Twin Babies for my Pucking Defenders (Chicago Icebreakers #2)

4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Carter

Morning comes too fast, the dull light seeping through the blinds and pulling me from sleep. I drag myself out of bed, still not used to waking up in this new reality. It’s a cold fucking slap in the face every time I remember I’m not with the Blackhawks anymore.

I shower quickly, water running hot enough to scald, but it doesn’t do much to wash away the nerves sitting heavy in my gut. I step out, wrap a towel around my waist and catch sight of myself in the mirror. I look like shit. Barely slept. Bags under my eyes, shoulders tense like I’m about to fight someone. Maybe I am.

I throw on some clothes—jeans, a hoodie, the usual. My gear’s already packed, so I grab the bag and head out the door. The hotel’s too quiet, too sterile, nothing like the house I’d turned into a home. Not like that matters now.

Out in the parking lot, I toss the bag into the back of my Jeep and slide into the driver’s seat. My fingers automatically reach for the lighter in the center console. It’s old, scratched up, the silver paint worn off in places. My dad gave it to me when I was sixteen, said it was his good luck charm back in the day. I never smoke, never had the urge, but I’ve carried this thing with me everywhere. It’s a reminder of home, of simpler times before all this bullshit.

I flip it open and closed, the click of the lid snapping shut is somehow calming. Then I pull out of the lot and head for the arena, the place that’s supposed to be my new home. It’s barely nine, but the streets are already bustling. I keep the hood of my sweatshirt up, avoiding eye contact with anyone who might recognize me. The last thing I need is someone sticking a camera in my face or asking questions I don’t want to answer.

The arena comes into view, a hulking building that’s both familiar and foreign. I’ve been here before, played against the Icebreakers more times than I can count. But now...now I’m one of them. Supposedly.

I park, slinging my gear over my shoulder as I walk in. The halls are a maze and it takes a few wrong turns and asking for directions before I’m finally pointed toward Coach Nate’s office.

When I push the door open, I’m hit with the scent of old leather and coffee. Coach Nate is exactly what I expected—tall, burly, with silver hair that screams experience. His face is weathered. He has the kind of look that says he’s seen it all and then some. The office, though? Jesus, it’s a fucking mess. Papers everywhere, a hockey stick propped against the wall, an old jersey draped over a chair. It makes my skin itch just looking at it.

“Carter, right?” His voice is gruff but not unkind. He stands and offers his hand. His grip is solid when I shake it. “Have a seat.”

I sit down, trying to ignore the way the clutter makes me want to bolt.

“Look, I know this is all less than ideal for you,” Coach Nate starts, leaning back in his chair. “Getting traded out of the blue, having to adjust to a new team, new city—it’s a lot to take in.”

“Yeah, no shit,” I mutter, flipping the lighter open and shut again. It’s become a habit at this point, something to keep my hands busy so I don’t lose my mind.

“I get it,” he says, not missing a beat, “but I want you to know that we’re here to make this transition as smooth as possible. The season’s just in the beginning stages, so you’ll have time to settle in. I’m gonna do everything I can to make you part of this team.”

I nod, not trusting myself to say anything. What the hell am I supposed to say? Thanks for the fucking pep talk?

Coach Nate stands and walks over to a small closet in the corner of the room, pulling out a black and purple jersey. He hands it to me and I take it, running my fingers over the fabric. It’s weird, holding a jersey that doesn’t belong to the Blackhawks.

“Your gear will be ready by the end of the day,” Coach Nate says. “In the meantime, you can use the facilities and get a feel for the place.”

“Thanks,” I manage to say, still trying to wrap my head around the fact that this is my life now.

“Anything else you need?” Coach Nate asks, eyes scanning my face like he’s trying to read me.

I shake my head. “No. I’m good.”

“All right then.” He claps his hands together. “How about we go down to the locker room and I’ll introduce you to the rest of the guys?”

“Sure,” I say, even though I’d rather just skip this part altogether. But there’s no avoiding it, so I follow him out of the office, down the hall and toward the locker room.

The sound hits me first—the chatter, the laughter, the smack of tape being wrapped around sticks. It’s all too familiar, but at the same time, it’s not. I’m the outsider here.

Coach Nate pushes open the door and walks in like he owns the place. Hell, I guess he does. The room goes quiet for a split second when they see me, but it quickly picks back up, the noise level returning to normal.

“Axel, lose the gum,” Coach Nate barks at one of the guys. Axel, a lanky forward with a mop of curly hair, quickly spits the gum into the trash, shooting me a quick look.

I recognize most of these guys from playing against them. Finn and Declan, the captains of the team, are the first to catch my eye. Finn’s the one who stole my ex-teammate’s girl. Figures.

There’s Troy, the team’s right wing, always with a cocky grin on his face. And then there’s Jake, a newer player, who looks like he’s barely out of college and plays the left wing.

“All right, listen up,” Coach Nate says, getting everyone’s attention. “Carter’s joined us, and I expect you all to make him part of the team. We’re a family here and that means we look out for each other, got it?”

There’s a chorus of agreement, though some of them look like they’re just saying it to appease the coach. I don’t blame them. I’m not exactly thrilled to be here either.

I give a small wave, more out of obligation than anything else and then move to the corner of the room, leaning against the wall as I listen to the rest of the chatter. They’re talking about the upcoming game against the Minnesota Frostbites in two weeks. I keep reminding myself that I’m part of the team now, that this is my life, but it doesn’t quite stick.

Eventually, Coach Nate claps his hands again, signaling that it’s time to hit the rink. I follow the guys out, the cold air of the arena biting at my skin as we step onto the ice.

“Carter, you’re sitting this one out,” Coach Nate calls out to me. “I want you to watch and observe for a bit.”

