Hard Checked (Ice Kings Book 4)

  Hard Checked

  Ice Kings, #4

  Stacey Lynn

  Hard Checked

  Ice Kings, #4

  Stacey Lynn

  Copyright © 2020 Stacey Lynn

  Content Editing: My Brother’s Editor

  Proofreading: Virginia Tesi Carey

  Cover Design: Shanoff Designs

  Hard Checked is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, trademarks, and incidents are used fictitiously or are the product of the author’s imagination.

  All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reprinted, reproduced, or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review passages only.

  This purchased material is for personal use only and NOT to be shared. Thank you so much for respecting the author’s wishes.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Other Books by Stacey Lynn

  Chapter One

  Sebastian

  My fingers tap on my phone’s blank screen, debating.

  Is there any point in sending my wife another text?

  My noise-canceling headphones aren’t on, but I’ve been wearing them since before we stepped on our team’s plane to bring us home from Nashville.

  We just won the first game of the year. Professionally, I’m having one of the best seasons of my career as a defenseman for the Carolina Ice Kings. Our team is having the best season we’ve ever had. We’re in first place by four games. We’re gelling perfectly both on the ice and off. Our lines are perfection.

  Our goalie, Byron Maddox, has allowed fewer goals than any other goalie in the league.

  We are on fire. On top. Psyched to finish out the season strong for a good run at the Cup.

  Personally?

  Nothing could be going worse.

  Madison hasn’t answered a text or phone call from me since she left before Christmas. Spending the holidays by myself and then with the team on the road is not how I wanted to ring in a new year, but it was better than the alternative—home alone.

  Even before she left to see her family in Minnesota, things between us were bad. In the weeks prior, she spent most of the days alternating between crying or in a zombie-like trance since we were dealt the latest blow to our medical struggles.

  Low sperm count. Low motility.

  In addition to the medical issues Madison has had the last couple of years while we’ve struggled with infertility, now I’m equally at fault. When we sat across from the doctor, barely acknowledging one another as he gave us that information, my wife’s hope deflated as fast as a popped balloon.

  I’ve promised her since we were fifteen years old I would always give her everything she’s ever wanted. And this? The one thing she’s wanted above all else… at this, I’ve failed her.

  I’m no longer certain we can come back from it. And the way she looked at me when I broached the conversation about other ways we could create our own family?

  That didn’t go so well.

  “We can do foster care.”

  “Please. You’re hardly home. Not exactly stable. And what happens if we get an emergency call for children when you’re on the road? I can’t do it all by myself.”

  “I’ve never suggested you would be.” Sighing, I scrub a hand through my hair. It’s long, but I never cut it during the season, so it flops at my shoulders and over my ears. “Adoption. We never ruled that out.”

  Tears swell in her eyes and she bites her lip. There was a time when Madison’s bright, fiery red hair and pale blue eyes were the only thing I needed to see to get my day started on the right foot. There’s still fire in her hair, but the pale blue eyes have lost their luster over the years. It kills me to see her constant sadness.

  “Madison. We have options and the means to pursue them. Please, just think about it some more?”

  “Okay, Seb. I’ll think about it.”

  Her smile is faint and disappears quickly, but I lean in and kiss her. “Love you, Mads. Always.”

  “You too.”

  She steps back and I grab the handle of the suitcase. The car service has been waiting in the driveway to take me to the airport. I leave without another word and it takes me until I reach the airport to realize that it’s the first time she hasn’t said ‘I love you. Be safe. Hurry home’ to me like she’s done before every trip since college.

  Fear edged in when I realized she didn’t tell me she loved me. I considered going back, missing my flight to the game to check on her. Instead, I brushed it off. Now, that fear is alive and thriving—that fear that if she left, she might not return.

  “Damn it,” I mutter and pull up the string of texts I’ve sent to her.

  Hey honey. Landed safely. Love you.

  Call me. Back at hotel after skate. Miss you.

  Mads? Where are you?

  Tell your family I said Merry Christmas. Hope you’re having fun.

  Tried calling. Heading to bed. Love you.

  Happy New Years, honey. Love you. Always. We’ll figure this out.

  Good morning, honey. Sleep well? Heading to rink soon. Call me.

  My knee bounces and my muscles are taut. My jaw aches from all the teeth gritting I’ve done to bite back a growl of frustration.

  Why in the hell is she not answering a single text? What is going on in her mind? I need her home, so we can figure this out.

  “Hey. You all right?”

  I turn to my teammate and fellow lineman and defenseman, Sawyer. He’s happy as a clam, recently getting married on Christmas Eve to his long-time girlfriend, now wife, Debbie. The fact they have a baby on the way hasn’t made him my favorite person lately.

