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“What the fuck, bro?” I say to West, moving a little closer to get in his face. “It might’ve started out a bit unconventional, but I’m genuinely falling for her.”

“Aw, isn’t that sweet?” he goads me with more sarcasm. “Cash and Ivy sitting in a tree…”

I’m about to slam him up against the locker when Coach walks in. He’s carrying a paper cup of coffee like usual and looks like he’s just casually passing through to head to the glass to observe what we do out on the ice ahead of camp, but he immediately spots the tension in the locker room.

“Season hasn’t even started yet, and we’re already tense in the locker room?” he asks, looking between West and me.

“It’s nothing, Coach,” I mutter.

He walks over as I back away from West.

“Can I have a word with you, Maddox?” he asks.

I sigh and follow him into the hallway between the locker room and the ice.

“I’ve seen the headlines about you in the offseason. Congratulations on the wedding, but whatever the fuck is going on with you, with your wife, with your life, figure it the fuck out. We’re on a fucking Cup run this season, and I can’t have you and your best winger already fighting before training camp even gets underway. Get your shit together, and get your focus where the fuck it needs to be.”

I’ve never heard a speech from Coach Rick Burnett with fewer than five expletives in it. He must’ve gotten some hot pussy in the offseason.

“I assure you I’ll be focused,” I say.

But the truth is clear. If I’m not the best, I’ll fade into irrelevance. I’m thirty-fucking-three as of today. I’m heading into the twilight of my career, and this could be it. I need that Cup to leave the final mark on my career, to create the legacy I’ve always wanted to leave behind. To make my mom proud.

We got so goddamn close last season, and then it all faded away. This year, we’re back with a vengeance.

But if Coach can see I’m already unfocused, that’s a terrifying thought.

He studies me a few beats as if to really make sure I heard him, which I did. He turns to head toward the bleachers to view the ice. “And happy birthday, Maddox,” he calls behind him.

Doesn’t feel very happy anymore despite the start it got late last night.

I draw in a few deep breaths before I return to the locker room.

“What’d he say to you?” West asks.

“He said he thought you sucked last season and didn’t know how to tell you, so he asked me to do it. Step it up, Sellers.”

Kellan and Tomas laugh, but West looks pissed.

I move in and lower my voice so it’s just for him without anyone else overhearing. “He told me to maintain focus. And he’s right. Stop treating my marriage like the punchline of some joke. It’s real to me now, so fuck off with how it started. I refuse to let offseason shit affect locker room culture. Okay?”

He nods, and he lifts his hand for a fist bump. He’s a good dude…when he’s not being a total douchebag.

We hit the ice with Tomas and his wingers, and Tomas and I focus on face-offs with one of the assistant coaches while the wingers run their own drills. I glance up and see Coach Burnett in the stands, his eyes focused on me.

The ice is where I belong. It’s where I love to be.

I’ve never found anyone or anything that could match the energy I feel when I’m passing the puck across the ice or when I take a shot at the goal.

Ivy is starting to come close, but being here today and getting yelled at by Coach is a vivid reminder of where my mind needs to be.

Off ice, I can have my usual fun. But once I step foot into this facility, my focus better be locked the fuck in.

And while I tell myself I can have my usual fun off the ice, I’m not entirely sure that’s true.

Not when my usual fun included multiple women and nothing serious.

What I have with Ivy was never supposed to be serious. It was just supposed to be a fun bet.