“The first rule of the game? Don’t fall for the boss.” Atlan Wolfe was supposed to be making a comeback. After his career with the Flyers went up in flames, joining the Chicago Blackhawks was his last shot at redemption. All he needed to do was stay focused, stay clean, and stay out of trouble. Then James Carter walked in, the billionaire heir pulling the team’s strings from behind the scenes. Young, powerful, and dangerously charming, James is everything Atlan swore to avoid. But one reckless spark turns into a fire neither of them can control. The world isn’t ready for a scandal like this. Hockey fans worship Atlan as a hero. Shareholders expect James to be untouchable. Their desire could cost Atlan his career and James his empire. In the end, Atlan must choose, his glory on the ice… or the forbidden man who makes him feel alive.
View MoreThe air inside the rink was sharp and cold, every breath searing his lungs like frost. The crowd was already restless, cheering, jeering, stamping their feet against the metal bleachers. It didn’t matter which side they were on. Tonight, they wanted blood.
Atlan Wolfe tugged his helmet down, stick gripped tight between his gloves. His coach barked orders from the bench, but he barely heard them over the roar. He didn’t play hockey to follow rules. He played because it was the only place where he could hit, shove, fight and be applauded for it.
The puck dropped.
Immediately, Atlan launched forward, blades tearing across the ice. The world blurred into speed and sweat. He caught the puck with a sharp flick of his stick, slicing past one defenseman, then another. The crowd roared louder, his pulse thundering in time.
“Move it, Wolfe!” someone shouted from the bench.
The next second, his body slammed into the boards. His vision rattled, helmet smacking against the glass. The rival player leaned in close, sneering through the cage of his mask.
“You skate like your mother,” he hissed, low enough only Atlan could hear.
Red fog filled his vision.
Before the ref could whistle, Atlan dropped his gloves. His fists connected with a satisfying crack against the rival’s jaw. The other man swung back, his knuckles glancing off Atlan’s cheek, sparks bursting across his vision.
The crowd went wild. Chants shook the arena as they grappled, skates carving deep lines into the ice. Blood smeared across Atlan’s knuckles, across the rival’s lip. He welcomed the sting, the chaos, the pure release of fury no amount of training could cage.
“Wolfe! Enough!” his coach screamed.
The referees surged forward, yanking them apart. Atlan wrenched free long enough to land one last savage punch that sent the rival sprawling across the ice.
The ref blew his whistle hard enough to pierce through the noise. “Wolfe, that’s game misconduct. You’re ejected. Get your things and go!”
Atlan spat blood into the ice as he skated off, chest heaving, the crowd torn between roaring approval and furious boos. His teammates didn’t even look at him when he passed the bench. They were used to this. Too tired of cleaning up his messes.
The locker room was worse, silent except for the drip of melting ice from his pads. He tore off his gloves and slammed them into his cubby. Another penalty, another game ruined and another reason for management to finally cut him loose.
“Fuck,” he muttered into his fist, slamming his head against the wall as he tried to catch his breath. He heard the final whistle blow twice, signifying the end of the game. The players would soon come into the locker room, and he didn’t want to deal with their judgmental stares.
He stripped off his gear, shoved it into his bag, and slung it over his shoulder without bothering to zip it up. Walking out, he slammed the locker door so hard the windows rattled in response.
The voices of his teammates echoed down the hallway.
“That back there was sick, man. He keeps pulling these stunts every time and we’re just so tired of it,” one voice said. Atlan recognized it as one of his forwards.
The voices hushed when they spotted him.
“Hey, Atlan. Coach said to see him in his office before you leave,” Danny, the goalie and the only one Atlan considered a friend or more than a friend said to him. A knowing look passed between them as Atlan pushed his way past them.
At the office door, he reached for the knob but froze when voices inside filtered through.
“The general manager didn’t like this at all. Our biggest sponsor is threatening to pull out if we don’t kick him off the team, Gared,” Phil, the assistant coach, said.
“We can’t just kick him off. His mother just died, that would be devastating. He’s just going through a rough patch right now, and you know this, Phil,” Gared, the head coach, replied.
