Synopsis
Connor
Finding out those closest to me don’t see me as the great guy I think I am not only kicks me in the gut, it makes me question everything.
Until that happened, I didn’t think I had many regrets in my life. Now, I have nothing but regrets. And when my NHL team is bought out, and the new owner makes his presence known, my existential crisis kicks up a notch. Because he might be my biggest regret of all.
Parker Duchene.
I made his life a living hell in high school, and now he’s inserting himself into my career to repay the favor.
With everything in my personal life already on the line, I can’t risk hockey too. I need to figure out a way to play nice with the new owner.
Parker
I bought Colorado’s NHL team to honor my late father. I did. Only reason.
Emotionally playing with one of my many high school tormentors is a nice bonus though.
Connor Kikishkin may be the one who made me the target for years of name-calling, but I’ve always wondered if my hatred for him bordered too much on the obsessive side to truly be classified as hate.
Infatuation is probably the right word for it.
Now his whole life is in my hands, and I can’t wait to see him beg for my mercy. Seeing Mr. Popular find his humility will definitely ease the grief from losing my dad … right? Because right now, that’s all I have, and I need to hold on to it so I don’t crumble.
Excerpt
CONNOR
Ever had that dream where you’re back in high school and everyone is laughing at you, but you don’t know why until you look down and you’re naked?
I wish I was living that dream.
The man standing before the entire team is familiar yet almost unrecognizable, and his words sound like they’re coming from underwater.
Something, something, introduce. Love hockey. Twenty billion something. New owner.
Our franchise was sold? To Douche? The Douche from high school?
He’s not actually a douche. That’s just what everyone called him because of his last name.
Memories of those days flood through my mind, racing on a loop and throwing me back to being king of the school and watching as my teammates … Shit.
If the ground could open up and swallow me whole right about now, I’d appreciate it, but that doesn’t happen. Neither does our owner disappear when I try to blink him away.
I still remember that day clearly: the one where I saw Parker Duchene and my brother hunched over a schedule, heads close together. Smiling. Being … friendly. Overly friendly.
I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t know then, and I still don’t know now. The closest I can get is figuring that while Easton wasn’t out at that point, I knew he was gay, and I had to protect his future hockey career by getting in between him and the guy standing too close. Easton hadn’t even confirmed his sexuality to me at that point, but I saw something I really shouldn’t have on his laptop one day when mine had died, which was the giant tip he wasn’t straight. Exactly like the one the dude in the porn on his screen had. One of the dudes anyway. Biggest mushroom tip head I’ve ever seen. Not that I’d ever taken notice of other dicks before then. I didn’t say anything because I thought he should be the one to come out when he was ready. That, and all I could think about was what coming out would do for his career.
It’s not like there weren’t out guys in the league back then. Caleb Sorensen and Ollie Strömberg were well-known for being the first, but it was no secret that their careers weren’t exactly smooth and scandal-free. Easton had the potential to be one of the greats.
No one could know about my brother, and I wouldn’t let this scrawny, nerdy kid ruin Easton’s life.
Even though that’s the logical reason for what I did, something about it doesn’t ring true in my gut. I can’t pinpoint what it is, never could, but something came over me that day that told me I needed to separate them, so I did. I’ve had regret and confusion ever since.
I won’t deny what I did was wrong. It was so wrong. I might play rough on the ice, but violence off it is never the answer, and I threatened it. I used it. I shoved this kid against a locker and told him to stay away from my brother.
And now, he’s here.
The only question is why?
Am I really that self-absorbed to think he bought our team out of spite?
I want to say no, but …
Surely we’ve both grown in the last ten years. We’re grown-ass men now, not stupid teenagers.
He finishes his speech, which I couldn’t hear any of, and beside me, Easton asks, “Do we go say hi?”
I’d rather run in the opposite direction and keep running if I’m honest, but no. I’m going to be mature and take the high road. “I-I guess so.” Look at me with all that confidence in my shaky voice.
I’ve got this.
Yet, as we approach him, I almost chicken out. My palms sweat, my heart beats erratically, and after my brother reintroduces himself, I pluck up the courage to reach out my hand to the dark-haired, bright-blue-eyed boy who’s no longer a boy. He’s … Fuck, I don’t know what he is.
“Hey.” I stumble over what to say. “Good to see you again. Parker.” I must sound like a damn robot.
The team’s new owner cocks his head as if he’s confused, but his eyes hold nothing but contempt. “I’m sorry, have we met?”
I’m stunned speechless. That’s how he’s going to play it? Hey, fine by me. The less apologizing I have to do, the better. I’m still in the middle of groveling to Easton and my best friend, Knox, for being overprotective of both of them to the point they didn’t think they could be together because of me. I don’t need more penance added to my list of failures as a decent human being.
Parker hasn’t lost his cold stare as he says, “If you don’t mind, I’d prefer my players to call me Mr. Duchene.”
My gut sinks because he’s obviously still bitter about high school. He can pretend he doesn’t remember me all he wants, but that’s not what he’s doing. He’s here to be petty and probably vengeful, so the only thing I can do is grin and bear whatever he throws at me. Because if I lose it in front of him? I can say goodbye to the NHL and everything I’ve worked toward forever.
We, as players, rarely saw the last owner, and this will be no different. All I have to do is stay away from Parker Duchene, and everything will be fine. Great, even. Hey, if we win the Stanley Cup this year, maybe he’ll give me a pass for my past actions.
One could hope.
