Chapter One
WADE
Ever have one of those moments where life takes a left turn when you were about to make a right? Life is great. Seamless. Moving along as expected. Then, something happens that changes everything.
Like a text from your friend, saying they got the PR job you recommended them for. Seems innocent enough. Except this is Aubrey Sutton—my best friend.
Or used to be anyway.
I’ve known Bree since I was ten years old, but over the last year, we hardly talked or texted. At all.
Which is odd, considering we once talked and texted regularly. But I get it. Life happens. However, for Bree to go radio silent and not even reply to my texts? For a year? That’s not our norm.
Still, she was the first person who sprang to mind when the paparazzi showed up at the arena after a news leak revealed that Payton Maxwell, our star center, is connected to British royalty. I’m still wrapping my head around that bit of trivia. I figured the Pay-man hailed from an uppity English family—how could henot when his full name is Payton Gerard Maxwell the 3rd, and he sounds like he came from a polo match?
We needed someone equipped to handle press like that, and I happened to know someone who fit the bill to a branded T.
I glance at Bree’s text again.
Bree: Wade, they hired me! I got the job! Thank you so much for the recommendation. You’re a lifesaver!
See? It’s a win-win situation—she needed a job, and we needed a publicist to help navigate our growing popularity. Among other things, like a rookie doing something stupid. Don’t even get me started on that one.
I put my phone down and tug the towel hanging around my neck over my head to dry my hair. The rest of the guys straggle in from the showers to finish getting dressed.
Coach worked us hard today, on and off the ice. Plus, I had an extended training session with my goalie coach. The Sun Kings are on a winning streak, and we aim to keep it.
Right winger Mathéo Barbier, aka Barbie-man, lifts his chin at me in acknowledgment as he walks by, followed by Elias Brunner, who plays defense. Those two stick as close to each other off the ice as on. Maybe it’s because they’re both transplants from different countries—Canada and Switzerland—so they have a lot in common.
Plus, Elias is the only other team member who can speak some French with Mathéo, despite claiming Elias’s French is a Swiss dialect of his mother tongue. But you didn’t hear that from me.
Payton strolls in, hashing out the last play during practice with Ethan McKennen, who’s paired on defense with Elias, aka the E-team.
“Coach said play up the center. When I passed the puck, you were supposed to feed it to Brunner,” Ethan says, pointing to his partner, “so he could backhand it to Barbier.”
Pay-man nods but then shakes his head. “Yes, if I were blocked. I wasn’t, so I made the shot.”
Ethan pops him on the shoulder. “This was practice, bro. Save the goals for the actual game and get with the program.”
“Bloody hell.” Payton stops, clutching his towel at his waist with one hand while gesturing with the other. “Give a man credit where credit’s due, at least. I passed the biscuit to Barbie-man on the first go.”
Our team captain, Luke “Jammer” Jameson, grunts and shakes his head. “Whatever you need to show up ready, Pay.”
Payton snorts but grins with mischief. “What a lot you are.”
After pulling on his jeans, Elias stands next to Ethan. “You’re both right.”
Ethan scowls at him. “We’re not in Switzerland, Brunner. Pick a side.”
I tug on my joggers and face them. “Fellas, take a rest. We need the E-team at their best tomorrow. Just do your job.”
They look at each other, then relent and nod. They’re mostly blowing off steam over our game tomorrow night against Savannah, the team we love to hate largely because one of their players seems to have it out for Payton. Probably because he’s one of the best snipers in the league.
Thankfully, Luke is a great captain. He knows how to handle the guys on the ice, and he keeps his cool with the refs. But I’m the peacemaker in this bunch. Not sure how I wound up with that job, but I don’t mind. As goalie, I can’t be captain, but I can contribute some of what I learned in keeping the peace with my two sisters, one of whom—Piper—plays in the Professional Women’s Hockey League and is a spitfire, to boot.
I knew my younger sister was destined for hockey the day she slammed me in the gut at age nine with my own hockey stick. The girl packed a punch, and she still does, whereas Ellie, my youngest sister, recently started college to become a lawyer, which suits her argumentative side.
A chirp from my phone pulls me back to the bench, and I’m not at all prepared for what I see there.
