Chapter 5: Ruined Blades

Elliot's POV

I grabbed the metal handle of my locker and pulled it open.

My heart instantly dropped right into my stomach.

My skates—the only pair I owned, the ones I had spent three years maintaining with cheap sharpener stones—were completely destroyed. The sharp bottoms had been gouged with deep, jagged cuts, deliberately ruined with heavy tools. The edges were bent out of shape, making them entirely useless for the ice.

"What is this?" I whispered, my voice trembling as I reached down to pull the ruined boots out.

"What happened?" Austin asked, stepping closer from his locker next to mine. He took one look at the scratched blades and gasped. "Elliot... oh no. Who did this?"

"Look around, Austin," I said, my teeth grinding together as I slowly turned my head toward the corner of the locker room.

Nathaniel Reed was sitting on the wooden bench ten feet away, calmly wrapping tape around his stick. He had a smug, deliberate smile on his face, not even trying to hide his satisfaction.

"Is there a problem over there, scholarship?" Nathaniel called out, his tone dripping with mock sympathy. "Did your garage-sale gear finally fall apart?"

"You did this, Reed," I said, taking two fast steps toward him, my hands clenching into tight fists. "You used a file on my blades."

"Prove it," Nathaniel sneered, tilting his chin up without a single hint of fear. "You think I'd waste my time touching your trash? Maybe your cheap gear just couldn't handle real ice."

"You were the last one in the locker room last night!" I shouted, the anger boiling up in my throat. "You knew if I couldn't skate today, Coach Vale would give me an official strike for skipping mandatory drills!"

"Accusing a senior player without proof can get you suspended, Hayes," Nathaniel warned, pointing his stick at my chest. "You're already on thin ice. Try not to slip."

"Elliot, stop," Austin pleaded, grabbing my arm to pull me back before I could swing at him. "He wants you to lose your temper. If you hit him, Coach will kick you out on the spot!"

"I don't have another pair of skates, Austin!" I said, my voice cracking with desperation. "Practice starts in ten minutes. If I sit out, Vale writes me up, and my scholarship is done!"

"Here, take mine!" Austin said quickly, reaching into his stall and pulling out his extra pair. "Try these!"

I grabbed Austin's spare skates and tried to slide my foot inside, but my heel jammed against the back. "They're two sizes too small, Austin. I can't even get my toes in."

"Try to force it!" Austin urged, his eyes wide with anxiety. "Maybe we can loosen the laces!"

"It won't work," I said softly, looking at the clock on the wall. The second hand was ticking down fast. Panic began to tighten like a coil around my chest. Everything I had fought for was slipping away over a pair of ruined blades, and Nathaniel was standing there enjoying every second of my breakdown.

I dropped the useless boots onto the bench and turned directly toward Nathaniel again, moving fast. "I'm going straight to Coach Vale."

"Go ahead," Nathaniel smirked, leaning back against his locker. "Tell him your story. See who he believes—a board member's son or a walk-on who can't even afford proper equipment."

"That's enough."

The sharp, commanding voice cut through the locker room like a whip.

The room went dead silent instantly. Every player froze in mid-conversation.

Cruz Blackwood walked through the double doors, dressed in his dark warm-up gear. His expression was cold and completely unreadable as he scanned the room. His eyes swept over Nathaniel's smug posture, drifted down to the ruined skates sitting on my bench, and finally landed on my face.

Without asking a single question, Cruz walked straight past Nathaniel. He didn't even look at him.

Cruz stepped over to his private locker at the far end of the room, unlocked it with a quick combination, and pulled out a sleek, black box. He opened the lid, reached inside, and pulled out a pair of brand-new, top-tier replacement blades, shining bright under the locker room lights.

He turned around, walked over to my bench, and tossed the high-end blades straight into my lap.

I caught them against my chest, completely stunned.

The entire locker room held its breath. Nathaniel's smile vanished instantly, his jaw dropping open in absolute shock.

"What... what is this?" I asked, looking from the elite blades up to Cruz's face.

"Those fit standard boots," Cruz said, his voice smooth and steady. "Put them on. You have five minutes before Coach blows the whistle."

"Cruz!" Nathaniel yelled, jumping up from the bench, his face turning red. "What are you doing? You're giving him elite gear? He accused me of destroying his stuff!"

Cruz turned his head slightly, giving Nathaniel a quick, freezing glare that stopped the guy dead in his tracks.

"I don't care about your petty games, Nathaniel," Cruz said coldly, his voice echoing off the lockers. "I care about having a full squad on the ice. If you spend half as much time practicing as you do sabotaging your teammates, you wouldn't be worried about losing your starting spot to a scholarship kid."

Nathaniel's face burned with humiliation as several players near the back giggled softly. He snapped his mouth shut, sat back down, and stared furiously at the floor.

I looked down at the blades in my hands, a wave of immense relief washing over me, mixed with a deep, complicated friction. I hated needing help from anyone, especially from the captain who made my life hell on the ice. But looking at these blades meant I could play. It meant my scholarship survived another day.

"Thank you," I murmured, my voice low.

Cruz didn't respond right away. Instead, he stepped in close, leaning down until his lips were inches from my ear, right in front of the silent locker room.

"You owe me now, Hayes," Cruz whispered, his deep voice sending a sudden, intense chill down my spine. "Don't waste my gear.”