Chapter 1
austin hart
“Ugh,” I groaned, glaring at the screen in my apartment that displayed today’s forecast—mid-sixties. In California, that was practically winter, but in the Midwest, I knew it meant we were easing into fall.
I dragged myself out of bed, yanked open the curtains, and took in the view of the woods behind my place.
After coming back from the West Coast, I’d settled in the Chicago ’burbs, closer to my mom, my stepdad, Ledger, and half sister, Evie.
I’d spent a year at an intensive rehab center out in Malibu, and a few more in a sober living home, but it was finally time to return.
Leaving California hadn’t been easy, but I couldn’t keep hiding behind the excuses that kept me there.
My marriage had already crumbled before I left.
That life fell apart while I watched from the sidelines, pretending I didn’t see it coming, refusing to admit that the man I’d become was no longer someone worth fighting for.
I’d let myself spiral, convinced that I was doing it for someone else, that if I numbed the pain long enough, it would disappear.
But the truth had always been there—I needed to fix myself because I wanted to, not because someone else needed me to.
When I first landed in California, I threw myself into rehab, desperate to confront the parts of myself I’d spent years drowning out.
Each day was a battle, a slow, painful process of peeling every layer of denial until I couldn’t hide anymore.
There was no escaping it—the years of mistakes, and the man staring at me in the mirror who’d forgotten how to love himself.
When I moved into the sober living facility, I promised myself that I wouldn’t just survive—I’d find a way to live again.
Coming back to Chicago wasn’t part of some grand plan to start over.
It was simply the next step in a journey I’d been too scared to take.
When Ledger offered me a job at the rink, teaching kids how to skate, it was a lifeline.
When my mom asked me to help with Evie, it felt like a chance to be a part of something real again.
I still had a long way to go, but for the first time in years, I felt like I was walking toward something instead of running away.
The life I was building here wasn’t perfect, but it was mine. And that made all the difference.
My phone buzzed a few times on the desk, interrupting the silence.
I wasn’t scheduled to start with the after-school program until next week, and Mom was taking a break from the café, giving me time to settle in.
After spending the past few days doing nothing but unpacking boxes and trying to make this place feel less like a lifeless shell, I hadn’t seen or talked to anyone. I wasn’t expecting any calls.
When I glanced at the screen, a grin spread across my face, and I answered. “It’s been way too fucking long.”
“Heard you’re back in town,” my old friend said from the other line.
Dirks and I weren’t close when we played together, but we were still friends. Jeremy and I had been inseparable once, but I’d had to cut him off. He was as deep in the addiction as I was, and I couldn’t afford to keep drowning with him.
The last I’d heard, Jeremy retired from the NHL last year and disappeared, leaving no trace behind.
I never tried reaching out. It wasn’t because I didn’t care, but because I’d finally learned something essential in the time I spent getting clean—I needed boundaries.
Real ones. It wasn’t about being harsh or mean to others; it was about protecting myself.
There was a point where I had to accept that if someone couldn’t respect those boundaries, or if they didn’t fit into this healthier version of my life, that was on them.
It wasn’t my job to fix them or make them comfortable.
“How the fuck did you find out?” I laughed, surprised at how good it felt to hear a familiar voice again.
“Coach mentioned it. Think he heard from Ledger.”
Ledger always kept in touch with Coach and worked closely with the Ravens because they sponsored some of the camps he put on in the summer, and Dirks was still playing in the NHL, though the rumors were that this might be his last season before he hung up his skates.
“Ah.”
“I’m headed to the rink now to get some skating in before practice this morning,” Dirks continued. “Figured I’d call and see if you wanted to catch up.”
I hesitated. Every part of me wanted to say no, to keep my distance, stay in my bubble where it was safe, where I didn’t have to worry about slipping back into old habits. Fuck it. Maybe it was time to take a chance, to see if I could trust myself again.
“Just you?” I asked, needing to be sure no one else was going to be around. I wasn’t ready to be in big groups yet.
Dirks paused, and I could feel him nodding on the other end. “Yeah, just me.”
“Alright,” I said, a grin stretching across my face. “I’ll meet you there.”
I hadn’t skated in a while. In Malibu, the closest rink was an hour away, and though I was encouraged to go, I never did. It was too painful and reminded me of what happened with my ex, Nova, and my former career. It reminded me of how utterly directionless I had been.