“They’re calling a board meeting to discuss his future here. The league season starts in a few months. We don’t need someone who fights everyone on the rink,” Phil pressed.
Atlan decided he’d heard enough and yanked the door open. Both men turned toward him.
“Come in, Wolfe. How long have you been standing there?” Gared asked.
“Not long, Coach. Danny said you wanted to see me.”
“Yes. I’ll go straight to the point. Tomorrow, there will be a board meeting to discuss your contract and your future here. Your behavior these last few months has been unacceptable, Wolfe. We know it might have to do with your mother’s death, but you’re putting the team’s performance at risk.”
Atlan’s jaw ticked. “I hear you, Coach. Whatever the outcome of the meeting, I’ll accept it in good faith.” Without waiting for another word, he stormed out.
The cold outside bit through his hoodie. He fumbled with his keys, hands trembling too much to find the lock.
“Fuck this!” he yelled, slamming his fist against the roof of the car.
A throat cleared behind him.
He spun, expecting his coach or his agent. Instead, a man in a black wool coat leaned casually against his car. No jersey, no clipboard, no pity in his expression, just sharp, calculating interest.
“I thought hockey was supposed to be a sport,” the stranger said smoothly. “Not a street brawl.”
“Who the hell are you?” Atlan snapped, sizing him up. Expensive watch, expensive coat and calculating eyes.
“I represent Carter Enterprises,” the man said, pulling a sleek card from his pocket. “I’m sure you’ve heard of us.”
Atlan snorted. Of course he had. Carter Enterprises owned half the league, including the Blackhawks, the most lucrative team in the country. The team every player dreamed of joining.
“You scouting me?” Atlan asked bitterly. “Didn’t look like much of a tryout.”
The man’s lips curled faintly. “You fight like a criminal. You play like you’ve got fire in your veins. My employer likes fire. But he also likes control. If you can’t learn the second part…” He slid the card toward him. “…you’ll burn yourself out before your career even begins.”
Atlan’s jaw tightened. “And if I don’t care about control?”
“Then you’ll never set foot on real ice again,” the man replied. “But if you’re willing to leash that temper, you might just catch the attention of someone who could change your life.”
Silence stretched. Only the drip-drip of melting snow filled the air. Atlan glanced down at the card. Embossed letters gleamed: Carter Enterprises. Private Office.
“Not interested. I already have a contract with my team and I can’t stand the Blackhawks. Now if you’d get off my car, I need to leave.” He shoved the card back and slid into the driver’s seat.
The stranger adjusted his coat, already turning to leave. “I know you’re about to be kicked off your team, Wolfe. The Flyers are a backend team. When was the last time they won the Stanley Cup? Or any cup that mattered?”
“I won the Hart’s Cup for most valuable player last year,” Atlan shot back.
The man smirked. “Yeah, but they don’t value you, do they? Think about that. I’ll be in touch. My boss doesn’t take no for an answer.”
