Chapter 12
12
BOUCHER
It was ‘Go’ time.
The first game of the season was here, and Keith was starting. The coach and Savage had given them a pep talk, promising everyone a chance on the ice – and as he looked around at those twenty faces, he knew it was going to be intense.
They had an ax to grind for the media, for their families, for the billionaire who’d bought the team, giving them these opportunities despite the weird requirements, and for Coach Starnes, who was quickly becoming an amazing role model for all of them. Every single person in that building—fans, critics, teammates—was waiting to see if the Quebec Wolverines were the real deal or a joke.
Please don’t let it be the latter, Keith thought silently, swallowing back the lump in his throat as the lights dimmed on the ice and the music rose. The announcer’s voice was vibrating through the arena, and he met his teammates’ eyes – one by one – as the the opposing teams’ roster was being introduced.
The crowd erupted in a mix of cheers and boos as the final name of the opposing team was called. Then silence and his stomach rolled in awareness reminding him of the very first time so many years ago that he started with the NHL. He’d been through so many games, so many fights on the ice, that he’d been removed, and spent way too much time in the penalty box until he got his act together, and tonight, they were playing one of the toughest teams.
As he looked at the other players' faces, he nodded grimly. They were all excited, all nervous, and all of them preparing to clean up the ice while scoring so many goals.
That thought seized in his head as a loud voice incited the crowd into a frenzy, and he couldn’t help but suck in his breath, feeling the pressure and sense of pride knowing that Constance and the kids were out there, watching.
And now, the NHL is proud to present the newest team on the ice—the Quebec Wolverines! Introducing number thirty—Jett Acton!
A wave of loud boos washed over them as Jett skated out onto the ice, chin lifted, shoulders squared, putting on a brave face as Keith, Coeur, Lafreniére, Larsson, and others exchanged a shocked glance. The crowd was booing the home team? What in the world was happening out there?
Keith knew he couldn’t say a thing because of the microphone tucked in his helmet for the sports reels, and he let out a silent prayer.
Please don’t make the blooper reels.
“Holy cow, they freakin’ booed him?” Coeur muttered loudly, turning white as a sheet as Lafreniére smacked him on the arm causing the man to grunt – saying what they all were thinking.
“Shut up, man. You’ve got a hot mic.”
Now, introducing number thirty-one, Kenneth Salas!
And thankfully, Salas was being cheered. That boded well for the rest of them. Jett Acton had a reputation on the ice, and hearing him get booed didn’t sit well, but it wouldn’t be the first time Keith had been booed nor would it be the last.
And number twelve, the heart of the team—Barrett Coeur!
The arena exploded in response, the crowd seizing onto the wordplay of the other hockey player’s French name. The rhythmic stomping began, shaking the very boards beneath their skates – and Coeur was working the crowd excitedly. Lafreniére was whispering something to Larsson, who looked like he was ready to have a panic attack.
“I got booed last year,” Larsson said quietly, his eyes full of fear.
“You might again. But this is a new team. A fresh start. Ignore the noise and own that ice , brother,” Lafreniére urged patiently, almost like a father talking to his son – and Keith swallowed, realizing that they were all feeling the pressure and hadn’t even made it out onto the ice yet. Larsson swallowed hard, nodded, and disappeared down the tunnel as his name was called… a mix of applause and boos.
Great.
The new kid got booed?
I’m so screwed… and the kids are watching, he thought painfully, feeling all that humiliation and shame once more. He felt like he would never fully be rid of those feelings because they were so ingrained within him now – and he wanted nothing to affect how Constance looked at him. He was crazy about her, and last night meant everything to him.
“Got any advice for me?” Keith asked unabashedly in a raw voice, squaring up his shoulders and bracing himself because he was next.
“Yeah,” Lafreniére offered, his voice calm and steady. “Show them you care. Show them you’re a family man. Skate out there and find your wife in the stands. Let them see the guy that I do, my friend.”
“And number one, Keith Boucher!”
And the booing came down like a hammer. Echoing, roaring, even louder than Jett Acton’s. He couldn’t imagine what Constance, Paige, or Kayla was thinking right now and let out his breath, feeling like he might be sick at that moment.
“You got this,” Lafreniére urged. “Go.”
This was why Savage was the captain this year. This was exactly why he worried about his career on the ice because the media had twisted, insinuated, and had a field day with those convictions so long ago implying so many horrible things – and the more he defended himself years ago, the guiltier he looked, so he quit trying. He simply ducked his head, took the boos, dealt with the trades, and hid beneath the layer of shame… but not anymore.
