Page 5 of Play Your Part

“I’ve been traded, yes. The rumors are true. And I won’t lie, I was upset. Hurt, even. I was a Wolf for five years, but what did that get me? No Stanley Cup, no trip to the playoffs. Sure, I’ve been to the all-star game several times, but that’s because ofme. I was an all-star trapped in a dead-end franchise. You heard the team might have to move again, right? The arena is barely half-full for games, and the crowd is so quiet, it’s like playing hockey in a church. And they’ve signed Alexei fucking Volkov? He’s a menace and will be the last injection of poison for that franchise before it collapses.”

Holy shit.And people have the balls to criticize my interviews? I’d never come close to that tirade, even after Ward sucker-punched me like a spineless shitbag during the last game we played.

Cale pointed to the screen. “This is a problem we need to fix immediately.”

I wanted to ask which problem, but by the pinched look on his face, I figured it would only make things worse. His deathly calm demeanor covered a wave of rage. Game recognizes game.

“Ward was a pain in the ass when he was here and continues to be a pain in the ass after he’s gone.”

My respect for Cale Cole quadrupled at that statement. He recognized my talent, looked past the media bullshit to sign me, and saw through Justin Ward’s choirboy act. Don’t get me wrong, Justin’s reputation around the league for on-ice antics was as bad as mine—all those after-whistle cheap shots and the near-constant chirping to get under his opponent’s skin. If the termpesthadn’t existed before he joined the league, Ward would have brought it into existence. But he liked to play innocent and could charm the pants off the media.

“The interest will die down,” Erik said. “We need to change the story.”

“We need to focus on this season,” Cale said. “That’s where you come in, Alexei.”

“This season is my only focus.” I trained nonstop all summer, conditioning myself to improve my stamina, working on new skills, and pushing myself harder than ever. It was my only chance to show a team I was ready to step onto the ice and make a difference in the score sheets. I was determined to not make this season a repeat of last year’s disappointment.

“Good, because we’ve chosen to believe in you,” Cale said. “Not just in your talent, but in your leadership. I know what they say about you, and I don’t care. Show everyone how smart we were for signing you. Step up and lead this team. We need it more than ever with Ward gone. His numbers aren’t easy to replace.”

Erik fixed his stare on me. “You know I won’t tolerate any bullshit, Volkov, but I will have your back every step of the way if you have mine.”

I couldn’t pretend the words didn’t do something to me—the absolute faith these men had in my ability to turn my career around meant more than I could say. “I won’t let you down,” I said, locking eyes first with Cale, then Erik.

Erik clapped me on the shoulder. He might have seemed like a quiet man, but I’d played against his team for the last four years and watched him as a player before that. When he stepped onto the ice, even as a coach, all bets were off. He would yell when the situation demanded it—to convey an important point when coming out of a timeout, when a ref got a call wrong, when his players didn’t execute. If anyone could understand the passion I played with, it would be Erik Pomroy.

I had only one season to turn my hockey career around, and I would not fuck this up.

3

KENNEDY

IsatinJustin’sdriveway, staring at a piece of paper I’d found while packing my boxes.

The movers apparently hadn’t packed everything, leaving me to roam the house to find my stray belongings. Although Justin told me I had three weeks to clear out, I never wanted to come back to this place. While shoving a pile of papers into a box, a list I’d drunkenly wrote one night, months ago after a fight with Justin drifted to the floor. I remembered the night clearly, but not the details of this list in my sloppiest handwriting.

Months had passed, and I had yet to do a single item. Not that I should follow the dreams of my drunk self, but I hadn’t doneanythingsince then other than bide my time waiting for Justin Ward to invite me to move in with him. To give me something to build on in my life, even though being with him didn’t necessarily make me happy. Only less sad.

The realization played on repeat in my mind as I drove to my childhood home. Once there, I beelined to where I knew I would find my father—holding court near a long table of food next to the bar—ready to vent my anger to the only man I could.

“Kenny, I’m glad you made it,” my father boomed, placing a hand on my shoulder and turning me toward the men who surrounded him. “I’d like to introduce you all to my daughter, Kennedy.”

I stopped listening and waited for the introductions to end. “Dad, we need to talk,” I said at the first break in conversation.

A flicker of annoyance passed over his face, brief enough no one else would notice, but I did. Still, he followed me away from his companions to a corner of the room behind the bar.

“What did you want to talk about?”

With his expectant eyes on me, I hesitated. The momentary pause screwed me as someone called to my father from across the room.

“One moment,” he shouted before turning to me. “Can this wait until tomorrow?”

No, it can’t, I wanted to say. Instead, I nodded, taking the easy out. I grabbed an open bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket and curled up in the corner to watch the happy people around me celebrate the upcoming hockey season while I wallowed in what I’d lost. Mercifully, the bartender said nothing.

“Kennedy?”

I let the half-empty bottle drop into my lap, still upright due only to my grip on its neck. My best friend, Gemma, towered over me, her emerald dress brushing my shoes. Even sad and drunk, I marveled at how perfect the color was with her dark skin and how her brown eyes popped against the shimmery fabric.

“Kennedy, what happened?”

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