Trade It All (Mustang #4)

Prologue

My phone buzzes against the kitchen counter just as I’m pouring a second cup of coffee.

I want to ignore it.

It’s early evening, the arena long since cleared out after practice. Most of the guys are probably halfway through dinner or out with friends. My night was supposed to be quiet—film review, a couple calls with management, then bed.

The phone buzzes again.

I glance down.

Maddie

My brows pull together.

Madison Hale rarely texts me directly. If she needs something, it’s usually a group message or an email. She runs the Mustangs’ social media like a damn general runs a war room—efficient, organized, and always two steps ahead.

Which means if she’s texting me now, something’s wrong.

I swipe the screen.

911. RINK. LUKA ATTACKED.

For half a second my brain refuses to process the words.

Then instinct takes over. The mug hits the counter so hard coffee splashes across the granite.

I’m already moving. My keys are in my hand before I fully process the message.

My jacket comes off the chair beside the door as I shove my arms into it, my pulse slamming against my ribs.

Luka. One of mine. And Maddie is there alone.

I call her. Straight to voicemail. “Fuck.”

The drive to the arena is muscle memory and adrenaline.

Former player or not, the instincts never go away. Protect your team. Protect your family. The Mustangs aren’t just players to me. They’re my responsibility.

And Maddie—My jaw tightens.

She shouldn’t be dealing with something like this alone.

My phone lights up again in the cupholder.

Ambulance coming. He's bleeding.

My grip tightens on the steering wheel.

“Hold on,” I mutter under my breath.

Flashing lights cut across the arena parking lot when I pull in.

Red.

Blue.

Chaos.

I barely get the truck in park before I’m out of it.

Paramedics are already working.

My eyes land on Luka first. He’s on the ground. Blood pooling beneath his head. Rage spikes so hard it turns my vision red.

But then I see her. Maddie. Kneeling beside him. Her blonde hair has fallen out of the messy bun she wore earlier today. Strands cling to her tear-streaked face as she presses shaking hands against Luka’s head. Her palms are soaked in blood.

“Come on, Luka,” she whispers brokenly. “You have to wake up.”

One of the EMTs says something to her. She doesn’t hear him. She’s locked in. Focused. Trying to save him.

“Maddie.”

Her head snaps up. For a moment she just stares at me like she’s forgotten how to breathe. Then the wall holding her together shatters. She stands too quickly, nearly slipping on the pavement before stumbling straight into me.

“Coach—”

The word dissolves into a sob as she crashes into my chest. I catch her automatically. Her body is shaking so hard I can feel it through my jacket.

“I—I found him like this,” she chokes. “He wouldn’t wake up and there was blood everywhere and I didn’t know if I was helping or making it worse—”

“You did good.” My voice comes out calm, steady. The way it used to in locker rooms when everything started going sideways. “You called for help. You stopped the bleeding.”

Her fingers grip my shirt like it’s the only thing keeping her upright. “I was too late.”

“You weren’t.” I tell her.

The paramedics lift Luka onto the stretcher. The ambulance doors slam shut. Sirens scream as they pull away. And when the lights disappear around the corner, Maddie finally collapses. Not literally. But whatever was holding her together gives out all at once.

I tighten my arm around her shoulders. “Come on,” I murmur. She doesn’t argue when I guide her to my truck.

The hospital is a blur.

Adrianna is already there when we arrive, pacing the hallway outside the trauma rooms. The moment she sees Maddie, she runs to her. Her eyes land on the blood still smeared across Maddie’s hands and sleeves.

Addy grabs her. “Thank you,” she says through tears.

Maddie shakes her head, voice breaking. “I didn’t save him.”

“You did,” Addy insists.

Maddie only shakes her head again. I don’t interrupt. Because I can see it in her eyes. She doesn’t believe it. Not even a little.

By the time we leave the hospital hours later, Maddie looks like she’s barely holding herself together. So I make the decision for her.

“You’re coming with me,” I say.

She doesn’t argue. The drive to my house is silent. Streetlights slide across her face as she stares out the passenger window. Her hands sit limp in her lap.

When we walk inside, she stops just past the doorway like she doesn’t know what to do with herself.

“Bathroom’s down the hall,” I tell her quietly as I hand her a t-shirt and the smallest pair of shorts I own.

She nods and disappears for a few minutes. When she comes back, her face is washed clean but her eyes are still red.

Exhaustion clings to her.

“Come on,” I say gently. I lead her down the hall to the spare bedroom. She hesitates in the doorway. “You can sleep here tonight.”

She nods again, slow and tired.

I grab an extra blanket from the closet and set it on the bed. The moment she sits down, her shoulders start shaking. And then the tears come. Hard.

The kind that break loose after someone holds themselves together too long.

She curls forward, pressing her hands to her face as sobs tear out of her chest.

I hesitate in the doorway. Coach. Employee. This is a line.

But she’s shaking so hard the bed moves beneath her. Instinct wins. It always does.

I sit beside her and pull her gently against me. Her arms wrap around my middle like she’s been waiting for it. Her face presses against my chest.

And she cries. Minutes pass. Then more. Eventually, the sobs quiet. Her breathing slows. She falls asleep against me. I stay there longer than I should. Just holding her.

Morning sunlight filters through the blinds when I step into the kitchen. I’m halfway through making coffee when I hear quiet footsteps behind me. Maddie stands in the doorway of the kitchen. She looks better than she did last night. But not by much.

“Morning,” she says softly.

“Morning.”

For a moment neither of us speaks. Then she walks toward me.

“Thank you,” she says.

“You don’t need to thank me.”

“I do.” She stops in front of me. Close. Closer than she should be.

Her eyes flick down to my mouth. And before I realize what she’s doing, she leans up. Her lips almost touch mine. I catch her gently by the shoulders before they do.

“Maddie.” She freezes. Reality rushes back into her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers quickly.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” But I still step back. “We can’t.”

Her brow creases. “Why?”

“Because you work for me.” The words taste bitter. “You’re staff. I’m the coach.”

Understanding slowly settles across her face. She nods once. “Right.”

A few minutes later she grabs her phone. “I called an Uber. I’ll see you at the arena.”

I walk her to the door. Then she’s gone.

Later that afternoon, when I go to straighten up the spare room, something small catches my eye.

A black hair tie sits on the nightstand.

I pick it up. Turn it between my fingers.

I should throw it away. Instead, I slide it around my wrist. Then I pull my watch back over it.

Hidden. Where no one will see it. Where it will stay. Because some lines you don’t cross.