This was his beginning, his chance, his world… and his family was waiting. Keith raised his hockey stick high and flew onto the ice with the power of years of experience behind him – and with that experience came an awareness of where Constance and the kids would be waiting.
There was no looking, no hesitation.
He made a few playful sprays of ice for the children as his eyes held hers with a confidence that covered his own feelings. He held that lance like a knight at a joust, and heaven help him, Constance was stepping forward like some maiden waiting to give her favor – and before he could say anything, Constance spoke – her voice loud, clear, supportive, and strong for all to hear.
“Show them what you’ve got and make me proud, husband!” – and blew him a kiss.
“I love you,” he said bluntly and saw her eyes widen as she smiled, nodding tearfully. “This is for the three of you – three goals tonight. Watch me!” Keith then skated off, knowing his time on the ice for intros was limited, and he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face.
He waved to the crowd, beaming because nothing could change how this felt right now. He told his wife he loved her – and she was proud of him. Oh yes… even if they lost tonight, he already won. Both arms shot up into the air, pumping happily, as Keith disappeared behind the boards for a few moments longer before lining up.
The crowd was eating it alive, yelling, hollering, excitedly cheering as the rest of the team was introduced. His eyes turned toward Constance, Paige, and Kayla – and he waved happily, not caring what anyone thought. Sure enough, Constance tapped Paige and Kayla on the shoulders, pointing at him, and Keith stood up – leaning over the boards and waving frantically so the children could see him.
Paige’s face lit up like a Christmas tree, and instead of that frustrated angry kid, he saw joy. Kayla was jumping up and down, pointing and saying something to Constance, who was blowing him kisses.
I have a family, and I love them, he marveled in humble appreciation as it truly hit him. I love them all so much – and I am so incredibly blessed. If this is my last season, my last team, thank you, God… for the three of them.
“Let’s go, boys,” Coach Starnes hollered. “On the ice, now – and let’s do this!”
M aybe they shouldn’t have mic’d Coeur , Keith thought, grinning. Maybe I should have pulled Coach Starnes or Savage aside and told them just how chirpy he could be.
Batiste used to start fights on the ice, but Coeur’s mouth could incite a riot. His teammate was focused on Perry, one of the most hot-tempered players he knew, and a favorite of Batiste’s. Just like the good ol’ days. Perry always moved into action without much goading – yet Coeur just kept picking at the man.
And picking…
And picking…
“I hate you, dude… I hated you on the Coyotes, and I hate you now on the Wolverines!”Perry was screaming, and Keith was trying not to laugh as Coeur straightened up, putting a hand over his heart, and spoke.
“Ouch. That struck a nerve. Hold on, hold on— I might feel a tear welling up. Nope. False alarm.”Salas beside Keith snorted with laughter, shaking his head as he moved into position.
“The second they drop the puck, I’m gonna drop you ,” Perry snarled, threatening Coeur once more, and he’d had about enough. If Perry wanted to start something, fine, but it wouldn’t be just the blond-haired skinny man whose mouth flew faster than any puck on the ice. No, if Perry was picking a fight, it was with the whole team .
“Whatcha waiting for?” Keith chimed in, his voice smooth, unbothered. He flung down his gloves—a nod to his time on the Coyotes with Batiste, signaling that he was ready to throw down at any moment.
“Back off, Boucher,” Perry grumbled, rolling his shoulders and already backing down but now directing his backtalk at Keith to try to save face. Why had they mic’d up this fool? He could hear Perry on the speakers – and unfortunately – so could all of the audience. “We wouldn’t want you to get in trouble here like you did back in Dallas…”
“Not gonna happen,” Keith said calmly, not willing to give this twerp or anyone else the satisfaction.
“Do the Wolverines even know what a piece of trash they signed?” Perry sneered. “You’re pathetic and?—”
“They signed the man who’s gonna sink the next puck,” Keith shot back, making it once again about the game. He didn’t need it to be personal. He didn’t rise to the bait. He would take the high road and show that he was a different person. Instead, he picked up his gloves, readying himself to play. “My kids are watching, my family, and I’m gonna show them how to be the better man.”
“How?” Perry scoffed. “By using Liam Savage as an example? It sure isn’t you!”
The air shifted.
The crowd went silent for half a beat, and then murmurs rippled through the stands. It was one thing to trash-talk someone, but this was an attack on his person, driven to humiliate him publicly in front of his family. He stood there, taking those words because they didn’t matter – they were only words, and he had an image to uphold for his family, for Constance, for…
“Knock his block off, Daddy!”
Paige’s tiny, high-pitched voice sliced through the chaos like a sniper shot. For a split second, the fight hesitated as laughter rippled through the stands. Even Keith had to grin. That was his girl—tenacious, loud, and already bloodthirsty for a win. When she laced up someday, she’d be a menace on the ice.