“Fine by me,” I say, leaning against the boards as the rest of the team gets into position.

I watch them skate, the way they move together as a unit, the way they communicate without words. It’s impressive, I’ll give them that. But all I can think about is how much I miss my old team. The Blackhawks were my family, and now I’m just some outsider trying to find a place in this new world.

But there’s no going back. This is my life now, whether I like it or not.

As I stand there, flipping the lighter in my pocket, I tell myself I’ll get through this. I have to. But deep down, the dark cloud that’s been hanging over me since the trade hasn’t gone anywhere. It’s still there, lurking, waiting for the moment when I can’t hold it together anymore.

But for now, I push it down, focusing on the game, on the way the Icebreakers carve into the ice, the sound of the puck hitting the boards. It’s all I can do to keep from falling apart.

***

The rink’s quieting down, the echo of skates scraping the ice still hanging in the air. Most of the guys have already headed to the locker room, but I’m lingering behind, taking my time to soak it all in. This place feels different—new, but not in a way that feels like home. Not yet, anyway.

As I’m about to head out, Finn strides over, his face breaking into a grin. He’s all casual, hands in his pockets like we’re old friends. Which we’re definitely not.

“Hey, Carter,” he says, stopping just a few feet away. “Glad you’re on the team, man. The others are too. Whatever happened between me, Ryan, and Millie? That’s in the past. Let’s not let it mess with the game, all right?”

I nod, trying to keep my expression neutral. It’s not like I was planning to bring that shit up anyway, but it’s good to know where he stands. “Yeah, no problem.”

Finn’s eyes flick down to my wrist, and he tilts his head. “Nice watch,” he says, a hint of surprise in his voice.

I glance at the timepiece, a vintage Omega Seamaster, one of my favorites. The black dial, the gold accents—hell, it’s a work of art. For a moment, the tension in my shoulders eases and I crack a smile for the first time today.

“Thanks,” I say. “It’s a 1957 Omega. One of the classics.”

Finn raises an eyebrow, clearly impressed. “You know your shit. How’d you get into watches?”

“I collect vintage ones,” I tell him, flipping the lighter in my pocket. “Got a few rare pieces. And, uh, I garden too.”

Finn laughs, a genuine, easy sound that doesn’t feel forced. “Man, you’re full of surprises. We should exchange numbers. Maybe you can teach me a thing or two about those watches.”

“Sure,” I say, and we swap contact info. It’s strange, but I start to think that maybe this won’t be as bad as I thought.

We start heading toward the locker rooms together, the conversation flowing easily. As we turn the corner, I catch a glimpse of someone with cropped hair just disappearing around the bend. My heart skips a beat—could that be Jade?

No, it’s just my mind playing tricks on me. I shake my head, brushing off the thought. There’s no way she’d be here, right?

Finn’s still talking about something—I think he’s joking about the last game—but I’m half-listening, distracted by the what-ifs in my head. We get to the showers, and I barely notice Marcus, one of the other guys, laughing as he strips off his gear.

“Man, I need a drink after that practice,” Marcus says, grinning like it’s the best idea in the world.

“Yeah, you and me both,” I mutter, more to myself than anyone else. I grab my stuff and head into one of the stalls, letting the hot water wash over me. It’s the first moment of real peace I’ve had all day, but even that doesn’t last long. The weight of everything is still there, pressing down on me no matter how hard I try to ignore it.

After I’m done, I get dressed and head out of the arena, feeling the exhaustion creeping in. Instead of going back to the hotel, I decide to drive to the mansion. It’s in a neighborhood where some of my old teammates live. The place used to buzz with life, but now feels like a ghost town.

The house is quiet when I walk in, the air stale like it hasn’t been lived in for days even though I was just here this morning. I set my bag down and start cleaning, trying to distract myself from the thoughts swirling in my head. Dusting, vacuuming, wiping down surfaces—it’s all just busy work, but it helps keep the darkness at bay, at least for a little while.

When I’m done, I order a pizza, as I’m too tired to cook anything. I eat it alone in the kitchen, the silence deafening. It’s hard to shake the feeling that I’m already being cut out of everything that mattered.

Just as I’m finishing up, my phone buzzes on the counter. It’s a text from Ryan.

Ryan: Hey man, hope you’re doing all right.

I stare at the screen for a minute before hitting the call button. The line rings twice before Ryan picks up, but the noise in the background is almost too loud for me to hear him.

“Carter!” Ryan shouts over the music. “What’s up?”

“Where are you?” I ask, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my chest.

“On a yacht, partying with the guys,” Ryan says, his voice barely cutting through the noise. “You should be here, man!”

“Yeah, sounds like fun,” I say, forcing the words out. “But I’m gonna head to bed. We can talk later.”

“All right, man. Take care!” Ryan shouts before hanging up.

I set the phone down, the pit in my stomach growing deeper. They’re out there, living it up and I’m here, alone in this empty house. It’s like I’m already forgotten, cut out of the team even though I’m still technically part of it.

I head upstairs, feeling the weight of the day pressing down on me. I kick off my shoes, strip down and slide into bed. The sheets are cool against my skin, but they do nothing to ease the restlessness in my mind.

My thoughts drift to Jade—her smile, the way she looked at me like I was the only one who mattered. I wish I’d gotten her number, something to hold onto. But all I have is the memory of that night, the way she made me forget about everything else.

I close my eyes, letting the fantasy take over, wishing she was here with me. The way her body felt against mine, the sound of her voice...it’s enough to make my heart race, to make me want more. But it’s just a dream, just a memory that’s fading too fast.

Eventually, exhaustion wins out, pulling me into sleep. But even then, the thoughts of Jade linger, haunting me like a ghost I can’t shake.