
"Morning," he said.
"Morning, Coach."
"Strange thing about legacy. People think it's about permanence. It's not. It's about making space for what comes next without erasing what came before."
At the door to the management suite, Rourke stopped. He turned the handle and held the door.
The receptionist glanced up. Professional smile. "Mr. Volkov. They're ready for you."
"Thanks."
Two steps to the conference room door. I knocked.
"Come in."
Seats for four men sat at the conference table: Richard Moss, General Manager. David Brennan, Assistant GM. Coach Rourke. Me.
Moss gestured to my chair. "Grady. Thanks for coming in."
"Of course."
"First, we want to acknowledge the season. Not the outcome we wanted, obviously, but your leadership through it was stellar."
"You've anchored this team for a long time," Brennan added. "That doesn't change because we missed the playoffs."
Rourke stayed quiet.
Moss opened a folder in front of him. "We want to talk about next season. Specifically, about structure. Team identity. How we move forward."
No surprises.
"We've been evaluating leadership for a while now. Not because of deficiencies in your performance. Franchises have to think long term. Prepare for transitions before circumstances force them."
We were nearly at the bottom of the slope.
"Roman Wilder has developed faster than anyone expected," Brennan said. "On the ice, obviously, but also in terms of maturity. Leadership capacity. How the other players respond to him."
"We've seen it," Moss said. "You've seen it too."
Seen it. Lived it. When Roman walked into a room, he changed its center of gravity.
"Next season, we're planning to offer Roman the captaincy."
Silence. I waited for my body to betray me.
A catch in my breath. Involuntary curling of my hands. Or even a familiar tightness in my jaw.
Nothing happened.
The panic didn't come.
"This isn't a demotion, Grady. We'd like you to stay on as an alternate captain. Your experience and presence in the room matter. We're not asking you to disappear. We're asking you to help us build something sustainable."
Rourke finally spoke. "This isn't easy. We're not pretending it is. The best leaders know when the role needs to change hands."
I looked at him, and he looked back at me. No pity or apologies. Only honesty.
Moss closed the folder. "You don't have to respond now. Take time. Think about it. We wanted you to hear the news directly from us before it spread."
I was still waiting for the collapse.
Nothing.
"Okay."
Moss blinked. "Okay?"
"I understand. I'll think about it."
The three men exchanged glances. They'd expected resistance. Questions. Maybe anger. I wondered how many of those guys on the wall exploded at the news.
"All right," Moss said carefully. "If you have questions later—"
"I'll reach out."
We all stood.
Rourke walked me to the door. His hand landed briefly on my shoulder.
"You good?"
"Yeah."
I meant it.
After navigating the hallway again, I entered the stairwell down toward the locker room.
Concrete steps. Bright light. No one else.
I sat on the top step, palms flat against my thighs.
This was the moment. The one I’d been bracing for since Roman walked into the locker room and changed the shape of everything.
Roman is the new captain.
I tested the thought. Turned it over, waiting for the sharp edges.
They weren’t there.
My body had already told the truth before my mind caught up. No tightening in my chest. No urge to brace. Just stillness.
The captaincy wasn’t what I’d been afraid of losing.
Roman was.
Roman will leave when I stop being useful.
There it was—the lie I’d built an entire season around. I stayed seated, letting it sit between my hands, examining it instead of flinching away.
I believed it so completely that I shaped my entire life around it. Every time I pushed him away, Roman continued to reach out. Still wanted more.
Of me.
How many times had Roman shown me exactly who he was?
How many times had he chosen me when I'd given him every reason not to?
Believing Roman wanted the captaincy more than he wanted me meant I never had to face the terrifying possibility that I was enough.
I was enough without the role or the power. With nothing to offer except the messy and uncertain version of myself I'd spent my entire adult life trying to hide.
He was asking for that all along while I was too scared to give it to him.
My phone buzzed with a message from Roman.
How'd it go?
I stared at it. He already knew. Management would've told him ahead of me.
I typed back:
Tell you in person?
I'm at the Forum. Parking lot.
I stood. I was ready to tell him the truth.
The parking lot was half empty. He was at the side of his car, leaning against the driver-side door. Arms crossed loosely.
I walked toward him. When he heard footsteps, he straightened. His arms fell to his sides.
"You knew."
Roman's mouth curved into a gentle smile. "I did."
He didn't ask how I was, and he didn't offer empty reassurance.
"When?"
"Two days ago. Asked if I would accept the captaincy. Told me to keep it quiet."
"And what did you say?"
"Said I needed to think about it."
That stopped me.
Roman's eyes glistened. "They didn't love that answer."
"Did you say anything else?"
"That I'd give them a decision after exit meetings." He shifted his weight. "After I talked to you."
They were all confident of his ultimate decision, but Roman had put his answer on hold because talking to me mattered more than securing it.
"You could've said yes."
"Could have."
"Most guys would."
"I'm not most guys."
That was true.
"I thought you came here for this. For the captaincy."
"I came here for you."
"Roman—"
"Let me finish." He took a step closer. "I came here because you were here. Two years ago in that hotel room, you looked at me like I mattered, and I wanted to be somewhere you would keep doing that."
I swallowed hard against the lump in my throat.
"The captaincy? Yeah. It's something I want. Something I'll be proud to have, but it's not the reason I'm here."
"I'm not—I mean, you can't—"
"Grady." His voice was firm and patient. "I came here for you, and I'm staying for the same reason."
He stepped closer and reached out for my waist.
"I've been lying to myself."
"I know."
"All season. Maybe longer."
"I know that too."
I looked into my eyes. He wasn't humoring me. He was telling the truth.
"You chose me."
"Yeah."
I lost control. Words started tumbling out.
"I didn't think I was enough. Without the captaincy. Without—" I gestured vaguely. "All of it. I thought you'd realize you didn't need me once you had what you came for."
"You are what I came for."
I let him pull me to him. Chest to chest.
"I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For not believing you."
Roman leaned in and kissed me. When he pulled back, I laughed.
"You're terrifying, you know that?"
"In what way?"
"Because you mean what you say. You don't hide anything."
"I get scared too."
He kissed me again. Gently. With warmth.
"I'm taking the captaincy. If you need to hear that, I'm saying it. I want the role. I'm going to accept it."
"Good."
"That changes nothing between us."
"I know."
His thumb brushed the edge of my jaw. "I hope so because I need you to know it, Grady. Not say it and think you should believe it. I need you to know that you're not something I'm settling for while I chase something better."
"I know."
I meant it.
Roman searched my face, looking for any doubt or hesitation.
He wouldn't find it.
"Then we're doing this."
"We are."
He kissed me again. This time with more heat.
Right there. In the parking lot. Where anyone could see.
I kissed him back harder, my hand bunching up the fabric on the front of his hoodie. His breath caught, and he reached for my hip, grip firm and possessive.
Heat flared between us.
When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing harder.
"You want to come over?" Roman's voice was rough. "We could—I don't know. Figure out what comes next."
"Yeah. I do."
He grinned. "Follow me?"
"Always."
Roman turned back toward his car. Stopped. Looked over his shoulder.
"Hey, Grady?"
"Yeah?"
"Drive fast."