Face Off

Chapter Two — Face-Off

The first thing Beck noticed when he stepped onto the ice was that Aitor Valdez was already there.

Of course he was.

Beck tightened the laces on his gloves and looked across the rink.

The St. Aurelia Academy team occupied the opposite side of the ice, their dark uniforms perfectly arranged, their equipment spotless, their coach barking instructions.

And right in the middle of them stood Aitor.

He was listening to his coach with his arms crossed, looking completely uninterested in the chaos around him.

Beck rolled his eyes.

"What's wrong with you?"

Beck glanced beside him.

Mason was staring at him.

"Nothing."

"You've been glaring at Valdez since we walked in."

"I'm not glaring."

"You absolutely are."

Beck looked back across the rink.

Aitor turned his head at exactly the same moment.

Their eyes met.

Aitor's expression didn't change.

Beck raised an eyebrow.

Aitor did the same.

Beck looked away first.

Not because he cared.

Because the referee was calling them into position.

"Players to centre!"

The two teams moved toward the middle.

Beck took his position.

Across from him stood Aitor.

For a moment, neither said anything.

Then Aitor looked down at Beck's stick.

"New one?"

Beck looked at his stick.

"Yeah."

"Trying something different?"

"No."

Aitor nodded.

"Probably wise."

Beck frowned.

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing."

"Then don't say it."

Aitor's mouth twitched.

The referee stepped between them.

"Enough."

Beck rolled his eyes.

The puck dropped.

Everything happened at once.

Beck moved.

So did Aitor.

Their sticks struck the ice as they fought for possession, neither willing to give an inch.

Beck managed to knock the puck toward Mason.

Mason passed it back.

Beck accelerated.

A St. Aurelia defender came toward him.

Beck dodged.

Another followed.

He shot.

The goalie blocked it.

The puck bounced toward the corner.

Beck chased it.

Aitor got there first.

"Move."

Beck laughed.

"Make me."

Aitor pushed the puck away.

Beck intercepted it.

The crowd reacted.

Aitor immediately followed.

Beck raced toward the goal.

Five seconds.

Four.

Three—

Aitor came alongside him.

Beck shot.

The puck hit the post.

Aitor grabbed it.

He turned and sent it down the rink.

"You're welcome," Aitor called.

Beck stared after him.

"You're unbelievable."

The first period ended without a goal.

Beck hated it.

Not because the score was tied.

Because Aitor had spent the entire period in his way.

Every time Beck moved, Aitor seemed to be there.

Every time Beck had the puck, Aitor was behind him.

Every time Beck looked up, there he was.

It was irritating.

It was distracting.

And Beck refused to admit that Aitor was probably the best player he'd faced all season.

During the break, Beck sat on the bench while his coach spoke to the team.

"Westbridge, we're playing too individually. Move the puck. Trust your teammates."

Beck nodded.

His eyes wandered across the rink.

Aitor stood with his own team.

Their coach was talking.

Aitor looked serious now.

Focused.

Beck watched him for a second longer than he intended.

"Beck."

He looked up.

His coach was staring directly at him.

"Sorry."

"You're supposed to be listening."

"I am."

"Then tell me what I just said."

Beck hesitated.

Mason snorted beside him.

"Move the puck."

His coach sighed.

"Exactly."

The second period was worse.

For both teams.

The game became faster.

Harder.

Every possession turned into a battle.

And somehow, Beck and Aitor kept ending up against each other.

Beck stole the puck.

Aitor took it back.

Aitor made a shot.

Beck blocked it.

Beck scored.

Aitor's team answered less than a minute later.

1–1.

The crowd became deafening.

Beck skated back toward his side.

As he passed Aitor, Aitor said quietly,

"Nice goal."

Beck looked at him.

"Thanks."

"Don't expect me to compliment you again."

Beck laughed.

"Don't worry. I wasn't planning on asking."

Aitor skated away.

Beck watched him for half a second.

Then shook his head.

What was wrong with this guy?

By the final period, everyone was exhausted.

The score was still tied.

2–2.

Five minutes remained.

Beck's legs were burning.

His coach shouted from the bench.

"Hayes!"

Beck looked over.

"Take the left!"

He nodded.

The puck came flying toward him.

He caught it.

Aitor was already moving.

Beck accelerated.

Aitor followed.

They raced down the ice together.

The crowd rose.

Beck could hear his teammates shouting.

He looked toward the goal.

Open.

He had a chance.

Then Aitor moved directly into his path.

Beck stopped.

Aitor stopped too.

"You really don't know when to quit, do you?" Beck asked.

Aitor's breathing was heavy.

"Neither do you."

Beck smirked.

"That's why you're going to lose."

"Keep telling yourself that."

Beck moved left.

Aitor followed.

Right.

Aitor followed again.

Beck suddenly passed the puck behind him.

Mason caught it.

He shot.

GOAL.

The stadium erupted.

Beck threw his arms up.

His teammates rushed toward him.

3–2.

Westbridge was ahead.

Aitor stood near the blue line, staring at the scoreboard.

Beck caught his eye.

For the first time all game, Aitor didn't look amused.

He looked angry.

Good.

Beck grinned.

The final whistle sounded a few minutes later.

Westbridge had won.

Again.

Outside the locker rooms, Beck was still riding the adrenaline of the victory.

His teammates were celebrating around him.

Someone had music playing.

Someone else was already talking about the next game.

Beck grabbed his water bottle.

Then he noticed Aitor walking toward the exit.

Their eyes met.

Aitor stopped.

"Enjoy it."

Beck smiled.

"I am."

"Because next time, we win."

Beck took a drink.

"You've got a lot of confidence for someone who just lost."

Aitor stepped closer.

"You've got a lot of confidence for someone who barely beat us."

"Barely still counts."

Aitor shook his head.

"See you around, Hayes."

"Unfortunately."

Aitor walked away.

Beck watched him disappear through the doors.

Mason came up beside him.

"You two are going to kill each other before this tournament ends."

Beck laughed.

"Hopefully."

Mason stared at him.

"That wasn't a joke, was it?"

Beck smiled.

"Nope."

He slung his bag over his shoulder.

He had no idea how long the tournament would last.

He had no idea how many times he'd have to face Aitor Valdez.

And he certainly had no idea that this new team—and the boy leading it—was about to become a much bigger part of his life than either of them expected.

For now, though, Beck had won.

And that was all that mattered.