Chapter 2 Nathan
NATHAN
Most people sleep in on Sunday mornings.
I don’t have that luxury.
There’s no snooze button, no lazy scrolling, no lying in bed while the rest of the world stays quiet. Just the hum of the rink lights overhead, the cold air burning my lungs, and the steady rhythm of pucks smacking against my pads.
My legs ache, my jersey is soaked through and clinging to my chest, and my gloves feel like they’ve gained ten pounds each.
Dad’s behind the net, with his stick in hand, rolling another puck into position, keeping his eyes locked on mine.
“Nice save,” he says as the puck thuds off my left pad and slides into the corner. “But don’t get lazy with the rebound. Stay on it. You know what happens if you give Logan a second shot.”
I suck in a slow breath and push myself back into a stance as my knees scream at me.
“He celebrates like he just won the Cup?” I say dryly.
Dad smirks. “Exactly. And none of us need that.”
He flicks the next puck toward me, faster this time, and I catch it in my glove, the snap echoing through the empty rink.
I flash it to him. “Better?”
“Much.” He bends to collect a few more. “You’re quick today. Confident. I like it.”
Something eases in my shoulders. I don’t say anything, but I meet his gaze a little longer than usual before I settle back into position.
We fall back into rhythm as soon as the puck drops. I track it, kick it away.
Another comes. Stick save. Glove. Drop, block, reset. Over and over.
My thighs burn. Sweat drips down the inside of my mask, stinging my eyes. The air in here’s freezing, but it feels like I’m on fire. Every time I drop into the butterfly, my knees scream, and by the time I push back up, my lungs are already begging for a break.
Dad skates toward me. “Alright,” he says, his breath puffing in the cold air. “That’s enough for today.” He glances down at my legs. “If I push you any harder, your legs are gonna give out before breakfast.”
I huff a laugh and drop to one knee, tipping my mask up and gulping in air that burns my throat. “Pretty sure they already did,” I say, trying to catch my breath.
He chuckles, resting his stick across his shoulders. “Yeah, but you stayed sharp anyway. That’s the difference.”
I flex my fingers inside my gloves, feeling the blood start to flow again. “Difference between what?”
“Good and great,” he says. “And you, kid? You’ve got the potential to be great.”
The words make my brows lift. He doesn’t toss around praise or inflate egos. Especially not mine. Not when we share a last name.
I tug off my mask and push to my feet slowly, groaning as my back cracks. “Guess that means I can coast now, huh?” I say with a tired grin.
Dad snorts, tapping the end of his stick against the toe of his skate. “Nice try. Being my kid doesn’t come with shortcuts. If anything, it means you get more work.”
“Lucky me,” I mutter, pulling off one glove as we coast toward the boards.
There’s no room to screw up when your dad’s the coach. No excuses, no off days. But I get it. He pushes because he believes in me and wants me to be better. It’s just… a hell of a lot of pressure.
We step off the ice and into the tunnel, the sound of our blades clicking on the rubber mat. His tone shifts as he pops the clips off his helmet. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, Nate.”
I glance over. “That supposed to soften me up for something?”
He half-smiles, pulling the helmet off and tucking it under his arm. “You also carry more than the rest of them. You’ve gotta keep this team grounded… Especially Logan.”
That name stops me cold. “Logan?”
He nods. “He’s late more often than not. And when he does show, he looks like he’s still recovering from the night before. You’ve seen it.”
Yeah. I’ve seen it.
The guy strolls in grinning like the world’s on fire and he’s the only one not getting burned. He doesn’t care about the rules, or the schedule, or the weight the rest of us carry.
“He’s talented as hell,” Dad goes on as we hit the locker room. “But if he doesn’t shape up, it drags everyone else down.”
I unzip my chest protector and shove my gloves into my bag. “I’ve noticed,” I say, my jaw tight.
“That’s why I need you to be the balance,” he says, slapping me on my back. “Make sure he shows up. Keeps in line.”
I yank at the strap on my pads. “So, what? You want me to babysit him?”
“More like anchor him,” he says, stooping to yank off his skates. “If Logan drifts too far off, the whole team feels it. You need to be the one who keeps him steady.”