And Paige called him Daddy…
“That’s my daughter,” Keith announced with pride, locking eyes with Perry for a brief, warning-laced heartbeat before he sent his gloves flying, his stick clattering to the ice. Then, like a coiled viper striking, he sent his fist slamming into Perry’s jaw with a sickening crack.
Perry staggered, his body jolting like a marionette with its strings cut before he hit the ice flat on his backside. The roar of the crowd swelled as fists flew, blades screeched against the ice, and bodies crashed together in a violent ballet of rage and testosterone. The brawl had begun, and Keith was right in the thick of it.
A second later, the world exploded.
“Woohoo!” Coeur’s unmistakable voice whooped over the chaos. “Take that, ya’ big ol’ baby! That’s how we do it in Texas, boy!”
“You’re in Canada, idiot,” Acton deadpanned, just before he drove his fist into another player’s face.
“Potato… Po-ta-toe,” Coeur sang, completely undeterred.
Keith barely had time to roll his eyes before Perry recovered and swung back. A meaty fist clipped his cheek, rattling his teeth, and he grunted.
“Coeur, would you hush?” he growled, bracing for another hit.
But Coeur? Oh, Coeur wasn’t shutting up anytime soon.
“We’re gonna celly in about an hour, so tell me—what’s it feel like to suck on a lemon?” Coeur taunted, gliding backward, dodging an incoming swing like some kind of infuriating ice ninja. “The puck, that’s the black little disc on the ice.”
“You’re supposed to hit it…” Acton chimed in between punches.
“You can use my goal if you want—I’m giving like that. I’ll graciously take the point you give us,” Coeur goaded. Then, mid-taunt, his helmet was yanked clean off his head. His wild blond man-bun flopped free, almost like a shampoo commercial gone wrong. The elastic was knotted in his hair and resembled more of a tumbleweed because someone grabbed a fistful, causing Coeur to yelp wildly.
“Hey! Not the hair! Get Salas! He might look like a gargoyle, but?—”
“Hey—I’m on your team now,” Kenneth Salas growled, momentarily pausing his own fight to glare at Coeur. Unfazed, Coeur puckered his lips and blew him a kiss. The absurdity of it made even a few opposing players hesitate mid-swing as they looked at each other.
“Oh yeah—Salas is soooo hot,” Coeur continued, voice dripping with over-the-top flirtation as he winked dramatically, almost like Marilyn Monroe.
“Shut up, Coeur,” Keith muttered, swinging at Perry and missing by an inch.
“Please! Someone take Coeur’s mic?” Savage bellowed, fighting off a guy who kept coming at him like a malfunctioning wind-up toy.
“It’s called motivation ,” Coeur replied cheerfully. “I’m motivating you to whip his scrawny butt.”
Then, as if this was some kind of twisted game of freeze tag, Coeur darted out of reach of a swinging opponent, giggling like a lunatic. “Can’t catch me! Nah, nah…”
“Uh, Perry is bigger than you—and currently fighting me,” Keith reminded him, ducking under another incoming blow.
“No, I promise that if I get out a tape measure, I’m bigger than him,” Coeur shot back.
“Oh my gosh— shut up, Coeur ,” Keith, Savage, and Acton groaned in unison, still swinging and dodging punches like a pack of scrappy alley cats.
“Why’s everyone telling me to shut up? And why do I hear something whistling and laughter?” Coeur asked, suddenly pausing mid-skate.
“Air between your ears?” Acton offered without missing a beat.
“Good one, Acton!”
“Har har—no, seriously, do y’all hear whistling?”
Salas, mid-brawl, grunted, “Keep pounding…” then froze as realization hit.
Every single man on the ice seemed to register it at the same time.
A half-second of silence.
Then, in a perfectly synchronized, guttural yell, they all shouted:
“THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID!”
And just like that, the fight crumbled.
Laughter broke out on the ice, echoing through the rink, fists still half-raised but forgotten. Salas, barely suppressing a smirk, extended a hand toward Keith, who took it gratefully—especially since Perry had just landed a particularly unfair shot to the groin. The only thing saving his dignity right now was his protective gear.
The referees were screaming, whistles blowing, arms waving like traffic cops in a hurricane, but Keith barely noticed. He skated off toward the penalty box, shoulders aching, knuckles sore, but with a victorious smirk pulling at his lips.
He turned toward the stands, locking eyes with his family.
Six thumbs shot into the air, lined up in proud, unwavering support.
Keith returned the gesture, flashing his own thumbs-up.
