Chapter One
There were four defining moments in every NHL player’s career: signing their first professional contract, scoring their first goal, winning their first conference final, and if they were really damn lucky, spending a day with the Stanley Cup.
In his fourteen-year career, Daniel Bellamy had been fortunate enough to have experienced every item on that list. The proof of his most recent accomplishment glittered on the finger of his left hand where his wedding band used to be—a shiny, brand-new championship ring so big and blinged out its brilliance could be a hazard to other drivers if he wore it behind the wheel.
For the safety of everyone’s retinas, he usually kept the box on his bedside table and only opened it to stare at the ring whenever he started to worry last season’s success had been some kind of extended fever dream. He’d been chasing the Cup for over a decade. No way it could be real, right?
But it was, and technically, he should still be riding that high. Except, well, there was a restlessness in him. An itch that persisted in an area he couldn’t quite reach to scratch. It lurked beneath his skull, an incessant, buzzing presence, and frankly, at this point, Daniel was starting to wish there was a Cortizone 10 equivalent he could apply to his brain just to get some relief.
Why, when he was lounging on a yacht off the coast of Aruba, a rumrunner in hand, the sea an aquamarine glimmer in his periphery, and the raucous laughter of his teammates and various acquaintances ringing out around him, should he be so distracted? This was Morley’s day with the Cup, and Daniel had been honored to be invited along to help his friend, one of the Venom’s best defensemen, celebrate. Instead he was lying there like a lump, trying desperately to pinpoint the reason for the mysterious itch that had been plaguing him since his own day with hockey’s most prized trophy. He should be in the moment. They were coming off the greatest victory of their careers. Truly, he had no reason to be discontented.
But...
And that was the thing, wasn’t it? There was always a but.
Daniel loved the Venom. Loved this team, his family bound to him not by blood but by camaraderie, hard work, and year after year of persistence. He was one of the rare unicorns in the modern-day league who’d played for only one team since being drafted as a hotshot rookie at age nineteen. He’d been a constant on the Venom, part of the crucial core, and for the last several seasons, the captain who proudly boasted a C on the upper left of his green-and-gold sweater. Other teams had made offers and tried to lure him away, but since his signing, the Venom had become more than just a team. The players had become his brothers, and the arena where they played felt like his second home.
Daniel had never given any serious consideration to leaving Atlanta. It was the place where he’d gotten married—and later, divorced. Where his children had been born, learned to walk, started school. He could navigate the streets of the city in his sleep.
There were a couple handfuls of players in the NHL over thirty-five. Even fewer over the age of forty. At thirty-three, Daniel anticipated having at least a few playing years left before he needed to seriously consider retirement. But it was coming. He could feel his hockey end times drawing nigh. And he’d always figured he’d retire from the team of his heart, move down to Florida to live near his parents, maybe find some new career to occupy his time, though he’d been smart and frugal enough with his money he didn’t actually need to work to provide for himself or his family for this generation and maybe the next.
Daniel had accomplished his grand plan and lifelong dream. By all rights, he should be kicking back and enjoying his time in the hockey limelight. Possibly, he should take up one of the offers he’d gotten from a few of the women Morley had invited along for this trip. They were all lovely, but beyond that, clever and engaging too, because while Morley might come across as the ultimate dude-bro douchebag, the man appreciated both brains and beauty and he surrounded himself with fun, interesting people.
But no. Try as he might, Daniel had never been into casual sex, no matter how intriguing the partner. So, there he sat, ruminating while the ice in his glass melted and watered down his drink. As the indisputable dad friend of the group, maybe he needed to start excusing himself from wild yacht parties in the Caribbean and stick to hosting mellow barbecues in his backyard.
“You look pensive,” a voice announced before fingers ruffled his curls.
Daniel peered over the rims of his sunglasses to see Tristan staring down at him. Tristan’s fair skin was flushed pink despite the liberal sunscreen Daniel had seen him applying at regular intervals, and his blond hair had dried in messy, sea-salt-encrusted spikes after his last dip in the pool with Ryu and Emmitt.
Tristan handed Daniel a cold water bottle dripping with condensation before plopping down on the lounger next to his. “I noticed you’ve been nursing that rumrunner for the past hour. Figured this might be more your speed right now.”
“Thanks,” Daniel said. He set the glass on the table beside him and cracked the bottle open. A few sips went a long way to easing his parched throat, but that itch in his brain was still there. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just feel...edgy or something. I probably should have stayed home.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“Here?” Daniel used his bottle to gesture to the drunken dancing and body shots currently happening across the deck.
Tristan snorted. “Do you think any of them will even notice what we’re talking about?”
Daniel tipped his head, conceding the point. “True.”
“We can go inside, if that’d make you more comfortable.” Tristan’s expression was earnest, as usual. He saw a potential problem; he wanted to help solve it. That was his nature, and part of why Daniel—and, well, pretty much everyone—liked him so much.
“Nah, here is fine.” Besides, Daniel had noticed Ryu and Emmitt head below deck a few minutes ago, as casual as anything unless you noticed the tension between them and the look they’d exchanged along the way. The interior of the yacht had room to spare, but he didn’t want to interrupt their private moment. He’d only just learned they were a couple after the NHL Awards earlier this summer.
“Then what’s up?” Tristan asked. “Are you thinking about Tabby?”
Daniel shook his head. For once, his thoughts weren’t on his ex-wife or his kids or his pack of rescue dogs. “I don’t really know. I should be thrilled right now. Right? We won the Cup. We won the Cup. There’s nothing for me to be unhappy about, or there shouldn’t be, anyway. Look at my life.” He waved a hand to indicate the yacht, the sun blazing overhead, and the gleaming sea surrounding them.
Tristan’s forehead creased, and he made a thoughtful noise. “‘Shouldn’t be’ is relative, though, isn’t it? When is emotion ever logical? I should be partying and heckling Morley about those trunks and how he obviously bought them a size too small to show off the illustrious Tripod, not missing Seb and wondering what he’s doing when we haven’t even been apart for twenty-four hours. Yet here we are.”