Page 33 of Misconducts & Temptation

He took a deep breath, his expression softening just a fraction. “You were raw, Keaton. Rough around the edges. But you had something none of those other draft picks had.”

I shot another puck, more to avoid looking at him than anything else. “Yeah? What’s that?”

“Heart,” he said simply.

I stopped mid-motion, the word hanging in the cold air between us. I turned to face him, skepticism written all over my face. “Heart? That’s what got me on this team?”

Morgan nodded, his eyes never leaving mine. “You played like you had something to prove. Every practice, every game—you left it all on the ice. That’s rare.”

I wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong, but something in his voice made me pause. Morgan had always been brutally honest—sometimes too honest for my liking—but he wasn’t one to lie or sugarcoat things.

“You’re good at reading plays,” he continued, stepping closer. “Anticipating moves before they happen. You’ve got a natural instinct for defense—something that can’t be taught.”

I felt a strange mix of pride and disbelief swelling inside me. It was easier to think my place on the team was bought and paid for by my father’s influence. It meant I didn’t have to acknowledge any real talent or effort on my part.

Morgan’s gaze softened slightly, and for a moment, he looked almost... proud? “You’ve got leadership potential too,” he added quietly. “The guys look up to you—even if you don’t see it.”

“Why are you telling me this now?” I asked, my voice betraying a hint of uncertainty.

“Because you need to hear it,” Morgan replied firmly. “You’ve spent too long doubting yourself—letting your father’s expectations define who you are.”

His words hit harder than any puck could.

“Believe in yourself, Keaton,” he said softly but with conviction. “You’ve got what it takes—don’t waste it.”

For once, I found myself unable to argue back. Maybe—just maybe—he was right.

“That, and you aren’t afraid to throw a punch,” Morgan said wryly, his eyes steady. “Maybe too eager for it.”

I felt a slight twitch at the corner of my mouth, a half-smile that never fully formed. “Yeah, well, some people deserve it.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “I get that too,” he said, his voice softer. “When my own life felt out of control, hockey was the one thing I could control. It was my safe place—something that was always there for me. It could be that way for you too, if you don’t drown yourself in alcohol and pussy.”

I scoffed, but the words hit closer to home than I cared to admit. My grip tightened around the stick as I prepared another shot. “My father wants me to marry Lola,” I muttered.

“Lola?” Morgan’s brow furrowed. “Didn’t you date her in high school or something?”

“Yeah,” I snapped, the memory still raw. “And the bitch fucked me over.” The puck flew off my stick with a sharp crack, slamming into the boards. “I walked in on her with my cousin. Then found out my best friend at the time, fucking Carlyle Hart, had a few fucks with her too. Bitch spreads her legs for anyone with a platinum credit card.”

Morgan stayed silent, absorbing my words without judgment. His silence made it easier to keep talking.

I took another shot, the puck sailing wide. The anger surged again, hot and unrelenting.

“I can’t stand the thought of being tied to her,” I continued, my voice barely above a whisper. “But Dad... he doesn’t care about that. It’s all about business to him.”

Morgan nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. “You’re more than just a pawn in your father’s game,” he said quietly.

The truth in his words stung like ice on a fresh wound. For years, I’d let myself believe that my worth was tied to my father’s approval—to his plans and his demands.

“I just want out,” I admitted finally, feeling a strange sense of relief at saying it out loud.

“You’ve got options,” he said firmly. “But you need to believe in yourself first.”

I stared at him for a moment longer before taking another shot. The puck slid smoothly into the net this time.

Maybe—just maybe—he was right.

"Dad would never let me play in the NHL," I said, my voice laced with bitterness.

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