Chapter 1
August
August stood out of the way as much as he could, though at six-foot-seven, there was no hiding him. He loathed this. The press of unfamiliar bodies, and the sensation of being trapped in a sea of faces he neither knew nor wished to know.
Every effort to avoid notice felt pointless. Eyes followed him the moment he crossed any threshold, even in a massive airport where crowds should have erased him. Their gawking stares set his skin ablaze, heat crawling up his neck until his ears rang with an insistent buzzing.
His temper was always like that; restless and volatile—an unseen pressure building beneath the surface, waiting for the smallest spark to erupt into an inferno.
It was one of the reasons why August played hockey. Who needed anger management and therapy when you could beat the shit out of someone on the ice and get cheered for it?
And that was acceptable on the ice, but dealing with his emotional problems off ice was the difficult part. August didn’t normally have an issue when he was alone in the comfort of his home, but here?
The pointing. The laughing. The excitement and crossing of personal space boundaries.
He hated it.
August had put on a Bigfoots cap and sunglasses that morning to hide his white-dyed hair and face, but it didn’t help much. He was a recognizable celebrity to most people in Vancouver, and a freak of nature to the rest.
August didn’t know why his captain had sent him to pick up their new teammate when they had staff who could help the newbie out. Hell, the guy was an adult who should be able to figure shit out on his own.
Knowing Eren Callahan, there was an ulterior motive behind it. The captain of the Vancouver Bigfoots never did anything half-assed.
August had purposely put himself out of the team loop during the summer after they lost the cup last season. To come so close only to lose ingame seven was a huge hit to the ego, and he was maybe, kind of, not really—moping about it.
It wasn’t as if the Bigfoots had ever stood a chance; not with Jett Fraser tearing through the playoffs like a one-man wrecking crew, leaving every team in ruins behind him. The Sunbursts’ star had always ranked among the league’s elite, but whatever happened over Christmas break, which was still a closely guarded secret, had pushed him into a league of his own.
August liked Fraser. He liked his sunny personality and his loyalty to his team, which was arguably one of the worst in the league.
During the last game, August spoke with Fraser because he felt like he had to saysomething. The December incident wasn’t talked about for privacy reasons, but August had seen the scars on Fraser’s arms thanks to pictures from nosey people on the internet, and he’d seen the state of Harrison Killinger, too.
August sensed something profound had happened. A life-threatening situation would throw any player off their game, but not Fraser.
And that’s why August shook his hand that night.
Anyone watching could take it however they liked, but August knew a tough sonofabitch when he saw one, and it wouldn’t have felt right to go against an opponent like Fraser without acknowledging how badass he was.
It didn’t make the loss hurt less, but if there was anyone August could stand losing against, it was Jett Fraser.
Until next season.
On top of all his sulking over the Cup loss, August now had to play babysitter to their newest teammate, who was a former Sunburst, of all people. It was his job to show the guy around the city and drag him to training camp to meet the rest of the team. Which was ridiculous, really, because August was hardly the friendliest face on the Bigfoots’ roster—
His thoughts screeched to a halt as the realization hit—this was exactly why Callahan had sent him.
The memory came back abruptly. A post-playoff gathering at the captain’s house, where sympathy beers had been passed around, and conversations lingered in the haze of defeat.
August had only shown up out of obligation, slipping into a corner seat where he could scroll through Tinder profiles in peace while his teammates raised hell around him. The plan worked…briefly. Then Callahan caught sight of his lone-wolf routine, and before August knew it, he was pinned with a drink in hand, spilling his woes to the captain like he was at confession.
Because, despite spending two years with the Bigfoots, August hadn’t formed a single lasting friendship.
Not that he’d really tried.
Most of the guys were older, married, or busy chasing after toddlers instead of going to nightclubs. Domestic life wasn’t August’s world. Maybe one day he’d want it; the house, the wife, the kids, but until he found some miracle of a woman willing to put up with him, it wasn’t in the cards.
Not fitting in with the rest of the team only deepened his sense of being an outsider. August was their youngest player with nothing to show for himself beyond hockey. And, thanks to a few too many beers and Callahan’s sympathetic pats on the back, he’d spilled every bit of that information to his captain.
So now, August was standing in the middle of a busy airport while he waited for his newest teammate to show up. A teammate who was younger than him, and who had a Stanley Cup trophy under his belt with the champion ring to prove it.
