Chapter 1
Colt
I've always said there are exactly two things a hockey player should never have to do alone.
One is rehab. The other… isbreakfast.
I kill the engine to my vehicle and lean back to take in the sight in front of me.
The Leopard Den is like a shot of pure adrenaline straight into my veins, with those enormous windows reflecting the snow-capped mountains, and two giant bronze Leopard statues flanking the entrance, frozen mid-snarl, fangs bared in eternal rivalry. Morning frost still clings to their whiskers, and I step out of my SUV to take a long breath, unable to stop smiling.
God, I've missed this place.
It's been twenty-one days since I graced this parking lot.
Twenty-one days of staring at my apartment walls, eating alone, and slowly losing my fucking mind after being side-lined by my own damn teammate.
I barely remember what happened, but I can still see the blur of movement, barely a flash before pain scorched my face and my skull cracked back against the concrete.
The world went sideways and then just…dark.
A small shudder runs through me as the memory circles all over again.
I spent a week in that hospital bed. Put there by a friend. A teammate.
But if my parents, in their relentless, well-intentioned, over-the-top-nice way, hammered one unshakable truth into my skull, it was this: you don't get to feel sorry for yourself.
Not ever.
The world doesn't stop because you're hurt. The game doesn't pause because your head is ringing.
No.
You smile for the cameras, you thank the medical staff, you rehab like a demon… and you get back out there before anyone has time to wonder if you're replaceable.
So today… I'm back, baby.
I swipe my keycard against the entrance door. The light blinks green.
"Well, well. Green light," I say, smiling and pushing the door open. "Guess Big Mike hasn't shredded my contract yet."
Stepping inside the warmth, I'm immediately met by the gleaming Snow Leopards crest shining on the concrete floors beneath my sneakers. The sight is so good, I swear to God, I could drop to my knees and kiss the damn floor right now.
Thisis where I belong.
Not locked up in my silent apartment, under strict 'rest' instructions while I laid there wondering if my brain's ever going to stop feeling like scrambled eggs.
I pause at the memorabilia case in the corridor, catching my reflection in the glass. The bruise around my eye has finallyfaded from 'horror movie extra' to 'slightly hungover raccoon,' which I'm counting as a win.
The stitches above my temple left a faint scar. Nothing dramatic, just enough to make me look like I've got a cool story to tell.
Which usually, I love. I'malwaysthe guy in the locker room with a tale to tell.
I just don't love telling this particular one.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I already know who it is before I look.
Mom:How's the first day back, sweetheart? Remember to hydrate! And smile for the cameras! Love you!