2

A deep groan clawed its way out of my chest as my phone kept vibrating against my nightstand like it had a personal vendetta against me.

For a split second, I considered letting it die.

It didn’t.

I snatched it up without checking the caller ID. “What?!” I barked, voice thick with sleep and last night’s bad decisions.

“Are you deadass?” Joe’s voice exploded through the speaker. No good morning. 

“Coach asked us to be present this morning. We have a new member. And you—as our captain—are still in bed?”

My eyes flew open.

Shit.

I shot upright so fast the room tilted. Sunlight stabbed through the blinds like punishment. My head pounded in protest, my mouth dry as sandpaper. I glanced at the time.

Ten minutes.

Practice started in ten fucking minutes.

“Oh fuck,” I muttered, dragging a hand down my face. Memories from last night came in flashes—neon lights, bass shaking the floor, a body pressed against mine in a dark hallway. Hands. A mouth. Teeth grazing my shoulder. The smell of cologne and sweat.

I got absolutely wasted.

And thoroughly wrecked by— What was his name again? Wait, did he even leave? When? I sure do hope no one saw him. I don’t want to start explaining why a man is leaving my dorm so early. 

I frowned, trying to piece it together. I didn’t push to, it’s probably for the best. Fuck and forget about it.

“You better be joking,” Joe continued when I didn’t answer fast enough. “Coach is already in a mood. If you stroll in late today, he’s gonna lose it.”

“I will be there soon,” I said, already kicking off my sheets and stumbling out of bed. My head spun, but panic sobered me up faster than coffee ever could.

“You have five minutes before I tell him you died.”

“Love you too,” I muttered, hanging up before he could reply.

I rushed around my room, dragging on sweats and a hoodie, grabbing my duffel bag off the chair. My reflection in the mirror made me pause for half a second.

Messy hair. Faint marks along my collarbone.

I swore under my breath and yanked the hoodie higher.

Captain.

Get it together.

**********

By the time I skidded into the rink, my lungs were burning and my hangover had evolved into full-blown self-hatred. The familiar smell of ice and sweat hit me as I pushed through the double doors.

Coach’s voice echoed across the rink.

Great. I’m late.

The team was already gathered at center ice, helmets off, sticks resting against their shoulders. Coach stood in front of them, arms crossed behind his back, that permanent crease between his brows looking deeper than usual.

I slipped in quietly at the back, hoping to blend in.

No such luck.

Coach’s eyes snapped to me immediately.

“Nice of you to join us, Captain.”

A few of the guys snickered under their breath. Joe shot me a look that clearly said you’re dead.

“Sorry, Coach,” I muttered, jaw tight.

He held my stare for a second longer than necessary, then turned back to the team.

“As I was saying,” he continued, voice hard and steady, “last night was a close call. Too close. We got lucky.”

The mood shifted instantly. The celebration from hours ago felt distant now.

“Harper took a bad hit in the third period. Torn ligaments. He’s out for the season.”

A low curse left someone’s mouth. My stomach dropped.

Harper.

Damn.

He’d gone down hard against the boards, but I hadn’t realized it was that bad.

Coach nodded once. “He won’t be joining us anytime soon.” 

“But,” Coach continued, clasping his hands behind his back again, “we’re fortunate.”

“We have a transfer student joining us this semester. Played varsity at his previous school. Strong stats. Solid build. He’ll be filling Harper’s position.”

A murmur rippled through the group. Joe leaned slightly toward me. “Told you.” I ignored him, focusing on Coach.

“Captain,” Coach said suddenly.

Shit.

“Yes, sir.”

“You’ll make sure he integrates properly. I expect leadership from you. Understood?”

“Understood.”

“So team, I’d like you to meet Noah…” Coach paused, turning slightly toward the bench.

My stomach dropped before I even looked.

Please don’t.

Please—

“Oh fuck no,” I muttered under my breath as he stepped forward.

It was him.

Dark hair falling perfectly messy over his forehead. Broad shoulders stretching the practice jersey. That same sharp jaw I had my hand wrapped around last night.

“He’s our new winger,” Coach continued, completely unaware that my entire nervous system had just short-circuited. “Transferred this semester. Solid stats. He’ll be taking Harper’s spot.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

That’s the guy I hooked up with yesterday.

Of course he is.

Because apparently the universe woke up today and chose violence.

A winger.

Which means he’s not just on the team.

He’s on my line.

I felt Joe glance at me. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he muttered.

I couldn’t even respond.

Noah’s eyes found mine instantly.

Recognition flickered.

Then came that slow, dangerous smirk.

The same one he wore when he had me pressed against the wall in that dark hallway. The same one right before he—

I forced the memory down.