Chapter 3 - The Team

Logan

I grab my phone from the bedside table and click it on.

The time clears on my screen: 7:49 a.m.

Fuck.

My eyes jerk open, and I snap upright, rushing to the bathroom. In less than five minutes, I wash up without letting a drop of water touch my hair and sprint out of my bedroom.

The lodge I'm staying at is a few minutes away from school, but I'm already late for practice, and I'm practically running to school.

My eyes travel along the wide field and grounds of the school premises.

Where even is the rink?

I run into the first building ahead.

"Where's the hockey rink?" I ask a random pink-haired girl who looks like she's half awake and was dragged by a horse to wherever she's going.

"That way." She points absentmindedly to the right.

Well, she didn't say how far, because it's so damn far.

I didn't sign up to run a marathon. Only to play hockey, which is considerably worse.

Stumbling into the locker room, I'm caught like a deer in headlights. All eyes are on me, and the coach's scary-as-fuck glare is on me as well.

His face is so much uglier in a scowl.

"Your first day and you're late," he snaps, and I jerk.

"I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again." I bow my head to look remorseful.

He tosses a backpack to me, most likely containing my gear.

"Five minutes," he barks and brushes past me harshly.

The rest of the team members murmur as the coach walks away.

"Sorry, man," one of them chirps with a laugh, his blonde hair swaying and his green eyes glinting. "You get used to it."

He slaps a hand on my shoulder. All of them do before walking past me.

Except one.

His back is turned to me. He didn't even bother turning to see who the coach was chewing out.

"Hey, man."

I slap his shoulder, and the familiar build turns to me.

Fuck.

The same icy blue eyes I met two nights ago stare back at me.

His eyes widen infinitely as he stares at me.

His breath quickens, and he steps back.

I watch as the expressions unravel across his face.

Confusion. Shock. Anger. And damn...

Rage.

"I... I..." My throat runs dry. I had left him hanging on Friday night.

I was stuck in my own head about everything that happened back at Pemberton. Fuck.

Why did he have to be my teammate?

My eyes drift down to his chest, where the letter C is stitched onto his jersey.

Well, fuck me twice over and maybe cut my dick off too.

Okay...

How the fuck do I handle this?

I look back at him, but his expression quickly morphs from that blazing rage into cool indifference.

"Um... about..." I start, but he brushes past me, taking his skates and stick.

A bead of sweat could drop from my body, and I'd fucking hear it.

Great. Abso-fucking-lutely awesome.

And once again, I'm stunned and stuck to the spot.

Like a fucking deer.

~

"Hey, slowpoke."

The guy with the blonde hair and green eyes from before slaps my padded shoulder as we skate out.

"I'm not slow." I snort, already annoyed.

What's wrong with that prick of a captain? And I still don't know his stupid name.

Another dark-haired guy peels the blonde-haired guy's hand off me.

"He's just getting a feel for the team, am I right?" he asks, looking at me.

I nod as we skate out of the rink.

Coach enters the locker room as soon as we're all changed, and it's everything I can do to stop myself from looking across and spotting the captain.

The hot guy I almost fucked two nights ago.

"Boys," he starts, "this is your new teammate, Logan Hayes, and he's your new center."

A loud cheer erupts in the locker room, and someone even bangs on the lockers.

"Logan, meet the boys."

One by one, they start introducing themselves.

"I'm Cameron Brooks," the annoying guy with the blonde hair and green eyes says, "but my bitches call me Cam."

"We're not your bitches, Cam," says the dark-haired one. "I'm Elias Mercer," he continues.

"I'm Dylan Foster," another brown-haired guy says.

Then he steps forward, the largest in the room.

Basically built like a giant. He should be about 6'5", and fuck.

"You're huge," I mutter before I can stop myself, fascinated by the man-beast before me.

"Yes, I am," he replies with a strong Russian accent. "I'm Viktor Petrov."

The huge guy with dirty-blonde hair and grey eyes opens his arms to me. For a... hug?

His face lacks a smile, but I step closer and into his embrace, and his arms wrap around me gently.

"Welcome to the team."

His voice is gruff but warm.

"He's such a teddy bear," I squeal, hugging him through his thick clothes.

"Alright, that's enough." Cam peels him away from me, standing between us.

"He's Cam's teddy bear alone," Elias quips, laughing.

"Yeah, stay away," the other members chatter.

Lastly, he finally steps forward with a hand stretched out and a cold face.

The man I made out with two nights ago.

The man who even I even asked to "fuck me," and then I left him high and dry. Or rather, he left me?

Why did he even pick up that stupid call?

"I'm Nathaniel Hawthorne." His voice is dripping with venom. If looks could kill, he would've killed me with that look.

I take his hand and shake it.

He recoils from my touch almost immediately, like I'm some piece of trash.

Who the fuck does this fucking jerk think he is?

"And we all call him Nate," Cam butts in. He's already such a busybody.

"Well, now that introductions have been done, Logan, meet me in my office later. We have some extra-credit courses to discuss that you must take as a transfer student."

Oh yeah. The suicidal extra credits.

Isn't it too early for this school to be after my life?

"Yes, sir." I nod, and the boys start packing up and filing out of the locker room.

"Hey, wanna come have lunch with us?" Cam taps my shoulder. I nod and give him a smile.

"Yeah, sure. I'll be there in a bit." They nod and leave.

Nate is the last to leave.

"Wait." I stop in front of him.

His icy blue eyes stare right back at mine, devoid of any emotion.

Gone was the lust that filled his glazed eyes two nights ago.

"What do you want?" he says calmly.

But I can literally sense all the discomfort and disgust wafting from his body.

"So what, you're gonna pretend like none of all that happened?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"What the fuck? You're a right prick, aren't you?"

"If you have nothing to say, then get out of my face." He tries to brush past me, but I hold my ground, moving into his path.

"What's your problem with me? Is it because I left? Because I didn't let you fuc—"

He grabs me by my collar, slamming my back against the locker and rattling the steel. It's echoes travel through the now quiet locker room.

"Shut the fuck up. Nothing happened that day, and we're never talking about it."

My eyes are wide, my heart thundering in my chest.

His eyes are a cold, blazing fire, searing me in two.

"Now stay away from me."

I rip his hand from my collar and throw it to his side.

"That may be hard, seeing that we're teammates." I scoff.

Why would this idiot even think I want to spend my time with him?

"I don't give a bloody hell. Stay the hell away from me."

He runs his eyes over me like I'm some piece of trash and walks off.

What the fuck?

Blazing tears burn the back of my throat. The last time I felt that way... The last time people looked at me that way...

Stupid Nate.

I swallow the lump forming in my throat and storm out of the locker room.