Chapter 2 Chapter 2

Ethan's Pov

As the morning light filtered into the room, I opened my eyes slowly and stared at the ceiling of the private room. The air still smelled faintly of cologne and sweat.

God, I was sore as hell.

Suddenly, the events of the previous night flooded my mind in a single, vivid wave. The heat, the breathless gasps, and the rough grip of tattooed fingers on my hips — it all came crashing back.

Adrian had gone wild in bed like a loose animal. I turned to find out that he was gone. No notes, nothing. Well, that's expected of a one night stand.

But damn, I'm pretty sure I won't be able to forget him even if I tried. Maybe because I haven't had sex in a while.

"Shit," I mumbled, checking the time.

I sat up quickly, my muscles aching with a deep, dull soreness that made me wince. I ran a trembling hand through my messy hair, my heart suddenly hammering against my ribs.

I looked down at the space beside me, where Adrian had slept in, and smiled, remembering how good last night felt.

For a long moment, I couldn’t move. Last night had been a blur of raw, wild instinct. I had never let myself lose control like that. I had never allowed a stranger to dominate me so completely and make me beg. It had been intoxicating and made me want more.

I shook my head. I truly needed to leave now. I slid out of the bed, my bare feet hitting the cold floorboards. I looked around the messy room to see my clothes scattered everywhere.

I scrambled to pick up my own clothes and threw them on, not caring that my shirt was wrinkled or that my socks were mismatched. I practically shoved my feet into my shoes and hurried toward the door.

If only I got to get his number I thought.

What are you thinking? I thought, my jaw tightening. You don't do numbers. You don't do relationships. This was a one-night stand and it is safer to be that way.

Suddenly, my phone rang, pulling me out of my thoughts. I put my hand into my pocket and pulled out my phone. The screen was flashing brightly. It was Owen, my closest friend and teammate.

I didn't dare answer it inside the room. I quietly turned the handle, slipped through the door, and closed it behind me with a soft, final click.

I practically ran down the stairs, passing Den, who was busy wiping down tables from the night before. Den caught my eye and raised a knowing eyebrow, but I didn't stop to chat. I burst through the exit doors and into the crisp morning air.

Only when I was a full block away from the club did I finally press the answer button and bring the phone to my ear.

"Yes?" I breathed out, my voice tight.

"Where the fuck are you?" Owen’s voice blasted through the speaker, tight with panic. "Coach is about to go berserk. He’s already pacing the ice, Ethan.”

My blood ran cold. The adrenaline from my escape evaporated. I glanced at the digital clock at the top of my phone screen.

"Fuck," I mumbled, slamming my hand against my forehead. I had totally forgotten about the hockey practice that had been set for today.

"I will be there in three minutes," I said quickly, my mind racing. "Help me make an excuse to the Coach."

"Make an excuse to the Coach?" Owen let out a sharp, disbelief-filled laugh. "Come on, Ethan. You know how the Coach, your own father, can be. I don't want to be blacklisted or spend the next three weeks doing suicide sprints. Get your ass down to practice right now."

The line went dead. I stared at my phone, a heavy weight settling in my stomach. I cursed under my breath, stepped up to the curb, and frantically waved my arm.

Luckily, a yellow taxi pulled up almost immediately. I slammed the door behind me and gave the driver the address of the college rink, promising a double tip if he beat the traffic lights.

As the taxi drove through the city streets, I rested my forehead against the cool glass of the window. I sighed deeply, the exhaustion of the night finally catching up to me.

I loved hockey. I truly did. The sport was the only place where the noise in my head finally stopped. But having my father as the coach? That was not something I was too proud to talk about.

The taxi finally arrived at the destination. I tossed a handful of cash at the driver and sprinted through the double doors of the building.

I walked quickly into the locker room, tearing off my wrinkled club clothes and throwing on my hockey gear with practiced, frantic speed. I didn't even bother to tie my skates properly, just pulling the laces tight enough to hold before grabbing my helmet and stick.

As soon as I pushed through the heavy glass doors of the college ice rink, all eyes turned to me.

The silence on the ice was absolute, broken only by the low hum of the refrigeration units.

"The Winger is finally here," one of the teammates said out loud, his voice dripping with uneasy sarcasm.

Owen was the first to walk towards me. He bumped his shoulder lightly against mine.

