Early-November

Baltimore, Maryland

The crowd surged to their feet, their shouts and screams echoing around the arena with a deafening roar. Awareness of the noise barely registered with Ethan. The sound of metal digging into ice floated up to his ears, musical and mesmerizing. Blood pumped through his veins with a steady thump-thump as a rivulet of sweat dripped from his temple. A player from Ottawa moved next to him, the motion nothing more than a blur in the corner of his eye. Ethan cut to the left then stopped and spun around, passing the puck to Derek Caulton with precision ease. Caulton caught it on his tape and moved along the boards, closing in on the net before shooting the puck to JP Larocque.

Ethan dodged the Ottawa player, pushing past him with practiced ease to get into position. JP passed the puck to him and Ethan shot it back to Derek. His teammate pulled back with his stick and sent the puck flying fast and low. Ottawa's goalie dove to the right, his glove hand outstretched, but it was too late. The light over the net flashed red, the sound of the horn nearly drowned out by the crowd.

Ethan clapped Derek on the leg with his stick as they skated back to the bench, congratulating him on the shot. But it was nothing more than a quick gesture, his smile short and brief.

That was the way he did everything now: short. Brief. Quick.

Not for the last few months, not since coming back to Baltimore early.

He caught Dillon Frayser's gaze, saw the question in his friend's eyes. Ethan did nothing more than nod in his direction before reaching for the water bottle and shooting a long stream into his mouth. He moved his gaze to the ice, up to the giant screen to glance at the score. It was all over but the crying—at least on Ottawa's part. This late in the third, it would be almost impossible for them to rally back, not when the Banners had a five-point lead.

Almost impossible. Nothing was a given, not in this game.

Not in anything. Ethan knew that all too well. Had learned it the hard way.

He gave himself a mental shake and turned his focus back to the game. Watching, always watching. Looking for the weakness, searching for any opening to exploit. He found a new one and hit the ice for his next shift, eager to take advantage of it.

And he did, dodging around the defenseman and shooting the puck high. It hit the back of the net with a soft whoosh, adding to the Banners' lead. Three minutes later, Justin Tome tallied another one, ending the game in a decisive manner.

Ethan piled out onto the ice with the rest of the team, stopping to grab the puck before moving over to congratulate Corbin on his first shut-out. He slapped the kid on the back then handed him the puck, moving out of the way to make room for the others before heading back to the bench and making his way through the tunnel.

"Ethan, wait up, man!"

He heard Dillon calling him, paused before reaching the locker room, waiting. He schooled his face, letting the mask settle into place. Casual smile, relaxed posture, just the barest expression of interest in his eyes.

"Yeah, what's up?"

Dillon stopped next to him, curiosity and a dozen unasked questions flaring in his eyes. He studied him for a few quiet seconds then shook his head, an odd smile on his face.

"Nothing's up. I was just going to tell you good game."

"Yeah, sure. Thanks." Ethan headed up the hallway, his gait long and sure as he moved toward the locker room, Dillon right behind him.

"We're heading over to the Maypole to grab a few drinks. You joining us?"

Ethan tossed his stick to the side and pulled off his helmet. He shook his head then ran a hand through his damp hair before pulling the jersey over his head. "No, I'm good."

Dillon nudged him, getting his attention. "You ever going to tell me what's going on?"

"Nothing's going on."

"Yeah, something is. You haven't been yourself for the last few months, not since you came back early for training camp. What's going on?"

"Nothing. Just focusing on my game."

Dillon narrowed his eyes, his gaze focused on Ethan's face. A few seconds went by before he shook his head, his disbelief clear. "Any more focused and you'd be a fucking robot."

Commotion in the doorway spared Ethan from answering. He turned around, felt a real smile spread across his face for a brief second when he saw Alec Kolchak enter the room. He was dressed in jeans and a faded sweatshirt, his son, Tanner, riding on his shoulders. Guys piled around him, hitting him on the arm or clapping him on the back. Questions rang through the room, each one louder than before, begging for answers.

How was his knee?

Wasn't he done with therapy yet?

When was he coming back?

Ethan glanced over at Corbin, noticed the kid's strained smile. He could almost feel the tension rolling off the backup goalie as Alec moved deeper into the room.

Yeah, that had to suck for Corbin. He'd been pulled up from the Bombers last season when Alec went out with a knee injury—which meant he'd be going back down when Alec came back. Yeah, it definitely sucked. But he had to have known it would happen. Maybe Alec had been out longer than anyone had anticipated, but looking at him now, you'd never know it.

Or would you?

