My dad never said it out loud. But I saw it in his eyes the day I left for juniors.You’re choosing this over us?
Maybe he was right. Maybe I did choose the fake world over the real one. Billboards and protein powder endorsements instead of a life that was grounded and ours for generations.
“Yeah?” I mutter, more to myself than anyone else. “Doesn’t feel that way when everyone back home pities me.”
That lands heavier than I mean it to. The room goes quiet for a second. Even Tanner shuts his mouth. We all know how tochirp each other. It’s part of the job, part of the bond. But we also know when the line’s crossed. When it cuts too deep, the chirping stops. That’s the unspoken rule.
Dmitri claps my shoulder, firm. “She is not the right girl. If she cannot love a man who chases dreams, then she is a small dream herself. You want a small dream, Kane?”
I stare at my skates. Hannah chose security. My dad chose tradition. And I chose... What? Fame? Money? A life that fits in a suitcase?
“No,” I say finally. “I don’t.”
“Exactly. You need a big dream. Big girl. Big life. You are a Defender. You are an Alaska bear. That girl?” He shrugs, snorts. “Her loss.”
Some of the guys chuckle, the noise trickling back, softer this time. The tension eases. They’re letting me know:we’ve got your back.
I sit on the bench staring at my laces, wondering how the hell I’m going to survive going home for Christmas.
The door swings open and Joy slips in. Phone up, Defenders hoodie drowning her to mid-thigh, bare legs, split-sole jazz shoes. Her lanyard swings—a staff badge clipped to the hem of her hoodie,Joy Preston, Digital Mediaprinted in block letters. Every head turns.
She’s run our socials for six months and it’s been denim and oversized hoodies, always. She lives in the same building a bunch of us use; I’ve shared lobbies and elevators with her more times than I can count.
But the legs are new, and my brain misfires—a full-on prehistoric flicker I couldn’t excuse if I said it out loud.
“Whoa, whoa,” Tanner yells, yanking his towel higher. “Warning, please. Some of us are indecent.”
“Some?” Novak hollers. “Try all of us.”
Dmitri spreads his arms, shirtless and smug. “I am always decent. Ladies love me. But I am in love.”
Joy doesn’t blink. “Relax. I’ve seen knees before. Yours aren’t special.”
Laughter roars. She claims the middle of the floorspace. “Okay. Holiday TikToks. Don’t complain. Don’t whine. Fans love it. And before anyone tries—yes, it’s in your contracts under ‘reasonable promotional obligations.’ Translation: I own you for the next thirty minutes.”
Groans. No movement. She doesn’t flinch.
Tanner chirps, “You know how much we already suffer for the fans?”
Her look could strip paint. “You make seven figures to chase a puck. I don’t feel sorry for you.”
I try not to stare. Fail. Bare legs, steady stance, cool, lethal poise. In a locker room full of half-dressed loudmouths, she doesn’t shrink or apologize. A live wire, perfectly leashed.
She taps her iPad. “Pairings. Dmitri, you’re with Novak. Santa hats. Yes, you’ll wear them. The fans will be delighted.” A pause. “And now, for the dance videos.”
Tanner points across the room. “O’Reilly. He’s got the best moves.”
Hoots. Bangs. Finn smirks, towel low, soaking it in. He lives for this.
Joy lifts a brow. “Oh, I’ve seen O’Reilly dance.” The corner of her mouth tips. “I’ve got the perfect song for him lined up.”
The men howl. Finn bows. “I can dance to anything you hit me with, darlin’. Just say the word.”
“Thank you for not making a fuss.” Her gaze cuts to me. “Kane, I’ve seen you dance too.”
My chest tightens. “Oh yeah?”
Her grin widens. “Not bad at all. Promising, even. Which means—” tap on the phone “—you’re dancing with me.”
