Captain Bellamy Novels & Stories

“Ward Bennett is not just any player. He brings massive sponsorship money and investment to this franchise. What if Dr. Matthews makes even one small mistake? What if Ward’s recovery suffers? You signed a contract with this team not Matthew. You have a responsibility!” I felt my cheeks burn with humiliation and frustration. “I understand my responsibility. But I also have to protect my own mental health and professionalism. Ward and I have history. It was becoming too complicated. I made the call for the good of everyone.” Dr. Timothy opened his mouth to yell again, but the door opened once more. Jax walked in casually, wearing a light jacket and jeans, with that charming smile on his face.

"What did you say, you little..." "Enough." One word. Low, deep, and commanding. It stopped James in his tracks. The team captain walked in. Alexander Whitman, as the public knew him was a giant. He was six-foot-four of pure muscle, with jet-black hair and grey eyes that looked like storm clouds. He was the "Ice King," the man who never lost. He was also, Oliver noted privately, extremely hot. Alexander didn't look at Oliver. He looked at James. "Coach is waiting. Get your gear."

He snapped a wrist shot into the top corner of the net so hard the black puck rattled violently inside the twine. Ethan slammed his stick against the plexiglass in celebration, cheering. Damon coasted backward, turning toward the stands to wipe sweat from his brow with his glove. His dark eyes scanned the perimeter until they locked onto me standing by the tunnel. Even from fifty feet away across a crowded ice rink, I saw his entire demeanor shift. The ruthless, cutthroat captain melted away. A tiny, quiet smile touched his lips—a private, subtle look meant entirely for me. My betraying heart gave a sudden, painful flutter. I couldn't help it. I smiled back.

"You want the other part." "Yes." "I have never moved that fast in my life," he repeated, quieter now, each word deliberate, stripping away every ounce of his usual arrogant captain swagger. "Because there was nothing left in me that could have let them take you. Nothing rational. Nothing careful. Just five years of pretending you were an enemy, breaking apart in about four seconds flat." My throat worked overtime, desperately searching for a witty comeback that wouldn't make me sound like a teenager reading a diary. "You're supposed to be my enemy."