And our fans? They loved it.
This wasn’t a joke or some parlor trick. This was us—the Golden Gate Guardians.
Shai appeared through the Zamboni door, golden retriever head in place and camera in hand.
I lined up next to Ryder, waiting for the opening notes of Benson Boone blasting through the speakers. It started, and we held the beat. One count. Two. Then we were off, legs spread, a dip, and the next thing we knew, we were skating in different directions, hitting our marks. The lights dimmed, and spotlights followed us, tracing our movements as we danced on the ice.
Ryder and I skated toward each other like we were about to collide, only to veer off at the last second. Every count, every step was perfectly timed, rehearsed.
But, damn, we were having the time of our lives.
We were a mix of guys—from the US, Canada, Russia, Sweden—rookies, veterans, quiet guys, loudmouths. Everyone was out here together. Even Coach Griff cracked a reluctant grin as I skated by the bench. Frankie didn’t smile, but her eyes? Her eyes locked on me. She was bouncing on her toes, full of nervous energy.
Nervous?
Shit. Someone must have told her.
My mind raced as I tried to keep up with the routine. Was she expecting a proposal? Did she want me to propose? Was I about to let her down?
The music faded, and the team regrouped at center ice. The crowd was on their feet, screaming their lungs out. The roar was so deafening I could barely hear my own thoughts. Even the opposing team was clapping and cheering. Our arena staff knew to stretch the commercial break as long as possible.
Shai skated toward us, mic in hand. It was all part of the plan. “I sure hope you know what you’re doing,” she said, her words muffled by her costume.
I took the mic from her. Until this moment, I hadn’t known exactly what I was going to say, but now it was as clear as day. I loved Frankie. That wasn’t going anywhere. Hockey would always be in my blood, but my body? My body wasn’t so keen on it anymore.
“Uh, hi,” I said, waving into the stands, my voice cracking slightly. “So, my name is Teddy.”
That prompted the usual crowd response: “Valentine!”
I chuckled, raising a hand to wave them off. “Yeah, yeah, you all know my story. Major fuck-up.” My face flushed as I realized what I’d said. “Oh, shit. I don’t think I’m supposed to curse. Ignore that.”
I took a deep breath. My relationship with Frankie wasn’t their business. I knew that now. “I’ve been playing hurt for a long time, and it made me realize something. I’m not invincible. I’m human, and humans can break.”
“Hurry it up,” Ryder muttered next to me. “Game needs to restart.”
I nodded, a tight knot forming in my chest. “I’d like to announce that this is my last game for the Golden Gate Guardians. I’m retiring from hockey.”
I handed the mic back to Shai and skated toward the bench, where all three coaches were staring at me, their mouths hanging open. I wanted to vanish, escape to the locker room to process what I’d just done. There would be consequences. Explanations.
My teammates jostled me, firing questions at me, but I was saved by the ref dropping the puck.
At least for now.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
FRANKIE
"Did you know?" Griff's hand landed on my shoulder, halting me before I could enter the locker room. His voice was low, serious. "That he was going to retire?"
"No," I muttered, still in disbelief. I couldn’t wrap my head around what had just happened. Teddy had quit. Hequitthe team. What the hell had gone down out there? My mind was spinning, unsure of how to feel, what to think.
Griff must've seen the confusion and chaos on my face because he gave me a nod and let me go.
Teddy had slowed down on the ice for a while now, but I'd always thought he'd manage to push through. And truth be told, he wouldn’t have been a massive loss on the ice—his body was breaking down, and everyone could see it. But here, in this locker room, where we’d all bled together?
I entered, and the room was like a funeral. The air felt heavy. Teddy might not have been the captain, but he wastheleader. The guy everyone leaned on. His presence was more than just his skill on the ice—it was his heart, his energy.
Now, the team looked deflated, a little lost, as they waited for us to give the media the green light.
