Shattered (Bayside Bolts #1)

Chapter 1

ONE

KNOX

The heavy scent of perfume hits me, and I wrinkle my nose in disgust. It’s always the same smell, just a different body…exotic florals mixed with a dose of regret and bad decisions.

Sunlight streams into the hotel window, causing me to wince from the daggers shooting through my skull as I fling the bed sheet back and go in search of some clothes.

Going out with the team last night, on the day before practice season starts, wasn’t one of my top five best decisions. When they put me in a group text and kept adding me whenever I would duck out, I finally caved just to shut them the fuck up.

Being the team captain, I felt I owed it to them to at least socialize on a more personal level since I’m brand new to the team. Trust off the ice is just as important as on and can make or break a season.

Luckily, I’ve got a good relationship with most of them from playing together in the past or getting to know them through the kid camps I help fund. There are only a couple I need to work through some shit with, and last night was a good start.

Rummaging through my suitcase, I find a pair of grey sweats and throw them on. Running my fingers through my unruly head of dark blond hair, I go in search of some coffee.

Fuck, do I need some coffee.

I get a flash of auburn hair buried under the covers as I walk past the king-sized bed and into the other room, where the small kitchen is.

Reaching for the expensive-looking water the hotel supplied me, I pour it into the espresso machine and start brewing my cup. I don’t bother keeping quiet, hoping that my company will take the hint that our fun is over, and it’s time to wake up and leave.

Yeah, I’m that asshole.

Popping two Motrin, I grab my freshly brewed coffee and wash the pills down before walking across the gleaming white-tiled floors toward the balcony doors. The warm, salty air hits me as soon as I step outside and take a deep inhale.

It’s a far cry from my New York view as I take in the beautiful ocean before me. Part of me is happy to be back home in Florida, and the other half of me is terrified the demons of my past will find a way to suffocate me here.

The click of heels behind me causes me to turn toward the sound. Melanie, or at least I think her name is Melanie, is walking my way. She’s dressed in her same tight green dress from last night, and I watch the gleam in her eyes appear when she sees the view.

When you’ve played hockey for as long as I have, it doesn’t take long to recognize a puck bunny when you see one.

They show up dressed to the nines in outfits barely covering their asses, with either dollar signs in their eyes or just simply wanting bragging rights and a story to tell all of their friends.

Either way, I couldn’t care less. They are a means to an end for me, and since they are so willing to be a body for a night, nobody gets hurt in the process when I send them home the next morning.

“God, this view is amazing. This place must have cost you a fortune for the night.” She runs her manicured finger along the plush outdoor furniture that surrounds a glass fire table. “We didn’t even get to enjoy the jacuzzi,” she pouts as her gaze takes in the big hot tub in the corner.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes as I lean against the glass railing and take another sip of my coffee. Don’t get me wrong, she’s a beautiful girl with a great body, but that’s where it ends for me. My heart is too cold, I guess, to feel anything more.

“We could have a replay of last night,” she says, closing the distance between us. Her fingers skim across the tattoos covering my chest, and I feel…absolutely nothing. “Try out the hot tub…maybe order some room service for breakfast?”

“I’ve got practice in an hour.” I step out of her grasp and walk back towards the room. “I’ll get you an Uber,” I say, not bothering to glance back at her. There’s no reason to give her any hope that we will be doing this again.

She’s got her story to tell, and I got another night to help me forget.

This.

This is what I was born to do.

My blades slice through the ice with speed, causing bits of crystals to fly at my ankles. Sweat drips down my face, and my legs burn like the fires of hell as I do another set of drills with my team racing down the length of the rink to snatch the loose puck.

My stick touches first, and I easily maneuver it without breaking stride as I hone in on the net. Cayden Blade is a damn good goalie, but I’ve studied him enough through the years to know his weakness.

Going for the shot, I go hard and low, flicking my wrist at the last minute, landing the puck at the top right corner instead.

“Fuck,” I hear him mutter as it lands behind the red line.

Grinning, I angle around and ice him with my skates as I abruptly stop in front of him.

“Gets you every time,” I chuckle. “Thought we’ve played against each other enough that you would have learned my moves by now.”

“You are one of the few who ever gets past me.” He flips his face mask up onto his head, and his green eyes dance with laughter. “Maybe I was just trying to kiss the captain’s ass on the first day.”

“Or maybe,” I say, skating backwards with a grin, “you still can’t track my pucks thrown your way.”

I laugh at his eye roll as I turn and skate to the bench where the rest of the team is gathered with Coach Goldman. He’s a retired NHL player and has been coaching the Bayside Bolts for the past five years. I respect the hell out of him and couldn’t be more excited to play for him this year.

“Good first day,” he says, looking over his notes.

His dark reading glasses are perched on his nose as he scans the paper.

“I’ll be addressing some of you individually on what you need to work on in the coming weeks.