“Ryan’s the captain,” I point out. “Shouldn’t he be the one handling this?”
Dad lets out a laugh. “You know I’d make you captain if it didn’t look like favoritism. Besides, he’s too busy going all goo-goo-ga-ga over your sister.”
I groan. “Gross.”
“Tell me about it.” He shakes his head.
I drag a hand down my face. “Great. Just what I always wanted.”
Dad claps me on the back. “Don’t give me that,” he says. “You two balance each other. He loosens you up. You keep him focused. Works both ways.”
Fuck my life. Like I didn’t have enough to be worried about. Now, I need to keep Logan Gray’s ass in line.
“Besides, you’re single. You’ve got time on your hands…” He pauses, smirking. “Unless there’s something you’re not telling me?”
I shoot him a look. “No.”
His brow lifts. “That was a quick answer.”
“Because it’s the truth.” I bend to unstrap my leg pads, letting them drop one by one.
Dad just arches a brow. “Mhm. Sure. I’ll take your word for it. Just don’t forget, I was your age once,” he says. “Your mom had me sneaking out of study sessions more than once back then.”
I groan, dragging a hand down my face. “Please stop. I do not need those visuals.”
“She’ll deny it if you ask her,” he keeps going, clearly enjoying himself. “But I was a goner from day one. Couldn’t focus on anything else.”
“Jesus,” I mutter.
He laughs, clapping me on the shoulder, the sound echoing in the empty rink. “What? You don’t like hearing how you got here?”
“Not in the slightest.”
He grins wider. “Alright, alright. I’ll spare you. For now.”
“Thank fuck,” I mutter under my breath, finally wrestling off the last of my gear. My whole body feels twenty pounds lighter, but twice as wrecked. My limbs ache, my body reeks, and I can already feel a new bruise forming on my hip from that last crease drill.
“You’re doing good, Nate.”
I look up, caught off guard by the words.
“I know I work you hard,” he adds. “But you’re better than you give yourself credit for. Don’t forget that.”
I swallow, my throat suddenly tighter than it was two seconds ago. “Thanks, dad.”
“Anytime, kid,” he says with a warm smile. “Now go and hit the showers before you stink up my car.”
I snort under my breath as he heads for his office, the door swinging shut behind him with a soft click.
By the time I reach the showers, my muscles are already locking up. The water hisses to life, and I step under it, letting the heat hit my shoulders first, then roll down my back.
I brace my hands on the tile and hang my head. Let the steam fill my lungs. Let my brain finally shut up for a minute.
One more year.
One more season.
Then I’m done.
Done with the pressure. The expectations. The early mornings and the constant spotlight.
Done pretending I give a damn when I barely know what I want anymore.
When I finally kill the water, the cold air rushes in and hits my skin, sharp and biting. I dress fast, stuffing my damp gear into my bag, and make my way to the parking lot.
The car’s freezing when we climb in, but luckily, Dad cranks the heat and pulls out of the lot.
It’s a short drive to the off-campus house the guys and I live in, and when we pull into the driveway, Dad shifts the gear into park and glances over at me. “Good work today.”
I nod. “Thanks for the ride.”
I shove the door open, my breath fogging in the air as I step out and shut it behind me.
The house is quiet as I climb the porch steps and unlock the door. The warmth hits instantly, seeping through my hoodie and coat, and for half a second, it’s peaceful… until I hear footsteps down the stairs.
I spot a girl I’ve never seen before, wearing a hoodie that’s way too big and shorts that might as well be underwear. Her hair’s a mess, mascara smudged, and she looks like she’s still half-asleep.
My eyes drift behind her when she turns around, and that’s when I spot Logan, leaning against the banister, not a shirt in sight—of course.
The girl stretches up on her toes and plants a kiss right on his mouth. “Call me?” she asks, looping her arms around his neck.
“I will,” Logan promises, flashing that grin that probably gets him whatever he wants.
She gives him one last kiss and her eyes meet mine for a brief second before she heads for the door.
I snort under my breath and keep walking toward the kitchen once she closes the door behind her. “You won’t.”
Logan’s laugh follows me. “Couldn’t even if I wanted to. I don’t do numbers, Hayes. You should know that by now.” He pads in behind me, barefoot, the floor creaking under his weight. “I just flash a smile and—bam—they follow me home.”
