Captain of My Bad Decisions

MM Hockey Romance
by Chase Power

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Pairing: MM
Heat: 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ Inferno
Tropes: Captain/Rookie, Grumpy/Sunshine, Secret Relationship, Bi Awakening, Praise Kink, Forced Proximity, Opposites Attract, Touch Starved, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Exploration

He’s the captain. I’m the catastrophe. The correction is mutual.

Connor “CJ” Jameson has forty-eight hours to stop being pro hockey’s biggest liability or he’s getting sent back to the minors. His punishment? Being handed to Elias Kovacs — stone-cold team captain, six-foot-three of tattooed discipline, and the last man alive who should be in charge of Connor’s “behavioral correction.”

Eli doesn’t babysit. He doesn’t mentor. And he sure as hell doesn’t notice the way his new assignment’s smart mouth makes his blood run too hot.

But the arrangement is simple: Connor follows the rules, and Eli keeps him in the league. What’s not simple is the way Connor responds to orders — flushed, eager, desperate to be good for the one person who seems to think he’s worth saving. Or the way Eli can’t stop wanting to push harder, take more, test exactly how far Connor will bend before he breaks.

They call it discipline. Then they call it stress relief. Then they stop calling it anything at all, because naming it would mean admitting this reckless, filthy, career-ending thing between them is the best bad decision either of them has ever made.

You’ll love this book if you enjoy:

✅ Grumpy captain × sunshine rookie MM hockey romance
✅ “Who gave you permission to be this hot” tension from page one
✅ Praise kink and discipline dynamics that’ll ruin you
✅ A bi-awakening so intense the reader feels it too
✅ Secret relationship with a “we got caught” clock ticking
✅ Explicit heat that earns every 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️
✅ Found family hockey team with the best supporting cast
✅ HEA guaranteed

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⚠️ Content Warning: This novel contains explicit sexual content (graphic MM scenes including praise/degradation kink, light bondage, impact play, dom/sub dynamics), strong language, closet anxiety, homophobia (off-page/institutional), references to emotionally abusive parenting, ADHD representation, and media scrutiny. A safeword scene is included where an emotional boundary is crossed and immediately respected. Intended for readers 18+.

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Chapter One: Connor

The puck leaves my stick and I know — the way you know a sneeze is coming or a relationship is over — that I’ve just fucked everything.

It’s a nothing pass. Routine breakout, third period, one-goal game. The kind of play I’ve made ten thousand times since I was six years old on a rink in Kenosha with duct tape on my shin guards. Tape to tape, up the boards, move your feet. Peewee shit.

Except my tape-to-tape goes straight to the opposing center’s forehand like I gift-wrapped it with a bow and a little card that says Happy Tuesday, please end my career.

Turnover. Zone entry. Shot. Goal.

The horn blasts and twelve thousand people groan in unison, which is a sound I will hear in my nightmares for the rest of my natural life.

And me? I’m standing at center ice with my stick across my knees, watching the replay on the jumbotron because apparently the universe decided I needed to see my fuckup from four different angles in high definition.

We lose 4-2. The locker room after is the kind of quiet that makes your ears ring. Twenty-three men and nobody’s talking.

Coach walks in. “That was not our standard,” he says. “I care about effort, and tonight, effort was optional for about half this room.” He doesn’t look at me. That’s worse.

I’m halfway to the parking lot exit when I feel it. Awareness. Elias Kovacs is leaning against the wall outside the coaches’ offices, arms folded. His dark eyes look black under the fluorescent lights. He’s looking at me the way you’d look at a math problem.

I hold his gaze for one second. Two. Three. Then I shove through the exit doors and pretend my heart isn’t hammering.

Here is the thing about Connor Jameson: he does not sit with feelings. Connor Jameson has a group chat called Boys Who Make Bad Choices, and an unlimited capacity for converting emotional distress into questionable nightlife decisions.

Twenty minutes later I’m at a downtown club called Voltage. By midnight I’m four drinks deep. A girl pulls me onto the dance floor. We dance, and it’s fine. Muscle memory. Then I catch a flash of someone behind her — a guy, tall, killer jawline — and when our eyes meet, he smiles, and it hits me somewhere my dance partner’s grinding didn’t.

A drunk fan in a Blades jersey confronts me at the bar. Bryce steers me out. A girl in the corner films it. By sunrise, the video has forty thousand views.

Morning arrives like a home invasion. Forty-three notifications. Uncoachable. Lazy. Distracted. Too much. The words that have followed me since juniors.

I think about my mom. Diane Jameson, five-foot-four, tougher than anyone I’ve met on the ice. The same 2009 Civic with the cracked windshield. I’m supposed to fix that. I got the golden ticket out of Kenosha, and in exchange I’m supposed to not fuck it up.

My phone buzzes one more time. Eli Kovacs. One line: Practice tomorrow. 6 AM. Don’t be late.

Something about the bluntness of it is almost calming. Just a time and an expectation. I set my alarm for 5:15. I don’t sleep.

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The Morning After — A scene TOO HOT for Amazon

Connor wakes up in Eli’s bed for the second time — but this time, the captain is still there. Morning coffee, morning light, and the filthiest, most tender morning-after scene in the series. Shower steam, kitchen counter, and three little words said without any clothes on.

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