  When Madison found out? She cried for a week.

  I know what the guys think.

  Madison’s a bitch. She’s rude. She hardly ever smiles and she always looks annoyed when she’s around their families.

  But she wasn’t always like this. It’s the stress. Seeing everyone we love get everything we want while month after month, we end up disappointed?

  It’s hard not to become bitter.

  “I’m good.” I turn back to my phone and the blank screen. I need to get home. Get Madison to talk to me.

  “Looks like you want to punch through the airplane’s window,” Sawyer says, grimacing. “And I’m going to have to suggest you not.”

  He shivers, giving me shit. Normally I like his playful attitude, but tonight, I’m not in the mood.

  Across the table from us are Jason and Jude Taylor. Not only are they brothers and two of not only the best wingers in the professional hockey league, they’re the best men I’ve ever met.

  Jude has his headphones on, head back, sleeping.

  Jason has his headphones on, eyes on me with brows slightly arched. Great. How long has he been watching me? He’s t
he only person who has any idea what we’ve been going through, and even then, he knows very little. Definitely not the most recent bad news.

  “I’m fine, Sawyer.”

  I grab my phone and pull up my music streaming app, trying to ignore both of them.

  “Really? ‘Cause you had a couple more penalties than normal today and you’ve been playing crazy aggressive, so if something’s going on…”

  “Barthol deserved it.” Drake Barthol is Nashville’s most powerful center. He’s also a damn good guy and a clean player. Which means I’m full of shit and Sawyer knows it. Someone had to be the focus of my frustration. Might as well have been him.

  “No. He didn’t.”

  I can barely hear Sawyer through my headphones, but I can’t miss the tone in his voice. I turn to him, see his rarely used serious attitude, and sigh.

  It’s not his fault he can knock up his woman and I can’t.

  Or that Madison hasn’t talked to me in over a week.

  “Just a bad game. I’ll get my head in it by the next one.”

  “I’m not worried about your game. If something’s going on…”

  “Nothing is going on,” I hiss out through gritted teeth. The last thing I’m doing is spilling my guts thousands of feet in the air.

  “All right.” He lifts his hands and shoves off out of his chair, back to where he’s been hanging with Byron Maddox and Duke Fletcher, other teammates.

  I watch him go and when I pull my focus back to my table, I catch Jason still watching me.

  “Don’t start.”

  He pushes his lips out and nods. “I’m here. You know that, right? You were there for me.”

  Yeah, when I knew he was hesitating about going for a woman he wanted who wanted him back and both were too stupid to make a move. This is different.

  I know what he wants to hear, so I give it to him. “I know. Thanks.”

  “Good.”

  An hour later, the plane has landed, I’ve grabbed my luggage and I’m in the back seat of a Town Car being driven home.

  I pull up my phone again and hit call. My knee bounces while I wait…

  “Hey, you’ve reached Madison Hendrix. I’m not available right now…”

  I end the call. Try again. Four more times only to get the same voicemail message. It’s not like her to completely ignore me.

  Which means by the time the car pulls into my curved driveway in a suburb outside Charlotte thirty-five minutes later, I’m passed the point of slightly concerned or pissed off.

  I’m getting worried out of my brain.

  What if something happened?

  I’m attacked at the ankles as soon as I step inside the front door.

  Scooping up Bruiser, our seven-pound Maltese fur ball I bought for Madison after her second round of fertility treatments didn’t work, I slam the door closed. We have a housekeeper who helps Madison with the upkeep of the house and yard. If Madison’s not home, Bruiser’s usually kenneled in his own private dog room we made for him. I’d texted Cara earlier and told her she didn’t have to wait for me and could leave him out. The poor guy’s been kenneled way more than usual in the last week.

  Once my cheek is covered in small doggy slobber and he settles in my arms, I set him down at my feet.

  The house is quiet. Eerily so. Madison always has music on. She’s not a huge television watcher but she loves books. I usually come home from a trip to see her settled in her pajamas, a glass of wine she’s been nursing, her Kindle on the coffee table and some kind of music, either pop, country, or classic depending on her mood, filtering through our house system.

  To come into the house and have it absolutely silent is nerve-wracking.

  At my feet, Bruiser barks once, twice and then spins in three circles before taking off like a rocket for his food bowl.

  “All right. All right, little man.”

  I’ll feed the dog. Call Madison. Again.

  And then I’m fucking going to bed to figure out what in the hell is going on and deal with it tomorrow with a clear head.

  Once I’ve dished out Bruiser’s food and made sure he has fresh water, I send a quick thank you text to Cara and open the fully stocked fridge. I’m rummaging through the contents when the doorbell rings.

