Page 1 of On Thin Ice

PROLOGUE

ETHAN

Three Years Ago

Sitting at the end of the bar, I nursed my beer, my eyes cast down to stare at the dark, sticky counter as I absentmindedly swirled my half-empty bottle in the ring of condensation.

The owners of the Austin Aces, the NHL team I played for, had rented out O’Malley’s for staff, players, and a handful of the team’s sponsors to watch the draft together like one big happy family.

I wanted nothing more than to be at home. Alone. I’d still be watching. I just didn’t want to do it in a big ass group where I was forced to act all jovial and shit.

The broadcast was mostly drowned out by the sound of raucous chatter and laughter, but with team jerseys and logos flashing across the TV screens scattered throughout the bar, it was easy enough to keep track of what was going on.

The loud cheers and jeers from the group, paired with the sharp sound of glasses slamming down on the bar each time a new pick was announced, added to the chaos.

I half-heartedly joined in on some of the conversations taking place around me and attempted to smile and cheer along with my teammates, but the only moment that broke through my funk was the roar that erupted when it was announced the Aces had used our first-round selection on Thackeray College winger Stryker Bell.

Fuck.

I should have seen this coming.

Hell, Ididsee it coming.

But I guess I was still holding out hope that, for once, life wouldn’t fuck me sideways.

Alas, no such luck.

When my phone immediately buzzed in my pocket, I pulled it out and rolled my eyes at a message from my brother praising the 19-year-old phenom everyone was predicting would take the NHL by storm.

Ryan

Bro, Stryker Bell is IT.

Loved watching him dominate at Thackeray.

Can’t wait to see him in an Aces sweater alongside you!

Ethan

Objectively, I could see why Ryan was happy. Stryker was an exceptional player—maybe a bit too flashy and unpredictable for my liking, but undoubtedly skilled.

And, of course, my family thought it was amazing that he played for the college we’d all graduated from.

But despite my brother’s excitement, I just wasn’t feeling it.

Was I a tiny bit put out that he’d recently broken my long-standing Thackeray record for most goals scored in a single season, and as a freshman, no less?

Maybe. Probably.

Yeah, okay. I was.

Deep down, I knew it shouldn’t have mattered—that record wasn’t going to stand forever; someone was always going to break it—but something about the team I’d played for my entire NHL career drafting him rubbed me the wrong way.

The kid had already stolen my collegiate record; was he going to steal my job from me now, too?

“Hey, E. You see who we just grabbed?” I turned at the sound of Samson “Murdock” Murray’s cheerful voice as he clapped me on the shoulder, grinning widely.

“Fresh meat on third line next season!” Chet Doyle called out from a few tables away.

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