We’ve got some new faces this season, our team captain being one of them.

” He looks up from his notepad and smiles at me before looking around and eyeing the rest of the team.

“You all can learn a lot from Stone. I’ve been in the NHL a long time, and he’s one of the best I’ve seen.

We are lucky to have him, and I expect you to listen when he offers you his help or guidance. ”

“Hear that, McCormick?” I hear our left winger, Jett Hayes, call out, and all the guys chuckle.

I guess now is as good a time as any to step into the captain role. Coach’s eyes are on me, and I know what he wants to hear.

“I know McCormick and I have a history. It’s a known fact he’s tried to get the upper hand on the ice with me.

” I put emphasis on the word ‘tried,’ because I can’t help but get a small dig in.

I’ve spent more time in the penalty box because of this kid, and I plan on making him sweat a bit because of it.

He’s young, but he reminds me of myself more than I care to admit.

Unlike some of these players, he doesn’t just love to play hockey.

He lives and breathes it like it’s the only thing worth living for.

It’s his life, and I know that feeling all too well of clinging to something so hard to keep you afloat from drowning.

McCormick glares at me, but remains quiet, which gives me hope that he wants to learn just as badly as I want to teach him.

“But,” I say, quieting the snickers down as I focus on Thane McCormick.

“He’s one of my teammates now, and the past stays in the past. We leave all of that behind right here and now.

I don’t take being your captain lightly,” I say, looking around at the ones I’ll be closest to for the next few months.

“You guys are my brothers now, on or off the ice. If…no, when we get that Stanley this year, we leave our egos at the door. On the ice, we are one mind with one goal…kick some ass and get that puck across the red line.” I grin as sticks start hitting the ice and the energy shifts into a haze of excitement.

I hold my glove out to McCormick, and it doesn’t take long before he’s knocking it against mine. Yeah, he wants the cup this year just as badly as I do.

Coach claps me on the back as the guys excitedly get amped up. I grip my stick and feel the rush of this sport sifting through my veins.

God, I fucking love it.

“Okay, boys,” Coach says, taking his glasses off and sliding them into the front collar of his shirt. “That’s it for today. Get your smelly asses in the shower, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I move to follow the rest of the team, but Coach stops me.

“You did good, Stone. I knew you were a damn good hockey player, but there’s a reason you were the New York Devils’ captain for so long. The guys listen when you speak and respect you. You were made to be a leader.”

“Thanks, Coach. I’ll do everything I can to lead us to the final win this season.” I look him in the eyes and mean every damn word.

“I have no doubt you will,” he grins. “Let’s bring that fucking cup home.”

“It’s as good as ours,” I smile broadly as I head to the locker room.

There are few things in life that bring a smile to my face, and this sport is one of them.

I remember the feeling I got the first time I put on skates.

It was one of my earliest memories of my mom.

I was four years old, and she took me to the mall to do some Christmas shopping.

They had an ice skating rink on the lower level, and on that day, a few hockey players were teaching some kids to skate.

I stood there mesmerized as I watched the players move down the ice and pass the puck to one another with such skill that I had a hard time keeping up with the round black object.

I guess my mom could tell by the look in my eyes that I was watching something that would change my life forever. She took my hand and signed me up for the hour-long class right there on the spot.

The memory is still so vivid in my mind—the way my heart started racing when she helped me put on the rental skates and how the stick felt in my hand when one of the hockey players handed it to me.

The gear they loaned me was too big, and the helmet felt too small, but I didn’t care. I spent the whole hour getting bruised with each fall I took, determined to learn as much as I could possibly soak in while I was there.

The ice time was over far too soon, and I was nowhere near ready to leave. I wanted so much more. I could have spent the whole day there if they had let me.

As I was getting out of my gear, one of the players came over and talked to my mom.

He told her about a kids’ team in the area and suggested she bring me to tryouts.

My dad was against it, and I remember him arguing with my mom later that night about how it was too expensive, and we couldn’t afford it, but my mom refused to listen.

She took on extra work and got me signed up the next week.

It became our thing we did together. For four years, she took me to every practice, sat and cheered me on at every game.

I got better and better at the game, and she got sicker and sicker until finally her spot on the bleachers became empty.

That’s when my life turned to shit, and hockey became the only thing that I could hold on to—the one thing that gets me out of bed in the morning.

When I’m on the ice, I’m free.

All I feel is the cold air whipping at my face and the adrenaline rush pounding through my blood, making me feel alive.

All I hear is the swish of the blade against the ice and the crack of the stick as I nail the puck into the net.

I live for these small windows of reprieve.

On the ice, I’m not the guy whose mom died when he was eight or who has the drunk dad that hates his son.

I’m Knox fucking Stone. The top-scoring and highest-paid NHL player in the league. And this year, I’m getting another one of those cups just because I can.