Destiny on Ice (Boys of Winter #1)

Destiny on Ice (Boys of Winter #1)

S.R. Grey




Golden Boy Gets a Little Tarnished


My father was a great hockey player. Back in the day, in the era of eighties’ big hair and synthesized music, Billy Oliver won not just one, but two Stanley Cups. He was awarded the Conn Smythe trophy both times and has received an assortment of other hardware throughout the years.

He’s retired now, but my dad was once a star.

To me, though, he’s always just been Dad.

But as his only child, I have a legacy to live up to. I pray I don’t disappoint him. I pray someday I’ll be as good as he once was. And damn it, I better win a freaking Stanley Cup like he did.

I have no choice, not really. Since the moment my father first laced up hockey skates on my three-year-old little feet, the look of pride on his face told me even then all I needed to know—anything short of being the best will never do.

And guess what?

In many ways, I’ve become the best at what I do, which is, like my dad, play professional hockey.

I’ve been good since the start, a natural some say. I don’t know about that, but I do know that even before I was drafted—in the first round by the Las Vegas Wolves, an expansion team at the time—I was being called “The Golden Boy” and “The Next One.”

These days, three years later, I’m pretty much the poster boy for the NHL. And I have a slew of endorsement deals to prove it.

Lately, though, I’ve been falling short.

And I really don’t know why.

Something is missing for me in the game. Or is it something that’s missing in me?

I blow out a breath and shake my head.

Things started out so great. Where’d it all go wrong?

I made a name for myself early on. Expansion teams usually struggle for years before posting a winning record. Not so for the Wolves. With me centering what was then a subpar line, I was still able to make us shine. We came out swinging that first season in the league.



Brent Oliver Scores the Game-Winning Goal in His and the Wolves’ First NHL Game, Sets Up Teammates for Two More



One month later, there was this:



The Wolves Off to a Completely Unexpected Stellar Start



Then things started to slide.

Those subpar players on my line weren’t enough to keep afloat a pretty much overall crappy team, even with me centering. The Wolves’ owners and management made the necessary moves—they don’t mess around when shit needs to get done.

We picked up a phenomenal winger, Nolan Solvenson. He started to play and things turned around.



Adding Skilled Right-Winger Nolan Solvenson to Rookie Brent Oliver’s First Line Proving to be a Masterful Move



On a Mid-Season Winning Streak, That Solvenson Trade is Paying Off for the Wolves!



Another trade made at the deadline gave us Benjamin Perry. A big, strong left-handed winger, he was the final piece to the puzzle. Even with far-from-elite second, third, and fourth lines, it didn’t matter. Not with me, Benjamin, and Nolan on the first line. We could not be stopped.

Benjamin—or Benny, as he’s known to the team—is adept at using his size and muscle to check the hell out of any sorry soul who happens to be matched up against him. He simply wears other players down…and then it’s a f*cking scorefest. Thanks, in part, to his killer slapshot.

Together with Nolan, a sniper in his own right, we were—and in many ways still are—quite a force to be reckoned with. We destroy teams, though not as much lately. But back then, man, we were racking up so many points that the press branded us the OPS line, as in Special Forces.



The OPS Line’s Snipers of Oliver, Perry, and Solvenson Eliminate the Competition with Ease



There’s Nothing Covert about This Line’s Scoring Prowess



We worked our reputation to our advantage. Trash-talking on the ice and taunting players became our pastimes. We also happened to get a lot of pucks in the net.

Ah, the good old days.

We still trash-talk and taunt, but we aren’t as lethal as we once were.

“We just need to get back on track,” I murmur to myself. “The season doesn’t start for a few more weeks. I’ll have my shit together by then.”

I better, since I’m the captain of the team. If I go down, we all sink. And that’s not fair to anyone, especially not to my linemates, Nolan and Benny. Over the past couple of years they’ve become my best friends, which is a blessing and a curse. It’s a blessing that we play so well together, but it’s a curse that we also have a tendency to fuel each other’s vices.

God knows this off-season we’ve become far too focused on partying and women. Like me, my linemates are extremely popular. Hell, let’s not mince words—we’re gods. In the hockey world, it’s good to be a god. Guys want to be you and girls want to do you. Multiply that all by a hundred if you’re not an ogre in the looks department.

And none of us are.

Not to brag—though, I guess I kind of am—but I have the most women falling at my feet. Hell, I’ve had women who’ve wanted to lick my feet.

Like, literally.

There was this crazy bitch this one time…

Wait, I digress. Back to where our team is today—floundering in a sea of mediocrity.