“Your glass is empty, Atlan darling, let me help,” Lila said, and before Atlan could protest, she tipped the wine bottle into his glass, filling it again until it almost spilled.She had been laughing too loudly and pressing against him all night. Every brush of her hand, every tilt of her body against his had been deliberate. He was almost at his breaking point, fighting to keep his composure.“It’s almost ten, Lila,” Atlan said firmly, trying to anchor the evening before it slipped further out of control. “I think we should leave. If you came with your car, I’ll drop you off at home and then grab an Uber back.”“Nooo,” she whined, snatching his glass and taking another sip. “Let’s go to your place instead.”She wasn’t drunk. Not fully. Not yet. Her laughter carried too much calculation, her eyes sharp despite the haze of wine. She had been performing the entire evening, not for Atlan, but for the man watching them from above. James Carter. She had succeeded in holding his attention,
Lila adjusted the sheer top clinging to her frame, tugging it ever so slightly so that the neckline revealed just enough cleavage to catch the eye. She gave her reflection a slow, approving glance as she pushed her breasts upward, ensuring they were framed to perfection.Her scheme was already unfolding exactly as she had envisioned. If James Carter wasn’t going to fall for her naturally, then she would force his hand. All it would take was planting seeds of jealousy, letting them take root until they consumed him. And who better to use as bait than his newest “investment,” the brooding hockey player Atlan Wolfe?The thought alone made her lips curl into a satisfied smile. If there was one thing she knew about James Carter, it was that he hated losing. He didn’t just hate it, he took it personally. And if she could make him believe that he was losing her, losing to someone beneath him, then she would win him in the most exhilarating way possible.Oh, the look on his face when he had s
Sweat trickled down Atlan's forehead as he pushed himself through his morning run. The city was quiet at this hour, the streets painted in faint gold by the rising sun. Running had become more than a routine for him, it was his way of clearing his head, of silencing the noise that clawed at him every time he thought about the upcoming season. Two weeks until the season opener. Two weeks to prove that he belonged on the Blackhawks.He slowed to a jog as he neared the hotel, his chest rising and falling steadily. Just as he bent forward to catch his breath, he spotted a familiar black SUV parked outside. A sharp ache of annoyance tugged at him.He walked over and knocked on the passenger-side window. The glass slid down, and Norman’s sharp, calculating eyes met his.“I’ve been calling your phone all morning, Wolfe. Did you lose it already?” Norman said dryly.Atlan leaned on the window frame, still breathing hard. “I went for a run. Left my phone upstairs. What’s the problem?”Norman’s
“What are you doing here, Sophia?” James asked, fumbling with his shirt cuff, his tone clipped, though his jaw was tight with annoyance.Sophia leaned against the wall with an easy smirk, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “I’m pretty sure you should be asking yourself that question, baby brother.”James straightened, irritation flickering across his face. “I’m on a date, Sophia. Now, if you’d excuse me, I’d very much like to return to it.” He moved to step past her, but she slid smoothly into his path, blocking him.“Cut the crap, James,” she said sharply, her voice laced with steel. “We both know you don’t like Lila. And I know for a fact you weren’t in that room with her, because I just came from the course, and she’s still there. So…” she tilted her head toward the door behind him, her finger pointing with deliberate precision, “who exactly is inside that room?”“That’s none of your business, Sophia. What are you even doing here?” James bit out, his patience thinning.“I was in the
The golf ball rolled back toward him, stopping neatly by his shoes. Instead of bending to pick it up, James gave it a lazy kick with the toe of his polished loafer, sending it skittering across the green.The sun was merciless, a white hot glare that made the manicured grass shimmer. The only saving grace was the wide umbrella shading him. Apparently, Lila Harrington’s idea of a “perfect date” was dragging him to a golf course in the middle of a scorching afternoon.He would have much rather been indoors, preferably in a bedroom. Not because he was particularly invested in her, but because sex was simple, physical, and required no promises. Unfortunately, he knew indulging Lila would be dangerous. The moment she mistook pleasure for commitment, he’d be shackled to expectations he had no intention of fulfilling.“Yay!” Lila squealed, her voice carrying across the quiet course. She clapped excitedly when her ball dropped neatly into the hole. “Did you see that, James? It went in!”She c
Atlan walked to the sleek black car waiting outside the bar and knocked on the passenger window. James rolled it down, eyes glinting with amusement. “So, what’s going on? Are you going to come in or what?” Atlan asked, leaning down slightly. “Nah. Bars like this aren’t my style.” James’s voice was cool, controlled. “Get in. Let’s go for a spin. There are some very important people who want to meet you.” He pressed a button, and the locks clicked open. Atlan raised his brows, clearly confused. “I think the proper thing you should’ve done was inform me beforehand about this meeting. I just came from practice. Not exactly dressed to impress.” James cocked his head and gave a wry smile. “I don’t like repeating my orders, Wolfe. Get in.” Atlan paused, jaw tightening. He wanted to snap back, but his pride stopped him. Instead, he pursed his lips, opened the door, and slid into the leather seat. The car smelled faintly of expensive cologne and power, James’s world, not his. As the car
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