I sighed, grabbing my skates and stick, and walked toward the familiar rink where the Ravens practiced.
Dirks was standing outside the big doors.
He was older than I was by a few years and was closer friends with Ledger and Alex, but we looked like we could be related.
Both of us had curly blonde hair; although Dirks looked like he’d kept his hair long.
“Dude.” Dirks walked up, grinning ear to ear, and wrapped me up into a hug. “You look fucking good. Let me see you.” He grabbed my shoulders and pulled away, scanning me up and down. He patted my head. “You actually look like an adult now.”
I laughed. “I am twenty-six.”
“Still a baby, then,” Dirks teased, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and guiding me inside.
“I haven’t skated in over a year,” I admitted, taking in the familiar scent of the arena.
Though the Ravens didn’t play games here, the atmosphere still carried that mix of sweat, chilled air, and all the memories of the ice.
“Ledger mentioned you hadn’t been skating much but said you’d be helping out with the kids,” Dirks said.
“Yeah.” I shrugged. “I guess they thought it’d be a good way for me to make some cash.”
Dirks nodded and then gestured to the locker room. “Need to change, or are you going to skate in that?” He looked me up and down.
I was wearing jeans, a long-sleeve shirt, and a hoodie. “This is fine.”
Dirks chuckled. “Sounds good. They saved the ice for us, so we’re clear to use our sticks. I’m gonna throw my pads on—how about you take some shots at me?”
“For sure.” My eyes drifted toward the rink. It would feel good to have a few moments to myself, to take it all in while Dirks got ready. “I’ll meet you out there.”
Dirks gave me a nod before heading off to the locker room, leaving me alone in the silence.
I walked toward the rink, my steps echoing against the concrete floor, the familiar chill seeping into my bones. The lights hummed above me, pulling me back to a time when this had been everything for me.
I stood at the edge, staring out at the smooth, untouched sheet of ice, and the memories crashed over me. The glow of the lights after a game, the adrenaline of a win. I closed my eyes, but turned toward the press box, where she’d stand—my wife, grinning down at me, proud and happy.
My ex-wife. The other memories crept in—the relentless pressure to be perfect, the late nights drinking, the drugs, the naked women. It all came crashing down, hitting me harder than I’d expected.
I walked over to the benches, grabbed my skates from the bag, and pulled off the guards, then set them aside. I paused and instinctively looked at my hands, searching for the familiar shake, that slight tremor that always signaled the craving creeping in.
I waited, holding my breath, expecting the whispers to start, the urge to reach for a bottle, to drown out the silence that always made me feel too much.
Nothing came. No tremble, no voice in my head telling me to give in. I released a heavy exhale and bent down, slipping my foot into the skate. One loop, then another, I laced them up, feeling the leather tighten around my ankles.
It wasn’t much, but it was a small victory in a fight I hadn’t realized I’d been winning. I pulled the laces tight, double-checking the knots, and for the first time, I felt steady.
When I stepped onto the ice, my skates cut into the surface, and it was a sensation that felt like home.
But I couldn’t escape the bitterness of losing the one thing I was good at.
The entire country had watched me fall apart, quick to label me another wasted talent. And for a while, they weren’t wrong.
I moved to the center and closed my eyes. This was a second chance, a chance to rewrite the story everyone decided was over. It wasn’t about proving anything to anyone else—it was about finding out if I still had it in me. If there was still a spark left beneath all the rubble.
“The one and only Austin Hart, in the flesh,” Dirks called out from the benches.
I glanced up and laughed. “Hardy har.”
He pushed open the door to the rink and stepped onto the ice to join me, already suited up in most of his pads. A pang hit me as I caught sight of the Raven’s logo.
Dirks’s voice snapped me out of it. “Think you can still take a few shots on me?”
I smirked as I grabbed my stick and tapped it against the ice. “Oh, I’ve still got it, old man.”
Dirks laughed, taking his position in front of the net. “We’ll see about that.”
I took a deep breath, and for the first time in a long time, I felt alive. The puck glided effortlessly under my blade, my muscles remembering every move. I charged forward, all the doubts and fears melting away, replaced with pure adrenaline.
I fired a shot, the puck slicing through the air, and Dirks lunged to stop it.
“Still got it,” I muttered, grinning as the puck hit the back of the net.
Dirks shook his head, but he was smiling too. I let myself feel it—the freedom. Maybe this was the start, but it was mine, and I wasn’t letting go.