CHAPTER ONE
Easton
The reporter's voice grated like nails on a chalkboard.
"Easton! Is it true you're washed up? Time to hang up the skates?"
Keep walking, Henley.
He stepped into my path, blocking the hallway outside the Shadow Wolves' practice facility.
"Come on, give us something. The fans want to know if you are going to retire before you embarrass yourself further?"
My jaw clenched. Heat crawled up my neck.
"Move," I growled.
"What about your father? Think he'd be proud of how his legacy turned out?"
The world went red.
My hand shot out before I could stop it, fingers wrapping around his throat as I slammed him against the wall. His eyes bulged, and the camera clattered to the floor.
"Don't you ever…" The words came out as a dangerous whisper.
"Henley!" Coach Martin's voice cracked through the air like a whip. "My office. Now."
I released the reporter, who slumped against the wall, gasping. The other journalists had their phones out, already recording, already spreading the story across every sports site and social media platform.
Trending before I even reached the coach's office.
"Sit down."
I remained standing, hands clenched at my sides. Adrenaline still pumped through my veins, making my fingers tingle.
"I said sit."
Something in Coach Martin's tone made me drop into the chair. Pain throbbed behind my eyes. It was the same spot that always flared after a fight.
"This is the third incident this season, Henley. The third." Coach Martin barely spoke above a whisper. "I've defended you to management. I've kept the worst of your outbursts out of the press. But this?" He gestured toward the door. "This I can't fix."
"So what happens now?" The words tasted like ash.
"Now? You're suspended until we say otherwise."
"You can't do that! We're only at the beginning of the season!"
"Watch me." Coach Martin leaned forward. "Get your anger under control, or you're done. I don't care how many goals you've scored. I don't care about your history with this franchise. You're a liability, Henley."
The chair hit the floor with a crack as I shot to my feet. "This is bullshit."
"Prove me wrong," Coach called after me as I stormed out. "Get help before you destroy everything you've worked for."
I shouldered past a rookie player and the assistant coaches. Their stares burned my back as I headed for the parking garage.
My key scraped metal three times before I got it in the lock of my BMW. My hands wouldn't stop trembling.
Finally, I got in, and the engine roared to life. I peeled out of the garage, tires squealing against concrete. When I got on to the highway, I went eighty-five in a sixty-five mile zone.
