Same Jersey

Chapter Thirteen — Same Jersey

The next morning, Beck walked into the Northwood Hockey Centre with one goal.

Do his job.

Practice.

Keep his head down.

And, most importantly, avoid Aitor.

Simple.

At least, that was the plan.

The moment Beck stepped into the locker room, he knew it wasn't going to happen.

Aitor was already there.

Of course.

He stood at his locker, tying his skates while music played quietly from his phone.

Beck dropped his bag beside locker twelve.

“Morning.”

Aitor glanced at him.

“Didn't think you'd show up.”

Beck frowned.

“Why wouldn't I?”

“After yesterday?”

Beck laughed.

“You're not getting rid of me that easily.”

“Unfortunately.”

Beck sat down.

“Good. Because I plan on making your life difficult for at least the next four years.”

Aitor looked at him.

“Four years?”

“Unless you quit.”

Aitor smirked.

“Not happening.”

“Good.”

For some reason, neither of them looked away immediately.

Then Coach walked into the locker room.

“On the ice in five!”

The entire room came alive.

Players grabbed their sticks and helmets, heading toward the rink.

Beck followed.

Aitor walked beside him.

Neither said anything.

But Beck couldn't ignore the strange feeling in his chest.

This wasn't high school anymore.

They weren't opponents.

They were wearing the same jersey.

And somehow, that felt more dangerous than being on opposite sides.

The first twenty minutes of practice went smoothly.

Passing drills.

Speed drills.

Shooting.

Defensive positioning.

Beck was in his element.

The moment his skates touched the ice, everything else disappeared.

The noise.

The pressure.

The scholarship.

Aitor.

All of it.

Then Coach blew the whistle.

“Hayes! Valdez!”

Both stopped.

“Over here.”

Beck looked at Aitor.

Aitor looked back.

“Oh, no.”

Coach pointed toward them.

“You two are together for the next drill.”

Beck immediately raised his hand.

“Coach—”

“No.”

“But—”

“I don't want excuses.”

Aitor sighed.

Coach tossed a puck onto the ice.

“Passing drill. Two players. One puck. I want clean passes and communication.”

Beck stared at Aitor.

Aitor stared back.

“This is going to be painful,” Beck muttered.

“You're the one who can't pass.”

Beck's eyes widened.

“I can pass.”

“Prove it.”

Beck took the puck.

He skated forward.

Aitor moved alongside him.

Beck passed.

Aitor caught it perfectly.

Aitor passed it back.

Beck caught it.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Their rhythm became almost effortless.

Beck sped up.

Aitor matched him.

Beck changed direction.

Aitor followed.

The puck moved between them so quickly that several teammates stopped to watch.

Coach nodded.

“That's it!”

Beck glanced at Aitor.

For one brief second, there was no irritation.

No rivalry.

Just two players who understood exactly how the other moved.

Then Aitor smiled.

“Not bad, Hayes.”

Beck immediately rolled his eyes.

“Don't get emotional.”

“I wouldn't dream of it.”

Coach blew the whistle again.

“Again!”

They continued.

And somehow, they were good together.

Too good.

After practice, Beck returned to the locker room exhausted.

He dropped onto the bench and pulled off his skates.

Aitor sat beside him.

“You know what?”

Beck looked over.

“What?”

“We're actually good together.”

Beck stared at him.

“Don't say that.”

“Why?”

“Because I don't want to agree with you.”

Aitor laughed.

Beck shook his head.

“This is going to be a nightmare.”

“Maybe.”

Aitor stood and grabbed his bag.

“But maybe…”

He paused.

Beck looked up.

“Maybe we're better on the same side.”

For once, Beck didn't have an immediate answer.

Aitor walked away.

Beck watched him go.

Then he looked down at his Northwood jersey.

Same team.

Same rink.

Same locker room.

And now, apparently, the same line.

Beck sighed.

“This is definitely going to be a nightmare.”

But somewhere beneath the frustration, he couldn't deny one thing.

Playing beside Aitor felt strangely natural.

And that scared him more than he wanted to admit.