Captain Hardrock Novels & Stories

​Rhys kept his hand locked tightly in mine, his grip firm and unyielding, a physical reminder of the boundary we had crossed. ​The corporate wars were still active, but the hockey captain and his nutritionist were no longer running from the storm. ​We were the storm.

It was already too late. A tear leaked out, tracing a path down my temple and soaking into my hair. I pressed my palm against my stomach, wishing I could somehow turn back the clock. Bradley is going to be so heartbroken, I thought, a sob catching in my throat. Bradley Norwood. My husband. The billionaire captain of the city’s hockey team, a man who literally had the world at his fingertips. He was larger than life, a fierce competitor who hated losing more than anything. And underneath all that rough, athletic exterior, he had this quiet obsession with the future.

Nathan happened to walk by, stick in hand. I figured that as captain he'd at least do something about the toxic bullying. Instead he was frowning, still griping to the vice-captain. "Our blue-line defense was like wet paper today. Bunch of useless idiots." He didn't even glance at the jerseys strewn across the floor, just took one long stride over them and strode off. Watching his arrogant back, I let out a bitter laugh. Back in my dorm that night, with nowhere to vent, I logged straight into my hockey-forum alt account: IceTyrant.

What's he going to do to Declan? Stress builds up under my skin making it hard to get air to my lungs, will I ever be the same? Cramps settle in my stomach while my chest heaves up and down in rapid movements. I hate when I get like this, I can't control my own body, and then start to see in twos. I need Declan, he's my rock, the only thing that takes it all away. I can't live without him. Water pools out of my eyes as I try to shake my head to get my vision back. Nothing is working.

"Last night was... a mistake," Alexander said. He walked over to the bed, picking up his watch. His hands were shaking slightly. "It was the adrenaline. The stress. I had too much to drink." "You were sober, Alex," Oliver corrected him gently. "We both were." "Don't call me that," Alexander snapped. He finally looked Oliver in the eye. "I am the captain of the New York Glaciers. I have a reputation. I have sponsors. I can't... I can't do this."

“Not Suarez. Me.” “I couldn’t. Marco begged me not to say anything, and I wasn’t going to break that just to save my own eligibility.” “I know.” Harrelson’s face, usually unreadable, softened into something almost like pride, buried deep under decades of gruffness. “That’s exactly why I didn’t push harder when you stonewalled the board. A kid willing to torch his own reputation to protect a teammate is exactly the kind of captain I want leading this team into a championship. I just wish you’d trusted me enough to let me help you do it smarter.”

Just a father who'd already decided, and a version of myself that kept bleeding effort into a contest that was rigged before either of us understood the rules. I built something else instead, out there beyond IronVale's borders. Not a kingdom, nothing that grand. Just a life that belonged entirely to me, border work, mercenary contracts, eventually command of my own small unit made up of men who judged me on competence rather than birth order. Mac found me two years into that exile, half-starved and half-feral, and somehow decided I was worth following anyway. I never fully understood why, but I've been grateful for it every day since.