Page 2 of Icebreaker

I groaned and found myself torn between annoyance and the niggling amusement sneaking under my skin.He's just a kid, Axel. Damn cute one, but yeah, kid… 'nuff said.

As Quinn bounced away on the balls of his feet, I watched him start to charm the pants off his next teammate. That kid was trouble…big trouble.

Somehow, he'd gotten past my testy defenses with an infectious laugh and a shock of unkempt hair falling over those sparkling blue eyes. He'd pushed a few of my buttons, and I wasn't sure what to think.

Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I returned to my real skates and jersey and ignored the little flutter in my gut. I was in the arena for one reason—hockey. At age 35, I had to prove that I still had some gas in the tank and could earn my place on the ice.

It was no time to spend precious energy on a sunshiny smile and weak figure skating jokes.

When I finally hit the ice, I immediately started to look for a certain blonde.Damn, what's that about?He was zipping around the rink like he was skating a victory lap, raising his arms to an imaginary crowd.

Quinn caught me looking and winked. He turned the screws tighter with a megawatt grin. Despite trying to hold it in, I responded with a slight smile.

I tried to remember the last time someone winked at me. Hopefully, it had happened more recently than the Dante Disaster.

What was Quinn after? I'd know precisely what he wanted if we were in a bar together.

Still, as I skated past him, I couldn't muster any ill will. Maybe, and I hedged a little, he might be what I needed to thaw some of the ice around my battle-scarred heart.

I looked down and turned in the opposite direction, shaking my head. Those were ridiculous thoughts. They had nothing to do with hockey.

And then he whizzed by me, close enough that we could have touched. It was another sign. We were in for a hell of a ride together, and for some unknown reason, I was looking forward to it.

I glided over to the far end of the rink to take some shots. While defensemen weren't known for scoring like forwards, anyone who thought they never shot hadn't watched enough hockey.

The puck hit the back of the net with a satisfying clunk heard across the ice. It was my statement, my marking of my territory. I wasn't a washed-up veteran clinging to my final days. I was Axel Karlsson, and I still had plenty of fire in my veins.

My teammates drifted toward me, full of animated chatter and chuckles. Their sticks slapped against the ice, sending pucks flying in every direction.

Standing out among them, of course, was Quinn, confident and almost cocky. He sent a puck in my direction, and I stopped it dead against my stick. We exchanged a look a split-second before I slapped it into the net.

"Okay, men, gather in—power circle time." Coach Nolan Fraser's gruff, rumbling voice cut through the noise.

Coach Fraser and I had a history. In many ways, I owed him my career. He spotted me as a green minor leaguer with plenty of rough edges, but he saw talent there, too, and convinced his GM to sign me.

All was good between us…for several years. Coach was a phenomenal mentor until Dante happened, and he stepped aside while the media tore me apart, and the Islanders nearly traded me. It was one of the many bitter pills they all forced me to swallow.

Now, here we were, back together on a brand-new team, trying to prove we still had talent, surrounded by rookies and journeyman hangers-on.

Coach sent us into basic passing drills. I partnered with Max Grissom, a fellow defenseman enjoying his first season in the NHL after a seven-year slog in the minors. I gave out pointers occasionally, trying to put Quinn and Coach in my rearview mirror.

Then, in one of those cruel twists of fate, Coach switched us to a two-on-two drill with Quinn as one of the pair facing off against Max and me. It was a direct test of my defense mettle and Quinn's talents as a forward.

"Let's see what you've got, old man." He flashed a grin that most would find charming. I tapped the ice with my stick and scowled.

"Keep it up, kid," I shot back, pushing the puck forward with more force than required. The drill escalated quickly, and our competitive instincts flew into overdrive.

Quinn tried to be the hotshot, dancing around with the puck, flicking it through his legs, and faking left and right directly in front of me. His fellow rookies whooped it up.

I'd had enough. I intercepted a pass from his linemate and used my body to shield the puck. Ever fearless, Quinn came at me. I delivered a clean shoulder check, within the rules but strong enough to remind him he wasn't in a junior league.

He hit the ice and landed on his ass with an audible thunk. I smirked as he sat there for a few seconds, stunned and shaking his head, before he got up and chuckled.

"Guess I was asking for that one."

"Welcome to the big leagues, rookie,"I growled as I skated off to join the rest of the squad for our next drill.

I'd delivered my message. You didn't automatically get respect. You had to earn it.

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