Chapter 1
Mason
“Mason, for the love of Canada, take a deep breath, eh? Everything’s under control.”
I glared at Harrison, my agent, as he lounged against the golf cart, looking infuriatingly calm. Easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one whose entire career was hanging in the balance.
“You said the negotiations would be quick,” I growled. “It’s been weeks, Harrison. Weeks. It’s making me nervous.”
Squinting against the sun, I watched as Ethan, another of Harrison’s clients, lined up his shot. The golf course stretched out before us, too green and too quiet, broken only by birdsong and the occasional distant thwack of a drive. Give me the raw chaos of the ice any day.
Harrison flashed his patented smooth-talking grin. “Relax, big guy. I’m on it. Toronto will come around. They have to, eh? You’re one of the top defenders in the league.”
I grunted, unconvinced. I’d been fine with renewing my contract on the same terms, but Harrison had talked me into demanding more. Now I was worried that greed was going to bite me in the ass.
From the moment I first stepped onto the ice as a kid, I knew I wanted to play for Toronto. And now that I was living that dream, I didn’t want to lose it. Honestly, I’d probably pay them just to let me lace up.
Toronto was home now. I lived in the city during the season, and while it was a far cry from my small hometown, I’d gotten used to it. Bancroft was only a two-and-a-half-hour drive away, close enough to visit my family whenever I wanted.
After earning my first million, I’d offered to buy my parents a new house anywhere they chose.
But they didn’t want to leave Bancroft. So I bought myself a rustic cabin outside town and retreated there during the summer.
I did all the hiking, fishing, and golfing that I could squeeze in between offseason workouts. It was paradise.
“I thought you said they’d cave right away.” This limbo was driving me nuts.
Ethan swung his driver, connecting with a satisfying thwack. Show-off.
Harrison sighed and ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair. “These things take time, buddy. You want the best deal possible, right?”
I shrugged. Of course I did, but more than that, I wanted certainty that I was staying in Toronto.
Howie, the last guy in our foursome, strolled over grinning. “What’s got your knickers all in a twist, Callahan? Or should I say, what’s got your banana hammock in a twist? If I have to hear about your ‘bulge’ one more—”
“Fuck off,” I shot back, but without any actual heat. These jackasses were my friends.
“Aw, don’t be modest, Mason,” Ethan chimed in. “Everyone’s talking about The Bulge. And those abs of yours could grate cheese. You’re doing Canada a service.”
Yeah, I did that whole almost-nude underwear modeling thing. Did I think that decision would haunt me to the end of time? No.
When I agreed to endorse Apex Gear’s new athletic wear, I didn’t expect I’d end up stripped down to my skivvies. Who even knew Apex made athletic briefs?
Gideon knew. That bastard.
My personal assistant had signed off on everything, then let me walk into that photo shoot blind. When the curly-haired blonde started rubbing oil into my skin and spritzing water on my chest, I just stood there like a dummy. Nearly stark naked in Apex briefs.
Did I mention Apex’s motto was “Rise to the Challenge”? Yeah. That was plastered all over my half-naked photos.
Harrison slapped me on the shoulder. “Mason here is blowing up thanks to that Apex deal. Top defenseman in the league and now a bona fide heartthrob. Have you seen the billboards?”
My face burned. Christ, did he have to bring up those damn billboards?
“Oh, for sure, I’ve seen ’em,” Howie said with a grin. “Hard to miss when Callahan’s junk is plastered twenty feet high all over Toronto, eh?”
Yep. Everyone knew.
“My sister was wondering if the bulge was real or if it was stuffed.” Ethan’s gaze dropped to my groin.
“What the fuck, man? You’re talking about my dick with your sister?”
“Sorry, but that monster’s everywhere.”
I scowled and crossed my arms. I’d hoped my family would be spared, but Bancroft had the internet. My little sister found it, told my mom, and the whole damn family got the full Apex experience. Even Nana. To be fair, Nana just gave me knuckles and told me I looked good, but still.
“I don’t give a shit about that.” Not entirely true. But I figured the buzz around my bulge would die down eventually. “What I care about is locking down this negotiation with Toronto.”
Harrison’s voice shifted into that smooth, persuasive tone I’d heard him use on team owners and sponsors. “I know you’re anxious. But trust me, I’ve got this. With the season you just had? Toronto would be idiots not to lock you in long-term. They’re playing hardball. They’ll cave. You’ll see.”
I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to. But the uncertainty was eating me alive.
Howie finally drove his shot, the ball soaring high and straight across the fairway. He let out a whoop and sauntered back toward us, grinning.