I grab a mug from the cupboard, glancing at him over my shoulder. “Trust me, I know. We share a wall.”
That earns a low snort of laughter. He leans against the counter, his arms folded across his bare chest. “Wow. The Nathan Hayes is keeping tabs on me? Didn’t think you cared.”
“I don’t.” I pour the coffee, focusing on the mug. “You’re loud as fuck. Hard not to notice.”
He smirks, tilting his head. “Sounds like you’re paying attention.”
I take a sip, the burn sharp on my tongue. “More like trying to drown out the noise.”
He runs a hand through his hair, ruffling it into an even bigger mess, but somehow still looks like he walked out of a GQ shoot. “You sure you’re not jealous?”
“Of what?” I ask, not looking up. “Your inability to remember names? The revolving door of one-night stands?”
“Names are overrated.” He leans in a little, his teasing voice pissing me off. “They remember me just fine.”
I roll my eyes. “Charming.”
“Admit it. You like having me around.”
I don’t answer, but my eyes betray me instead, dropping to the sweatpants low on his hips and the tight abs that flex when he leans against the counter.
And I hate that I notice.
“You need to get serious,” I tell him, setting my mug down on the counter. “Party less. Show up on time. Dad’s already on my ass about you.”
Logan raises a brow, his mouth twitching like he’s trying not to laugh. “Ah, there it is. My morning lecture. Right on schedule.”
“It’s not a lecture,” I mutter, even though I can hear how stiff I sound. “I just don’t want to spend the season playing babysitter.”
He shifts his weight, smirking as he crosses his arms over his chest again. “Babysitting, huh? That’s rich. You realize everyone calls you the team daddy, right?”
I shoot him a look, heat creeping up the back of my neck. “No one calls me that.”
“Oh, they do.” His green eyes twinkle when he shoots me a smirk. “Daddy Hayes in the locker room. Daddy Hayes at home.”
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, gripping the counter edge. “You need a hobby.”
“I have one.” His smirk deepens. “Pissing you off.”
“Congratulations,” I say dryly. “You’re excelling at it.”
He chuckles, pushing off the counter. “Relax, Hayes. You worry too much.”
My eyes drift to the smirk on his lips, my stomach tensing. Why do I keep looking at him? Why the hell can’t I stop?
I grip the counter edge. “Someone needs to. I don’t want this season going to hell because you can’t control yourself.”
He’s about to fire back when we hear footsteps.
Austin bursts into the kitchen with a grin. “Morning, boys. Who’s making breakfast?”
Ryan trails in behind him, yawning as he rubs a hand over his face. “Please don’t say Nathan. He’ll try to feed us kale again.”
I shoot him a look. “When have I ever fed you kale?”
He arches a brow. “You don’t remember those kale omelets you made that literally nobody but you ate?”
I sigh. Sue me for trying to keep these motherfuckers at least a little healthy. “Jesus, fine. I’ll make pancakes.”
Austin slides into a chair, cheering. “This is why I love you, Hayes. Don’t be shy with the bacon.”
“Sit down before I make you cook.”
“Can’t,” Austin says with a shake of his head. “I burn water.”
A scoff leaves my lips at Austin’s usual antics as I open the fridge and grab the ingredients. Their voices fade into background noise as I lay the bacon on the grill. The sizzle fills the room, but inside, I’m wound tight.
Dad’s voice is still in my head telling me to be his anchor and keep him focused.
Easier said than done.
Logan makes it impossible. He’s loud, reckless, and always two steps from trouble. Exactly the kind of distraction I don’t need. Not when my own head’s already a mess.
I glance over before I can stop myself, catching him already watching me. He throws a wink my way and something in my chest goes tight. I look away fast and focus on flipping the bacon, pretending the heat hitting my face is from the stove.
My hand presses against the counter, my muscles tensing.
Being around him is the last thing I need.
And yet, somehow, I’m the one who’s supposed to keep him in check. Make sure he cools it on the partying, shows up on time, stays focused.
Which would be a hell of a lot easier if I didn't react to him the way I do, if he didn’t get under my skin so damn easily.