  Bruiser loses his shit at the sound like he always does and slips and slides on the tile floor as he races to beat me there. I scoop him up on the way, checking the clock above our fireplace.

  It’s freaking ten o’clock. Who in the hell could it be?

  A large male figure dressed in what looks like a uniform through our frosted glass front door, makes the hair on my arms rise.

  The hell?

  As soon as I open the door, a man who was facing to the side turns to me.

  Instantly, I take him in and double blink. The badge on his chest and the police car in my driveway make me freeze. In his outstretched hand, he’s holding a manila envelope.

  “Mr. Hendrix?”

  “Yeah?” In my arms, Bruiser squirms, so I set him down inside, close the door behind me, and step on the front porch before replying further. “Can I help you?”

  “Sheriff Butler, sir, and you’ve been served.”

  His words blur as he speaks. “Served what?”

  “Dissolution of marriage. Now, there’s a form on top in the envelope I need you to sign showing receipt of the papers. My suggestion, get yourself a lawyer, file a return by the date provided.”

  Dissolution… of marriage?

  “The hell?” I rip the envelope out of his hands, shaking so hard as blood rushes straight to my brain and to my ears where my heart thumps. It takes me several tries to tear open the envelope before I find the metal clasp, flip it, and take out the papers.

  “You’re kidding me.” Words stall in my throat and my chest grows unbearably icy.

  She wouldn’t do this. Would she?

  At the top of the papers is a professional-looking letterhead.

  Ritter Family Law Firm along with a second name I don’t recognize. But the one I do know is enough.

  Madison’s uncle is a lawyer. Ritter is her maiden name.

  Shit.

  Right there, in black ink. The words, Petition for Dissolution of Marriage stare back at me, growing blurrier the longer I stare at them.

  “Mr. Hendrix—”

  “Sebastian.” I glare up at him.

  This isn’t his fault but I’m pretty certain if it wouldn’t get me sent to jail, I’d punch him in the face.

  “I didn’t come here to cause problems, and I’m not the reason for your understandable anger. I am, however, doing my job. If you could sign the acceptance.”

  I bite back a growl and clamp my teeth together. I’m vaguely aware his hand is at his hip near his holster and holy fucking shit.

  She’s doing this.

  She’s actually left me and she’s doing this. My knees shake as I unfold the top sheet of paper, the acceptance the Sheriff has mentioned. Beneath it is another envelope. My name is on it, written in loopy, familiar handwriting, I want to tear it in half without reading. How kind of Madison to send me a note along with divorce papers.

  A pen ends up in my line of sight.

  “Fine.” I take it without looking, scribble my name and hand the letter back to him.

  “Thank you,” he says, folding the paper and taking the pen from me. “Take care, Mr. Hendrix.”

  He turns and heads back to his patrol car. I’m frozen to my spot on my porch until it’s far from sight.

  Then, I turn and throw up into the bushes off our front porch.

  Sebastian,

  I’m a coward for this. I know this. But you wouldn’t let me leave and you wouldn’t listen to me in all these years I’ve tried explaining. I want my baby. Ours. One I carry in my body and birth into the world. Now, we know with certainty that will never happen. I understand there are options. I’ve crossed those off. Please.

  It’s over.

  Let me find my peace adjusting to the
latest news. Perhaps this way, we’ll both eventually get what we want but there’s no hope of it—

  The paper crumples in my fist. I pull my arm back and fling it, unsatisfied it only bounces off the kitchen island before dropping to the floor. A scream tears from my throat and I look for something more substantial to throw. Something that will shatter like she’s just done to me.

  “Fucking bullshit. All of this is such bullshit.”

  The final flames of my marriage ending are going up right in front of me. I pull out the papers she had dropped off like she had it timed to do as soon as I got back home and read them.

  Every minute that passes burns the hole she’s creating brighter and bigger.

  Twenty minutes later, I am pissed.

  A few thousand dollars a month until she lands on her feet and finds a job to support herself along with the rest of her clothes and personal items in her closet and our house. She’ll arrange for movers to come pack her things. That’s all she’s asked for.

  No money for a down payment for her own home.

  No Bruiser.

  No insisting we sell the beach house on Sanibel Island where we’ve lived for thirty days every summer to relax before training camp. And she gets half.

  There’s no half of nothing.

  After all she’s been through. After all the dreams she put on hold for me, insisting it was worth it. After all the years she spent crying in my arms, hurting because she couldn’t carry our own child… and she’s asking for fucking pennies.

  It’s almost more insulting than demanding everything. She walks away with my name and the salary of what my father makes teaching and she doesn’t want a damn thing else from me except for my signature.