Chapter 44
Laiken
I sit on the bench with my elbows braced on my knees, gloves hanging loose from my fingers, and let the noise of the locker room wash over me until it fades into background static.
Laughter echoes off the concrete walls as one of the guys snaps off a piece of tape.
Music thumps through the speakers, the bass pulsing hard enough to feel it vibrate in the floor beneath my feet.
I’ve spent my entire life playing under pressure.
Playoff games. Elimination nights. Sudden-death overtime where one puck slipping past me has the potential to end everything.
I’ve stood in front of crowds screaming my name.
Sometimes begging me to block the next shot, other times waiting for me to fail so they could tear me apart.
Tonight is different.
The pressure isn’t coming from the ice.
I roll my shoulders, working against the tension coiled there.
Even though the headlines have mostly moved on, I know the cameras haven’t.
They’re still here, watching and waiting for the smallest crack in my armor.
They want proof that the version of me they decided on after one punch caught on video is the real Laiken Lennox.
I glance down at my mask resting beside me.
For a long time, I believed control meant keeping my world small and tightly contained.
If I limited who had access to my life, I could better protect Elody.
I could keep her safe by not letting anyone else get close enough to matter.
That meant no attachments or distractions.
Nothing anyone could twist or use against us.
It worked until it didn’t.
If I’d stuck to that plan, Kia never would’ve slipped past my defenses. And I would’ve missed out on more than I could possibly imagine.
I would’ve missed watching my daughter light up in a way she doesn’t do for anyone else.
I would’ve missed seeing her find comfort and steadiness in a woman who doesn’t hesitate, who shows up without being asked, and loves her without condition.
I would’ve missed watching a fragile relationship grow into one that’s solid and real.
One worth protecting.
I lift the mask and pull it on, tightening the strap until the familiar weight settles into place. After drawing in a slow breath, I let it ground me before rising and walking to the entrance of the tunnel.
As we line up to head out, Steele bumps my shoulder. “You good, Lennox?”
I nod. “Yeah, I am.”
For the first time in days, it’s the truth.
The roar of the crowd crashes over me the second my skates hit the ice. It’s thunderous enough to rattle my chest and send a shot of adrenaline straight into my bloodstream. I glide toward the crease, my movements smooth and automatic as muscle memory takes over.
Warmups are a blur of shots snapping off sticks, pucks ricocheting off pads, and skates carving clean lines into the ice. I track everything without effort, my focus narrowing until there’s nothing but the puck and the rhythm of my breathing.
Then my gaze lifts toward the suites, and I see them.
Kia stands at the glass with Elody pressed right in front of her. Both are wearing my name and number. Elody is swimming in her jersey, sleeves hanging past her hands. The sight hits me hard, knocking the air from my lungs in the best possible way.
When my little girl catches me staring, her arms shoot straight up and she waves. I lift my glove just enough for her to see.
Everything I’m playing for is right there in that suite.
And it’s never meant more than it does tonight.
The puck drops. The first period is fast and punishing. Their offense is aggressive, pressing early, testing me. They’re trying to see if the noise, scrutiny, and weight of the week managed to get inside my head.
It hasn’t.
I track the puck through traffic. Dropping low when necessary and kicking rebounds wide. Smothering shots before second chances can form. Every movement is deliberate and precise. It’s as if my body finally remembers what it’s capable of.
Midway through the second period, there’s a breakaway.
The crowd rises as one, and their energy is electric. A player barrels toward me, stick twitching, eyes locked on the smallest opening. Time stretches as I read the fake for what it is and slide laterally, sealing the angle before he can react.
The save is clean, and the arena explodes into cheers. I stay down half a second longer than necessary, my breath coming hard inside my mask, allowing the moment to calm. Then I rise, tap the post once—my ritual—and lift my gaze back to the suite.
Kia’s hands are pressed to the glass, her eyes bright, as Elody bounces on her toes, pride radiating off her.
After that, the game gets easier. By the end, my legs burn, my lungs ache, and sweat slicks down my spine, but my head is clear. When the buzzer sounds and we pull off the win, the noise crashes over me all over again.
This time, instead of retreating from it, I let it wash over me as I look up to where my girls are waiting.
For the first time in years, I don’t feel like I have anything to prove.
How could I when I already have everything that matters?