"What took you so long to be here?" Owen whispered, keeping his voice low so it wouldn't carry across the rink.

Before I could even begin to formulate a lie, a heavy, rhythmic sound echoed across the rink.

I turned my head. Walking toward me from the center circle was my father, Coach Alexander Hale.

Alexander was a large, imposing man with graying hair cut into a strict military style. His broad shoulders were covered in a heavy team jacket, and his eyes were like two pieces of flint locked onto me. He had an angry expression on his face.

"When would you turn out to be responsible and keep to time?" Alexander yelled, his voice exploding across the rink. "You are no longer a kid anymore!"

I swallowed hard. I could feel the eyes of my teammates burning into my back. I was their captain, the guy who was supposed to set the standard. Instead, I was being reamed out like a worthless rookie in front of everyone.

"I am sorry," I said, keeping my voice steady through sheer force of will. "It won't happen again."

"That is what you said the last time!" Alexander barked, stepping directly into my personal space.

"Don't think just because you are my son, I won't kick you out of the team. If this repeats itself, you will be out. Period. There are a lot of people on this team who can perform better than you can, who actually respect my time and this program."

The words felt like a physical blow to the chest.

Because you are my son. It was always there. The underlying threat. If I failed on the ice, I failed as a son. And if I failed as a son, I lost everything.

"Yes, Sir," I responded, my voice dropping to a whisper.

I couldn't hide the raw humiliation. My cheeks burned red, my knuckles turning white as I gripped my hockey stick. No matter how many times my father did this to me, no matter how many times I was singled out and degraded, I just couldn't get used to it. The pain was always fresh, always deep.

Alexander stared at me for three more seconds, before letting out a harsh snort.

"Gather up everyone! Let's begin training!" Coach Alexander shouted, turning his back on me completely.

He clapped his gloved hands together twice. "Lines on the blue line! Let's see if your legs work better than your brains today! Move!"

The team instantly broke into a frantic sprint, skates tearing into the ice as they scrambled to get into position.

Owen lingered for a second, casting a sympathetic look at me. "Come on, man. Let's just get through it."

I didn't answer. I just tightened my helmet strap, skated to the line, and prepared to lose myself in the pain of the drills.

~~~~~~~~~~~Two Weeks Later~~~~~~~~

After that night at the club, I didn't dare visit the club again. I still couldn't get that night out of my mind and knew I wanted more than just a quick hookup from that stranger. Going back would only reignite the feelings I was trying desperately to bury.

I was undeniably handsome. Built like a tank on skates, I had broad shoulders, a sharp blonde undercut, ice-blue eyes, and a defined jaw. Girls swarmed me constantly, both in person and online. Yet, I never looked their way. I had never been in a relationship. My best friend had set me up on multiple blind dates, but every single one ended in disaster. Eventually, I stopped trying.

“Earth to Ethan!” Owen shouted, waving a hand rapidly in front of my face.

I blinked as I snapped out of my thoughts. I frowned slightly. “Why are you shouting?”

“Because I’ve been calling you for five minutes,” Owen said, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, look at this.” He licked his lips and thrust his phone screen forward.

It was a photo of a woman in a bikini. She was stunning, with perfect curves, but I felt absolutely nothing.

“Why are you showing me this?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

We had just finished a brutal practice session and were resting on the bench before the next drill. A few teammates, fresh from the showers, crowded around to peek at the screen. They let out low whistles.

“Damn, she is hot, bro,” one said.

“An absolute ten,” another chimed in. The group burst into laughter.

I smirked and shook my head, mildly amused by their excitement.

“Should I get her number for you?” Owen teased, nudging my shoulder. “Come on, man. You can’t stay single forever. Just say the word.”

I paused, then shook my head. “I’m not ready for a relationship.”

“As always!” the boys chanted together, laughing off my usual excuse.

Before the teasing could continue, the Coach’s voice cut through the locker room.

“Gather up, boys,” Coach Alexander called out, walking in with his hands behind his back. The team looked confused because our rest period wasn’t over yet, but we quickly stood up and circled around.

“Boys, I have an announcement,” the coach said. He scanned the room until his gaze locked directly onto me for a second before facing the teammates.

“We have a new teammate joining us soon. He’s a transfer student,” the coach announced. “And he will be taking over as our winger.”

My heart dropped. “What?”