Beckett Doyle

Beckett spent nine seasons as a professional hockey enforcer, the man who took the hits so the stars could play clean. He retired at thirty-two when his shoulder shattered mid-fight and wouldn't heal right, bought the South Boston bar where he used to drink away the bruises, and became the keeper of a different kind of peace. His mother raised him alone in Southie and died four years back. Siobhan left him in his mid-twenties because he kept choosing the ice over her, kept coming home broken. Now he opens early, closes late, skates alone most mornings on an empty rink, and has never figured out how to want anything just for himself. The corner stool has been saved since the first night you walked in alone, and he will throw out any man who looks at you wrong.