“Beat that, boys!” He high-fived Ethan. I just shook my head.
Grumbling, I picked up my club. I took a breath and tried to focus on the green stretch of the course, the crisp Canadian air. This was supposed to be downtime. My moment to unwind, to enjoy the simplicity of being home before diving back into pro-level chaos.
I lined up my shot, trying to shove the contract anxiety to the back of my mind. But as I swung, all I could think about was the uncertain future dangling in front of me.
The ball sliced into the rough.
“Dammit,” I muttered, already dreading the hunt through tall grass that was probably crawling with God knows what.
Harrison clapped me on the shoulder. “Don’t stress about it, champ. We’ll find your ball... and get you that contract. Trust me.”
Sweat trickled down my back as we headed down the fairway. I was knee-deep in brush, cursing under my breath as I searched for my stupid golf ball, when my phone buzzed in my pocket.
I frowned. My number was private. Only a few people had it. So who the hell was calling?
Fishing out my phone, I glanced at the screen. The name flashing there stopped me cold: Doug Barker, General Manager of my team. He’d never called me before. This couldn’t be good.
A sick feeling settled in my gut.
“Uh, guys, I’ll be right back,” I said, already turning away from the fairway. My grip tightened on the phone until my knuckles ached.
“Callahan speaking,” I answered, keeping my tone steady despite the dread crawling up my spine.
“Callahan, it’s Doug Barker.” His voice was as brusque as ever. All business, rough as sandpaper. “You sitting down?”
“Kinda hard on a fairway,” I joked, trying to keep it light, but his silence killed the mood. He wasn’t here to chat.
“I’ll get right to it. We’ve made a trade, and you’re part of the deal.”
The words hit like a check into the boards. My legs went unsteady. I reached for a nearby tree, needing something solid.
“Traded?” The word caught in my throat. Disbelief surged through me. The team I’d bled for, fought for, just tossed me aside like old gear.
“It’s a win-win for everyone,” Barker went on, either oblivious or simply not giving a damn that he’d just bulldozed my life. “They need a solid defenseman. We get two promising forwards and a second-round pick. It’s a strategic move.”
My mind spun. This couldn’t be real. I’d been with this team my entire career. My teammates were like brothers.
“This is bullshit,” I snapped, anger and disbelief crashing together. “I’ll re-sign with no raise. You don’t have to trade me.”
“The paperwork went through this morning. It’s done.” The words landed like a punch. “Both teams are happy with the terms.” He was all business, no sympathy.
“Where?” I asked, already bracing for the answer. “What team?”
“Miami Fusion,” he said, and it hit like the final blow.
If I’d felt sick before, now I was ready to hurl. Miami? I was as Canadian as they came, and Miami might as well have been Mars. Hot. Foreign. A million miles from everything I knew and loved.
“Miami?” I repeated, hoping I’d misheard. “But that’s...”
“A great opportunity,” Barker cut in. “They’re building something special, and you’ll be a cornerstone of their defense.”
I barely heard the rest. He kept talking about salary caps, draft value, some bullshit about potential, but my brain had gone numb. All I could think about was calling my mom and hearing her put on that bright voice she used when she was pretending the news didn’t hurt.
“Mason? You still there?”
I blinked. “Yeah. Just... processing.”
“I know it’s a lot,” he said, his voice softening a little. “But this is a good move for your career. The Fusion are excited to have you.”
“Great.” The word scraped out, sour as vinegar.
“We’re sending the information to your agent now. He’ll walk you through the details. Thanks for everything, Mason. You’ve been a great asset. Good luck in Miami.”
The line went dead. I stared at the phone in my hand, suddenly heavy as lead.
“Fuck.” I unleashed a string of curses under my breath.
Fucking Miami?
I couldn’t believe it. Hockey was everything to me. Toronto was my home. My family. My entire world. And with one call, it was gone.
I took a deep breath, trying to pull myself together before heading back. Just then, Howie’s voice rang out across the fairway.
“Mase! Did you fall into a hole or what? We’re waiting on you, princess!”
Traded.
To the Miami Fusion.
The words echoed in my head as I stalked across the manicured green toward Harrison, who stood chatting with Ethan and Howie.
My fists clenched at my sides.
Harrison looked up, eyebrows lifting. “Mason, everything all right?”
I glared at him, barely resisting the urge to launch a golf club at his smug face. “No, everything is not okay. I’ve been traded. To the Fusion.”
“Oh shit,” Howie mumbled.
Harrison’s jaw dropped. “What? That’s not... I don’t believe it. When did this happen?”