Regular Season

HUNTER

After the stunt Coach had pulled on my first day, standing there and backing up every single lies those assholes had told at the principal's office, id expected to fight tooth and nail against a mountain of bureaucratic bullshit.

I'd fully expected his vendetta against me would make sure I sat on the bench for half the season, working my way up from the bottom of the roster.

But Morrison was a hell of a lot smarter than his terrible mustache let on.

Like me, he didn't care about politics and only cared about winning.

And giving me a shot at the Center position was the best damn decision he could have made.

A fierce, manic heat bubbled in my chest as I snapped my helmet strap into place.

He just handed me an opening.

And I was fucking ready to take it.

If anything I was almost giddy.

Almost.

Looking around the room, I knew the reality.

Half these guys were clunky, heavy-footed meatheads and the only one on this entire team who could actually hold a candle to my skill level was Tristan Reeves.

But even then, Reeves had a massive flaw.

He played hockey as though he was constantly trying to beat himself.

All that emotional expression had to be fucking exhausting and it showed whenever the pressure got high.

He'd got inside his own head, tighten up, and suddenly the guy who could dominate an entire game was making stupid mistakes, overthinking every single move before he did it.

I'd watched him do it for three years and id taken full advantage of it every single time.

This time would be no different.

If I could snatch his starting Center slot out from under his nose, taking his Captain’s 'C' off his jersey was only a matter of time.

The thought sent a thrill straight through me.

The sharp blast of Coach's whistle snaloed me out of my little fantasy and the entire team pushed off the boards.

Our blades carved into the fresh ice, the sound rising around me as everyone spread out across the rink.

“Alright, Wolfpack!" Coach called, skating backwards in front of us. "This first week is about chemistry. I want Beaumont integrated into this team. You can't win hockey games playing as individual, so we are going to work on moving the puck and trusting the guy beside you."

A few of the guys exchanged looks and i pretended not to notice.

Coach pointed towards the opposite end of the rink right then where the assistant coaches were scattering lines of overside orange cones across the ice.

"Front and center. We’re running a simple drill. Get the puck from one end to the other and put it in the net. Your coaches and the cones are obstacles. Your job is to move around them while keeping possession of the puck. I don't care about who gets the rubber in the net. I care about how you get there."

The objective sounded simply enough except when Coach blew the whistle, I realized it wasn't.

The puck snapped from stock to stick as we pushed forward weaving between the cones and assistant coaches who kept shifting across our paths to force us to adjust.

One second I had a clear lane ahead of me the next an assistant coach closed across my path, forcing me to cut hard to the right.

It was all good though. I quickly dug my blade into the ice and slipped around him.

The puck soon came flying towards me and I caught it cleanly against my stick, immediately sending it to another player.

He returned it and I accelerated.

For the first few minutes, it was actually fun.

This was what I loved more than anything.

Hockey and as crazy as it sounded, just on my first practice with these guys, I seemed to be having some sort of chemistry.

Or so I thought.

My skates cut through the ice as I fucked around another cone, tracking the puck moving farther ahead.

I was already anticipating where it would go next when one of the guys suddenly slid into my path.

I had to pull up and the puck disappeared around him.

My brows knotted into frowns and I chased after it but another guy crossed in front of me. And then another.

"What the fuck?"

Veering left, I tried to find an opening but another set of skates appeared before me again.

It took me a minute to understand what the hell was happening.

They were boxing me out.

Every time the puck drifted into open ice near my stick, one of the guys would intentionally cross my line, cutting off my momentum or stepping in front of my blade to sweep it away.

It was subtle enough that Coach might not have noticed, but I fucking did.

My teeth gritted as my irritation climbed every second.

I chased the puck towards the left side of the rink and finally spotted Reeves skating with it, effortlessly maneuvering around one of the coaches.

Fine.

If they were determined to keep me away from the puck, I'd take it from their captain.

My teeth gritted so hard my jaw throbbed. The frustration was a hot wire tightening around my throat.

Fine. If you won't pass to me, I'll take it from their captain.

