As he moved forward, footsteps echoed slightly on the polished concrete floor. He caught sight of a few figures down the hallway near the training wing. His breath hitched.
No way…
Jett Acton. Kenneth Salas. His gaze sharpened as recognition flickered across their faces. He’d played against them before—felt the sting of their speed, their power, their precision on the ice. He hadn’t just respected them; he’dfearedthem in the best way.
And now, they were onhisside?
A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, tentative but real.Boy, this was a good sign that they were going to have a strong team.
He already knew, from a late-night conversation with the coaching staff, that at least one or two transfers from the North Texas Coyotes were on their way in. This team wasn’t here to warm benches or just make the playoffs. They were building something real. Something formidable.
As the tour began, Liam found himself walking through the facility in a quiet state of wonder. He couldn’t hide it. He didn’t want to. Every hallway gleamed, and every detail was dialed in with surgical precision. This wasn’t just a team—it was an empire in the making.
The organization clearly wasn’t messing around. They wanted the Cup. Not just eventually, notsomeday—thisseason. The intention was unmistakable, etched into every square foot of the space. And Liam could feel that energy bleeding into his bones. They had spared no expense, and it showed.
He wandered deeper, eyes wide as a kid in a toy store. The weight room alone was leagues ahead of anything he’d ever trained in—heck, it looked like it belonged in a science fiction film. There were high-tech scales embedded with sensors to track hydration and muscle mass and a massive water tank with an underwater treadmill that looked like it could double as a NASA experiment.
A skating simulator occupied an entire corner, complete with a wraparound screen and motion feedback. Weighted leg straps. Cryotherapy units. Recovery lounges. Everywhere he turned, it was clear—this place was made for champions.
Frankly, he was impressed.
No—he was floored.
And then he reached the locker room.
His steps slowed as he entered, breath catching in his throat. It was silent in here but thick with promise. The walls gleamed, the lighting was warm and intentional, and the air held that familiar, comforting mix of fabric softener, fresh leather, and anticipation.
His eyes scanned the rows of open cubbies, each one thoughtfully prepared. Freshly sharpened skates. Brand-new uniforms. Helmets gleaming under the lights. It was like walking into a dream.
He walked past each nameplate, nodding slightly, his fingers brushing the smooth edges of a jersey here, the curve of a helmet there. Some names he recognized. Others, he didn’t. But every single one carried weight. These were strong players. Fierce defenders. Aggressive goalies with reputations that preceded them.
A slow, satisfied smile curved his lips.
They weren’t just building a team.
They were building a legacy. And Liam was going to be a part of it. His fingers touched his nameplate, unable to fight the excitement bubbling within him as he traced the letters, letting his ego swell as anticipation and anxiety raced down his spine, filling him.
Captain.
Liam stood in the quiet locker room, his eyes trailing over the list of names on the roster posted to the bulletin board. Each one carried weight—some names he’d grown up watching, others he’d battled on the ice, and a few were already legends in their own right. His name, Liam Savage, lookedoddly out of place, atop all of them with a large ‘C’ beside his name.
It felt surreal.
The soft creak of footsteps behind him broke his thoughts.
“What do you think?”
The voice was low, gravelly, with years of authority behind it. Liam turned, his heartbeat thudding just a little faster. Coach Starnes stood a few feet away, arms crossed, expression unreadable. The man had the presence of someone who didn’t need to raise his voice to command a room.
“I think I’m really glad to be here,” Liam said honestly. His voice came out steady, but inside, there was a storm brewing—uncertainty, pressure, disbelief.
“I think you’ll be a good fit once you get your footing, young man. I’ve been watching you for a while now, and I think you’ll make a wonderful captain for the team,” the coach told him.
Liam blinked, stunned by his blind faith in him. He swallowed hard, trying to find the right words. His hand lifted, pointing at the list.
“Each one of these men is incredible on the ice. Boucher is the captain of the Coyotes already and has more experience at…”
“Stop,”Coach Starnes interrupted gently, though his voice held steel beneath the calm. His eyes didn’t waver. “Boucher is a captain – yes. I am not going to lie to you, Savage. He was going to be our captain before we signed you, but there are a few things we need to clear up on the back end. The reason I pushed so hard foryouis because of your image and your name.”