Ethan looked closer, his mind shutting out all the noise and questions, his gaze focused on Alec as he walked. Was it his imagination, or was the man still limping? No, it had to be his imagination, along with that sudden inclination to seek out the weaknesses and find the negative in every situation.

He gave himself a mental shake then lowered himself to the bench, leaning forward to unlace his skates as everyone around him kept talking at once. A loud voice boomed throughout the room, silencing everyone.

"Listen up!" Sonny LeBlanc, their head coach, pushed his way into the room, a tube of tightly-rolled papers held in his hand. His steely eyes roamed the room, resting on each player with an intensity that could bring a strong man to his knees. But not tonight. Tonight, the expression in his eyes was congratulatory, silently telling everyone they'd done a good job.

His gaze landed on Corbin, resting on him for a few seconds longer than the others. Coach finally nodded then looked away, tapping the roll of papers against his open palm. He looked over at Alec, his lips compressing into a tight line for a brief second before he looked away. "Kolchak has an announcement."

Ethan straightened on the bench, one skate still attached to his foot. He didn't have to look around to know that his frown mirrored those of his teammates. He didn't move, his gaze focused on Alec as the man moved to the center of the room. He reached up, grabbed his son's hand and gently removed a fistful of hair from the chubby fingers. Then Alec looked around the room, an expression of unease crossing his face. Ethan was certain it had nothing to do with the fact that the toddler had grabbed another handful of hair.

"I'm retiring."

The words echoed around the silent room, bouncing off the rubber mats covering the floor and the tiles of the low ceiling. The silence stretched on for what seemed like minutes but in reality, was only seconds. Then the room erupted in loud voices. Shouts of denial mingled with questions filled with disbelief—and maybe even dismay. Alec held his hands up, waiting for the room to quiet. He cleared his throat, his eyes blinking several times before he continued.

"It's, uh, it's a surprise, I know." He tried to grin but there was no humor in it, no joy. "But I'm not where I need to be and probably won't be—"

"You just need some more time, that's all."

Alec's gaze moved to Ian Donovan's, silent communication passing between them. Ethan looked over, studying Ian. Had he known already? He must have—the pair had been friends for years. This wasn't something Alec had just learned, Ethan was certain of that. No, he'd probably known for a while, had probably told a few of the guys what was coming.

Ian, certainly. Probably Nikolai Petrovich as well. Who else? Ethan looked around, studying the faces of his teammates. The ones who had been around for a few years, like Ian and Nikolai and Randy Michaels. JP Larocque and Mat Herron. No, probably not Mat, not when the man couldn't keep a secret to save himself.

Alec kept talking, his voice thick with emotion as he assured everyone it was for the best. He couldn't play his best game with his knee, not any longer. It wasn't fair to the team, wasn't fair to them, if he couldn't bring his best to the ice each night.

Ethan listened to the words, not really hearing them. He was too busy watching everyone's reactions, guessing their thoughts from their facial expressions. Nobody was happy, that was a given. Even Corbin looked stunned.

"Stop looking so damn depressed, guys. Shit, you're making me feel worse." Alec cleared his throat, smiled again, this one less forced. "It's for the better. And just because I'm not going to be in the net anymore doesn't mean I'm not going to be around. I'm still part of the organization."

Sonny stepped forward, the scar running down his face turning from red to pink. He cleared his throat, tapped the roll of papers against his hand, and gave them a brief smile. "Kolchak here is going to be the Assistant Goaltending Coach for the Bombers. So yeah, we'll still be seeing him."

"Yeah, you can't get rid of me that easily. Besides, AJ refuses to let me completely retire. She said I'd drive her crazy." He smiled again, this one even wider. "Especially since she's pregnant again."

The room erupted once more, this time with congratulations and rowdy comments. Some of the players went over to Alec, clapping him on the back, bombarding him with questions. Ethan stayed where he was, his mind processing the news then pushing everything into neat little compartments. It was a skill he had picked up recently, one he was getting good at.

Ever since Cindy had disappeared from his life. Since that day in the airport on St. Thomas.

Things changed, whether you wanted them to or not. Tonight was a perfect example. Nothing stayed the same, things didn't work out the way you wanted. As far as Ethan was concerned, the only constant was the game.

That, at least, stayed the same. So that was what he focused on: the game.

He peeled off the rest of his gear then grabbed his shower kit. Yes, the game was the only thing that mattered, the only thing that deserved his attention. It was all about the game now.

Not about a pair of emerald green eyes that still haunted his nights.

Just the game.

Get in. Focus. Get the job done. Get out. No emotion, not anymore.