Worth it.
H ours later, the car vibrated with the high-pitched energy of Paige’s voice as she bounced in her seat, too amped up to be anything but pure chaos. “And did you see Daddy tonight?” she practically shouted, her excitement filling every inch of the space. She was addressing anyone who would listen—whether they wanted to or not.
Keith barely had a second to process the words before Constance shot him a look, the kind of look that made his heart clench, and his stomach flip. Pure pride. Pure adoration. The kind of look that made a man feel ten feet tall. He brought her hand to his lips, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss against the back of it, inhaling the lingering scent of vanilla and something sweetly, intoxicatingly her .
Today might have been the best day of his entire life—if you started counting at midnight.
Not only had they finally figured things out between them, but the Wolverines had clinched their first win. And more importantly? Paige and Kayla had seen him. Not the carefully restrained version of himself he had been trying to be for them. No, they had seen him in his element—fierce, aggressive, alive . And, much to his utter delight, his daughters had eaten it up like a pair of little bloodthirsty heathens.
They had cheered for him when he checked a guy so hard the boards rattled. They had screamed for him to throw a punch. And when the gloves hit the ice, and fists started flying, they had howled like feral little wolverines who’d just discovered violence was their new favorite pastime.
Keith chuckled, shaking his head. Yeah. They were his little heathens. And he loved them to pieces.
“Man, that was so good,” Paige gushed, practically vibrating in her seat. “I’m gonna learn how to do all of that, and people better watch out because I’m gonna clear the ice with their carcasses.”
Keith nearly swerved off the road, laughing.
“It’s not about starting a fight,” he said, dragging in a deep breath and attempting to insert some wisdom into his daughter’s pint-sized warlord’s brain. “It’s about supporting your team, standing up for yourself, and knowing when to let it go.”
Paige, undeterred by his weak attempt at morality, grinned like a tiny demon. “And when to pound them into the ground.”
Keith let out a sharp laugh, nodding despite himself. “And when to appropriately —” he stressed the word “—pound them into the ice.”
He caught Constance biting her lip in amusement beside him, her gaze flicking to his face with something dangerous in her eyes. Something that made it very hard to focus on driving.
“That was a good game,” she murmured, voice quiet but loaded with meaning. “So much discussion about pounding, Keith…”
Keith gripped the wheel a little tighter. Heat crawled up his spine, settling low in his stomach. Be good , he wanted to say, but what actually came out was a rough whisper laced with promise. “Be good… until we get home .”
He glanced at her in time to see that knowing smile bloom across her lips, mischief twinkling in her eyes. Oh yeah. Things were going to be just fine between them. And that relief settled deep in his chest, warm and grounding.
Then—
“So… when are we getting a cat?”
Keith blinked.
“What?”
Keith blinked. “A what now?”
Paige’s grin was pure mischief, her eyes glinting in the dim glow of the dashboard. “A cat. You promised. You won the game, we’re moved in, and you said when we got here and settled that we’d get a cat. Time to pay up.”
Oh, heck. He had said that.
And he had completely forgotten.
Keith groaned and scrubbed a hand down his face. His little bloodthirsty heathens never forgot a thing, it seemed. Not when it worked in their favor. His daughter was practically a vault when it came to comments he made in passing, yet somehow never remembered to pick up her Barbie shoes off the floor and out of the couch cushions.
And worse?
From the passenger seat, Constance was laughing—full-on, shoulders-shaking, completely unsympathetic laughter—because she already knew this was coming.
Keith shot her a narrow-eyed glare. “You could’ve warned me.”
“And miss this reaction? Not a chance.”
Betrayal. Utter betrayal. He turned back to Paige, who looked way too pleased with herself. “Listen, kiddo. You don’t spring big things on someone when they’re still basking in the afterglow of a major life accomplishment. There should be a grace period.”
Paige propped her chin on her hand, thinking. “How long?”
“Like… a year.”
She snorted. “You said ‘ when we get settled.’ We’re settled.”
Keith exhaled dramatically and muttered under his breath, “I really gotta start watching what I say around you.”
Constance, still shaking with silent laughter, patted his knee like she was consoling a wounded soldier. “I guess this is what parenting is like? Having a steady, walking and talking reminder of things you’ve said?” he tossed lightly to her in a knowing whisper.
“Oh, very much so,” she said with a wicked smile. “That, and inappropriate questions when you least expect it in public.”
Keith winced. “Lovely.”
“It really is,” she grinned, tilting her head toward him.
He let out a dramatic sigh, but his lips curled in an easy smile as he flicked a glance her way, his heart settling in a way it never had before.
“I wouldn’t change it for the world.”