Page 68 of Unleashed

“Doyle’s being a dick.” Riley spoke to the floor. “But Silver’s keeping him in check. Team’s behind you, Cap.”

My jaw clenched. The last thing we needed was dissension in the ranks. Not with Chicago eager to capitalize on any weakness. “The whole team?”

“Most guys are solid.” Riley’s eyes tracked Jabari’s movements, that endless enthusiasm of his temporarily contained. “A couple are...” He shrugged, searching for the right words. “You know. Being weird about it.”

The need to protect my team, to hold them together, burned in my chest. Seventeen years building this brotherhood, and one fucking TV show threatened to crack the foundation.

“There.” Jabari pulled back, reaching for the tape. “How’s that feel?”

I flexed my knee, testing. “Good enough.”

Riley shifted from foot to foot, his natural energy barely contained. “The reporters are gonna be nuts today. All those cameras—”

The mention of cameras sent a fresh spike of betrayal through my gut. Lily’s face flashed through my mind—the way she’d looked at me that first night in the rain, all wide eyes and trembling lips. Before I knew she’d been cataloging every wince, every moment of weakness.

“The cameras aren’t a problem.” My voice came sharper than intended. “The knee will hold.”

“Chicago’s gonna come after you though.” Riley blurted it out like he couldn’t hold it back anymore. “After that hit last game? They know. The guys—we wanna help. Let us have your back, Cap.”

The earnest concern in his voice hit harder than any question about strategy. Here was this kid, barely old enough to drink, trying to protect his captain. The line between leadership and burden had never felt thinner.

“I don’t need protection.” Harsh, but the team needed their captain, not another complication. My father’s voice echoed in my head: “Winners find a way, son. That’s what Vigniers do.” The same words he’d used when I’d blown out my knee in Juniors. Pain is temporary. Legacy is forever.

The weight of expectation—from him, the fans, from an entire hockey-crazed city—pressed down on me. I didn’t need to be responsible for even one more thing. “I need everyone focused on their own game.” Not worrying over me.

“But that’s not fair!” The words exploded out of Riley before he could catch them. He immediately looked mortified at his outburst. “I mean... you’ve taken hits for all of us. Let us return the favor.”

The raw honesty in his voice hit me like a sucker punch. Everything I’d done—playing through pain, hiding the extent of the injury—had been about protecting the team. About giving us the best shot at the Cup. My last shot. Because after this? The yawning void of retirement loomed. No more game day routines. No more brotherhood. Just...nothing.

Now those same instincts were forcing them to choose sides.

“Just play your game, kid.” I met his gaze, letting him see the steel beneath. “I’ve got this.”

He nodded, but his expression turned mutinous. “Whatever you say, Cap.” He attempted a grin. “But maybe I accidentally crash into anyone who gets too close to that knee, huh? Total rookie move. Can’t blame me for being clumsy.”

Jabari finished taping my knee in silence. The familiar ritual should have settled my nerves, centered my focus like it had a thousand times before. Instead, every wrap of tape felt like another countdown to game time. Another hour closer to proving everyone right—or wrong—about exactly how broken their captain might be.

“Need anything else?” Jabari asked, but I was already pushing to my feet.

“Fresh roll of tape for my stick.” I shifted, testing the stability of Jabari’s work. “Equipment room.”

Riley’s “I’ve got your back” followed me into the hall. Good man. But right now, I needed space. Needed to get my head straight before—

The sight of her knocked me back a step.

Lily stood in the equipment room doorway, her ancient laptop smashed to her chest like armor. No camera crew. No professional mask. Just her looking more gorgeous than she had any right to.

My heart slammed against my ribs even as my muscles locked down. Fight or flight instincts warring with the memory of her skin under my hands.

She stiffened at my approach, those blue-green eyes meeting mine with a mix of guilt and hope and dread. “Jack—”

“Don’t.” The order came out raw.

But she stood her ground, chin lifting in that familiar way that used to make me want to kiss the defiance into an entirely different emotion. “I need to tell you something.”

“Pretty sure I’ve heard all I need to hear from you.” I moved to brush past her, focusing on the shelves of tape behind her head. Anywhere but the slight tremor in her hands or the way her throat worked as she swallowed. Anywhere but the memories of those hands on my chest, that throat under my lips.

“Malone’s offered me my own show.”

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