The ref’s whistle blew and we had a power play. Coach cursed from the bench and yanked the line. “Keegan! You’re in.”
Fresh legs, fresh fire. The rookie vaulted the boards, his eyes flashing with the kind of reckless hunger only a newcomer carried. He tapped my stick as he skated past. “Don’t worry, Cole. I’ve got your back.” And damn if he didn’t mean it. Keegan tore into the play with a speed that caught even Troy off guard, forcing their captain to turn his attention elsewhere for the first time all night. It bought me just enough breathing room to reset, lungs burning, heart pounding.
The clock bled down to four minutes. Tie game. Every muscle in my body screamed for rest, but Coach sent our line out again.
“Last push, boys,” Max said, thumping his stick against mine. We lined up for the draw. The puck dropped, chaos exploding instantly. Kael snatched it, and suddenly the puck was loose at my skates.
I didn’t think. I couldn’t. I just moved.
Troy came for me again, body low, eyes locked on mine like he meant to bury me through the boards. I shifted at the last second, cutting inside, my stick snapping the puck forward. My skates screamed against the ice, power burning through my legs. The crowd rose with me, a single massive heartbeat.
Max cut across, pulling one defender wide. Keegan drove the net, tangling another. That left me—one man, one puck, one chance. The goalie set, crouched low, eyes sharp. He thought he knew my angle. Thought he’d read me.
I let him think it.
At the last heartbeat, I pulled the puck backhand, slid it across my body, and fired forehand high. It sailed clean over his glove, rattling the back of the net so hard it sang.
Goal.
The arena detonated. Sound shook the rafters, a tidal wave of belief crashing down. Max and Keegan barreled into me, helmets slamming mine, gloves hammering my shoulders. I felt the bruises, the exhaustion, the fire in my veins begging to break free of its cage—yet none of it mattered.
Because in that moment, I was exactly who I wanted to be.
Cole Armstrong-Wells. Center for the Colorado Dragons. And the man who just won the bloody game.
Chapter two
Checking from Behind - A dangerous hit delivered to an unsuspecting player.
Phoenix
Hunger wasn’t just a feeling anymore—it was a habit. My first thought when I woke up and the last before sleep.
If I slept.
The Avalon Hotel glittered like a diamond against the night sky of Denver. I adjusted my too-tight shirt in the lobby bathroom mirror, rehearsing a smile that had to suggest both innocence and experience. I’d borrowed these knock-off clothes from Ricky—he always said, “Dress for the job you want.” Tonight, the job I wanted was simple: get upstairs to the Dragons’ victory celebration and find someone with deep pockets. I had a specific target in mind, the one with a rich British daddy that would want to avoid a scandal, but really, any of them would do.
“You got this,” I muttered to the gaunt reflection staring back. Twenty-five shouldn’t look so hollow. Twenty-five shouldn’t have cheekbones that sharp from skipped meals and rent I’d never be able to make unless something changed.
I slipped past hotel security with practiced ease and a fake ID. Confidence was my con: walk like you belong, and most people assume you do. I’d crammed enough hockey lingo off YouTube to survive small talk—player names, positions, that spectacular goal Cole Armstrong scored in the final two minutes. The Colorado Dragons had been at the bottom or nearing it the last two seasons, but things were definitely looking up. Apparently, they had their eyes set on a wildcard placement—whatever that was—but I’d read enough to know no one, not the team, not the managers, not the sponsors, were gonna want to mess that up.
Especially after the scandal of three years ago that had nearly ended the franchise.
I paused and scrolled to the article posted today in case I learned something I could use.
Three Years After the Forge Scandal, the Dragons Finally Start to Rise
By Jenna O'Keefe, Denver Sports Daily — January 6
Three years ago, the Colorado Dragons were the shame of the league. The Forge Scandal—illegal betting, leaked locker-room data, and the lifetime ban of then–head coach Victor Dane—left a franchise in ashes. All but three players gone, two seasons at the bottom of the standings, and a fan base that vowed never to trust again.
Only three men survived the purge. Maxim Renard, then sidelined with a shattered ankle, is now the captain and heartbeat of the team. Taranis Rees, the Scottish-Canadian goaltender brought in at the tail end of that cursed season, became the quiet constant through the worst years the franchise has ever seen. (For the non–Scottish-speaking Dragons among us, Taranis is the name of a Celtic God meaning Thunder. Seems fitting that the only guy who kept the franchise alive shares a homeland with the original fire-breathers.) And Ash Thorne who was a rookie for the scandal season and seems to be trying to prove himself now.
Everything else changed. New management. New systems. New code. And at the center of it all stands Theron Kincaid, the coach who walked into a crater and started over.
“You don’t rebuild something like that,” Kincaid said earlier this week. “You reforge it. Fire makes steel stronger—if it doesn’t melt it first.”
For two years, Kincaid’s “Reforge Project” has been exactly that—slow, methodical, and brutally honest. The team he’s built doesn’t carry ghosts. They’re rookies with something to prove, veterans such as Taranis from losing franchises, or straight transfers. And among them, one name stands out: Cole Armstrong-Wells, the British-born center who joined the Dragons last season and has quietly become the pulse of their new identity.