Pushing harder to close the distance between us, I was almost beside Reeves when a body slammed into mine.

Thank fuck I caught myself against the boards before I went down.

I hit the glass hard, the clear acrylic rattling deafeningly.

"Watch your where you're going, Beaumont," a voice sneered.

I whirled around to see Jason Randall, the team co-captain and the same asshole who had keyed my car and thrown the first punch at me that day.

He gave me a mocking, cold wink before gliding back into position.

I looked towards the coach, expecting him to call the bastard out, but all I got was another sharp whistle.

Was he fucking kidding me?

"Team work boys, boys! Teamwork!" His voice boomed over the rink. "I don't care whose stick touches the puck last! All that matters is overcoming the obstacles and putting it in the net! Reset! Two-minute breather and run it again!"

Skating towards the boards, I breathed through my nose trying to cool the anger beneath my skin before we reset.

Two minutes later, we were back at it.

And it was the exact same childish bullshit.

By the time Coach finally called an end to practice, my entire body was vibrating with frustration.

I pulled my gloves off, slamming them onto the bench harder than necessary.

I'd rather they just fucking fought me.

At least then id know where I stood.

Instead, they were treating me like a glorified cone on the ice.

How the fuck was I supposed to earn Center if they wouldn't even let me touch the puck?

No.

I needed to talk to Reeves.

Maybe the asshole would listen if I corners him without his little pack of rabid dogs around.

With that decision made, I began unlacing my skates while keeping my eyes on Reeves across the room.

The room quickly filled with the usual noise of guys talking over one another, lockers slamming and showers running.

I took my clothes off slowly, distantly noticing that Reeves wasn't changing yet.

He was standing near his locker while locked in a deep conversation with Jason Randall and that brown-haired guy from lunch.... Carter Virell I think his name was.

My jaw tightened as I watched them. Who the hell was that guy to him anyway?

Tristan spent ninety percent of his life looking like an unfeeling marble statue, but whenever that guy was around, he actually seemed to participate in conversations.

Tired of sitting in my own sweat waiting for their stupid conversation to end, I grabbed my towel and went to the shower bay.

The hot water washed off the sweat and bone deep exhaustion from my body, but when I stepped back out, towelling my hair dry, Reeves was gone. The fucking coward had slipped out while I was in the wash.

"Of course," I muttered under my breath, yanking my shirt over my head and shoving the rest of my things into my bag.

I'd just deal with him tomorrow I guess.

I left the school irritated as hell and a few hours later, I was back at Pizza King, wearing their ridiculous yellow uniform.

Business was really slow tonight, which meant i got stuck cleaning the kitchen, periodically bouncing out front when the bell in front rings.

I'd just finished shaping down one of the four tables for the third time when he front door opened and two customers walked in.

My manager glanced around the mostly empty room before pointing at me.

"Hunter, table four."

I resisted the urge to groan. Instead I grabbed two menus and plastered on the fake smile I'd perfect over that past few weeks.

"Welcome to Pizza King where every slice comes with a side of happiness."

I swear that slogan was probably why no body came here to eat and yet they forced us to say it to anyone.

To think I'd have to say it to these two who just walked in made me cringe.

Walking towards their table, I prepared myself for another night of pretense courtesy.

"Hi welcome to Pizza King. Can I--"

The words froze in my throat as my eyes landed on the guy sitting in the booth.

Tristan Reeves.

What's the fuck was he doing here?

As I gaped at him in shock, I suddenly heard a throat clear to my right.

I turned my gaze to that direction, brows lofting when I saw the girl sliding into the seat across from him was the blonde girl from yesterday.

Reeves brought a date here?

I started to snort but the girl pulled down the hood of her jacket and my breath literally stuck in my throat.

It's her!

That girl who had helped me find the nurse's office.

My eyes bounced between the two of them, taking in their features.

Same sleek, ash-blonde hair. Identical dark eyes ..

No way... Could she be his sister...?

Just then, she whipped around to look at me, face lighting up with a brilliant, genuine smile.

"Hi, Hunter!"