The Game

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE GAME

The weekend disappeared faster than Beck wanted it to.

By Monday morning, the entire atmosphere around the championship had changed.

The semifinal brackets had been posted.

Westbridge High had made it.

St. Aurelia had made it too.

And suddenly, everyone knew what that meant.

Beck stood in front of the tournament board with Mason beside him, staring at the names.

WESTBRIDGE HIGH

VS.

NORTH RIDGE ACADEMY

On the other side:

ST. AURELIA ACADEMY

VS.

EASTBROOK PREP

“Could be worse,” Mason said.

Beck nodded.

“Could be.”

Mason looked at him.

“You're thinking about Valdez.”

“No.”

“You are.”

“I literally just woke up.”

“And somehow you're already annoyed at him.”

Beck gave him a look.

“I don't think about Aitor.”

Mason laughed.

“You said his full name.”

“So?”

“You only do that when you're annoyed.”

Beck picked up his bag.

“I'm going to practice.”

“Sure.”

Beck walked away.

He told himself Mason was wrong.

He wasn't thinking about Aitor.

Not really.

He was thinking about the tournament.

The scholarship.

The semifinal.

Winning.

That was all.

At least, that's what he told himself.

Across the city, Aitor stood in the St. Aurelia locker room, tightening the laces on his skates.

Javier dropped onto the bench beside him.

“You look tired.”

“I'm fine.”

“You always say that.”

“Because I am.”

Javier studied him.

“Did you sleep?”

“Yes.”

“Liar.”

Aitor looked at him.

“Why does everyone keep asking me questions?”

“Because you've been weird.”

Aitor froze.

“I'm not weird.”

“You've been quiet.”

“I don't have anything to say.”

Javier shrugged.

“Okay.”

He stood and grabbed his helmet.

“Oh, by the way.”

Aitor looked up.

“Yeah?”

“We're playing Eastbrook tomorrow.”

“I know.”

“And if we win…”

Javier grinned.

“We play Westbridge.”

Aitor's stomach tightened.

He looked down at his skates.

“Then we'll play Westbridge.”

Javier smiled.

“You really want that, don't you?”

Aitor didn't answer.

Because he did.

He wanted to beat Beck.

He had always wanted to beat Beck.

That was all.

It had always been about hockey.

It had to be.

The semifinals began the following afternoon.

The arena was packed.

Students filled the stands wearing school colors.

Parents stood along the railings.

Coaches shouted instructions from the benches.

Scouts had begun appearing around the rink.

Everyone knew what was at stake.

For Beck, it wasn't just another game.

It was the game.

He stood at the edge of the rink, helmet under his arm, staring toward the crowd.

His mother was there.

She had taken the afternoon off work to watch him.

When Beck spotted her, she waved.

He smiled.

She pointed at him.

"Go get it."

Beck laughed.

He nodded.

Then he turned toward the ice.

His smile disappeared.

The whistle blew.

The game began.

Westbridge scored first.

North Ridge answered less than three minutes later.

Then Westbridge scored again.

The crowd erupted.

Beck barely had time to breathe.

He was everywhere.

Fighting for the puck.

Setting up plays.

Taking hits.

Getting back up.

The scoreboard changed again.

3–2.

Westbridge was ahead.

Five minutes remained.

Beck's legs were burning.

His coach shouted from the bench.

“Hayes! Stay focused!”

Beck nodded.

The puck came toward him.

He took off.

One defender.

Then another.

He passed.

Mason caught it.

Mason shot.

Goal.

The crowd exploded.

4–2.

Westbridge had won.

Beck's teammates rushed onto the ice.

Mason grabbed him.

“We're going to the final!”

Beck laughed.

His chest was pounding.

He looked toward the stands.

His mother was standing and cheering.

For a moment, nothing else mattered.

Then Beck looked toward the opposite side of the arena.

And saw Aitor.

Standing near the entrance.

Still wearing his St. Aurelia jersey.

Watching him.

Their eyes met.

Aitor didn't smile.

Beck didn't either.

Then Aitor turned and walked away.

Beck watched him disappear.

An hour later, Aitor's semifinal began.

Beck told himself he wasn't staying to watch.

He stayed anyway.

He stood near the back of the arena with his arms crossed.

Mason noticed.

“Thought you were leaving.”

“I am.”

“You've been standing there for twenty minutes.”

“I'm watching the game.”

“Sure.”

Beck ignored him.

On the ice, Aitor was completely different.

Focused.

Fast.

Controlled.

He moved through the game like he already knew what everyone else was going to do.

Beck hated how good he was.

Aitor scored once.

Then again.

St. Aurelia won 5–1.

The final whistle blew.

Aitor lifted his head.

His eyes immediately found Beck in the crowd.

Beck's stomach tightened.

Neither moved.

Then Aitor smiled.

Not a friendly smile.

A challenge.

Beck smiled back.

Fine.

The final was set.

Westbridge High.

St. Aurelia Academy.

Beck versus Aitor.

One last game.

That evening, Beck sat on his bed with his phone in his hand.

A message appeared.

Mason:

Tomorrow. Don't let Valdez get in your head.

Beck stared at it.

He typed:

He won't.

Three dots appeared.

You sure?

Beck rolled his eyes.

Yes.

He put his phone down.

Then picked it up again.

He opened social media.

He immediately regretted it.

Someone had posted pictures from the tournament.

One showed Aitor after his semifinal victory.

Another showed him surrounded by his teammates.

Another showed a girl standing beside him.

She was smiling.

Aitor had his arm around her shoulder.

Beck stared at the picture.

Something unpleasant twisted in his chest.

He frowned.

Why did he care?

Aitor could stand next to whoever he wanted.

It wasn't Beck's business.

He locked his phone.

Then unlocked it again.

The picture was still there.

Beck stared at it for another few seconds.

“Whatever.”

He tossed the phone onto his bed.

It wasn't jealousy.

Obviously not.

He didn't care who Aitor was with.

He was just irritated.

Because Aitor was irritating.

That was all.

Across town, Aitor was having almost the exact same problem.

His phone showed a picture from earlier that day.

Beck.

Laughing with Mason after Westbridge's victory.

Aitor stared at it.

Why was Beck always smiling?

Why did he look so comfortable?

Why did everyone seem to like him?

Aitor locked his phone.

Then unlocked it again.

He stared at the picture.

His thumb hovered over the screen.

Then he closed the app.

He couldn't explain why seeing Beck happy bothered him.

He didn't want to explain it.

Tomorrow, they would settle everything on the ice.

That was what mattered.

Nothing else.

The next morning, both teams arrived early.

The arena was already buzzing.

The championship final had attracted more people than any game before it.

Beck stepped onto the ice for warm-ups.

Aitor was already there.

They skated past each other.

No words.

Beck circled around.

Aitor did the same.

They passed again.

Still nothing.

Then Aitor stopped.

“Hayes.”

Beck stopped.

“What?”

Aitor looked at him.

“Good luck.”

Beck raised an eyebrow.

“That's it?”

“For now.”

Beck smiled.

“Don't worry.”

Aitor waited.

Beck leaned slightly closer.

“You're going to need it.”

Aitor's mouth twitched.

“We'll see.”

The whistle blew.

Both teams moved into position.

The crowd rose.

The referee dropped the puck.

And just like that—

the final began.