Winner Takes All(2)

Chapter 3

Brent’s POV

My phone kept buzzing like it was trying to kill me.

I dragged the pillow over my head to try and drown out the noise but it wasn’t helping in anyway.

Whoever thought calling someone before eight in the morning was acceptable deserved jail time.

The buzzing stopped. I had barely let out a relieved sigh when it started again.

“…You have got to be kidding me.”

I stretched an arm across my nightstand, blindly searching for my phone. Instead, my fingers knocked over a bottle of water.

“Ow, shit.” Cold water spilled across the floor as I finally grabbed my phone.

Eight missed calls. Five text messages. And every single call was from no one other than Michael.

I frowned. That idiot usually gave up after the second call. Something had to be wrong. Torn between my sleep and curiosity, I called back.

Curiosity beat the annoyance.

He answered before the first ring ended.

“OH THANK GOD!”

I pulled the phone away from my ear. “Why the fuck are you yelling?”

“To make sure you’re alive.” His annoying voice tore out from the end.

“I’m regretting answering already.”

“So you are alive.”

“Barely,” I groaned as I sat up from the bed.

“You sound terrible.”

“I feel terrible.”

He chuckled.

“…Did you win?”

I blinked.

“The fight.”

“Oh.”

I rubbed sleep from my eyes. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“My hand lost.”

Michael laughed. “I knew you were dramatic, but losing to your own hand is impressive.”

“I punched a mirror.”

“Okay…”

There was a pause. “…That one’s on you.”

I looked down.The memory of the shattered glass and blood flashed through my mind and my swollen knuckles weren’t doing much better this morning. The purple bruises had spread across the back of my hand overnight.

Wonderful.

“What do you want, Michael?”

He went silent for a long while and I frowned impatiently.

“…Michael?”

“You need to get to the rink.”

I glanced toward the alarm clock. Practice wasn’t even supposed to start for another hour.

“Why?”

“Coach Jake.”

“So?”

“…He’s looking for you.”

I shrugged. “He can keep looking.”

“No.” Michael’s voice lost its usual playfulness.

“You don’t understand.”

I sat up. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then why are you freaking out?”

“Because Coach Jake isn’t yelling.”

That made me pause. “…What?”

“He’s calm.”

I frowned even harder. Coach Jake being calm was like finding a shark doing yoga. It wasn’t in any way natural.

Michael lowered his voice. “It’s scary.”

A laugh escaped before I could stop it. “You’ve got issues, you know?”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“No, Brent.”

He sounded nervous now, “I’ve never seen him like this.”

The smile disappeared from my face. “Alright fine, I’ll be there.” I hung up and tossed my phone onto the bed. The room fell quiet again. I looked at my right hand; the swelling had gotten worse overnight. Closing my fist definitely wasn’t happening today.

Coach was going to love this.

I pushed myself out of bed and walked toward the bathroom. The mirror greeted me with a bruised jaw, tired eyes, and hair that looked like it’d survived the fight too.

“…You look like hell.”

The guy in the mirror didn’t argue. I took the fastest shower of my life because the water was freezing and hell did I hate cold showers.

But today, I hated being late even more. Five minutes later, I was dressed, my hockey bag hanging off one shoulder and my swollen hand shoved into my hoodie pocket.

Good enough. I locked the front door behind me, jumped into my car and headed straight for the rink.

The parking lot was already half full by the time I pulled in; that wasn’t normal.

Morning practice usually started with half the team stumbling out of their cars looking like they’d lost a fight with their alarm clocks.

But today, almost every parking space was occupied.

“…Great.”

I grabbed my hockey bag and headed inside. The moment I stepped through the arena doors, everything felt…off.

The usual noise was gone. There was no laughter, no arguments, no one complaining about morning practice. Just low voices that died the second I walked in.

I frowned.

“…Why’s everyone looking at me like I committed tax fraud or sumn?”

Nobody laughed. Not even the seniors…Okay, now I was concerned.

A freshman standing near the equipment rack looked at me like he wanted to say something, thought better of it, and quickly looked away.

Weird.

I adjusted the strap of my hockey bag and continued toward the locker room. The silence followed me as I felt like every pair of eyes was glued to my back.

“…If one of you dented my car,” I called over my shoulder, “I’m billing all of you.”

Still nothing.

“What the hell?”

The locker room doors swung open before I reached them and Michael poked his head out. The moment he saw me, relief washed over his face.

“There you are.”

“I’ve been here for exactly thirty seconds.”

“I know.” He grabbed my arm and started pulling me inside.

“What are you doing?”

“Saving your life.”

“I don’t think that’s how kidnapping works.”

“It’s close enough.”

The locker room was just as quiet except a few teammates nodded at me while others avoided eye contact completely. Even the music that usually blasted from someone’s speaker was gone.

I frowned.

“Did somebody die?”

Michael stopped walking. “…Not yet.”

I stared at him. “Michael.”

“What?”

“You’re being weird.”

“I learned from the best.”

Before I could fire back, Coach Jake’s whistle cut through the room sharp with one blast.

Every conversation died instantly.

“Lennox.”

I looked up. Coach Jake stood in the hallway outside his office with his arms folded across his chest.

His face gave nothing away. No sign of anger or disappointment, just nothing. And that scared me more than yelling ever had.

“My office.”

Michael leaned toward me and whispered, “If you don’t come back…”

I sighed. “…Don’t.”

“…Can I have your skates?”

I looked at him. “My skates?”

“They’re expensive.”

I shoved his shoulder with my good hand. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’ve been told.”

Coach Jake cleared his throat. “Lennox.”

“I’m coming.”

Michael gave me a tiny salute. “May the hockey gods remember your sacrifice.”

I shook my head and walked towards Coach’s office. The door was already open and Coach Jake stepped inside first. I followed and clicked the door shut behind us.

Coach Jake remained quiet for a long moment before walking past me toward the whiteboard hanging behind his desk. He uncapped a black marker; without saying a word, he wrote three large words across the board.

WINNER TAKES ALL.

The marker squeaked as he underlined them once. Slowly.

I stared at the board before looking back at him.

“…That’s cheerful.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.”

“So…” I nodded toward the board. “Am I about to get a motivational speech or should I start taking notes?”

Coach ignored the joke.

“Tell me what yesterday was.”

I frowned.

“A practice game.”

“No.”

“An exhibition match.”

“No.”

I sighed.

“You gonna keep saying no until I guess right?”

“Yes.”

“…You’re enjoying this.”

“A little.”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “It was an exhibition game.”

Coach capped the marker. “That’s what everyone thought.” He leaned against the edge of his desk.

“But there were people in those stands yesterday who weren’t there to watch an exhibition.”

I frowned.

“What people?”

“The Regional Hockey Committee.”

My posture straightened. “No fucking way, the committee?”

He nodded once.

“They’ve been visiting universities all month, watching teams. They’ve been making a list.”

“A list of what?”

“The eight schools invited to compete in this year’s Regional Championship.”

The room suddenly felt smaller as Coach continued.

“The committee released the invitations this morning.”

“And?”

“Our university made the cut.”

For a second, I forgot about my swollen hand, about Sofia and Maddox.

“…You’re serious?”

“I’ve never been more serious.”

A grin started creeping onto my face.

“Don’t celebrate yet,” coach said as he noticed my expression.

The smile froze.

He pointed at the words on the whiteboard.

“Do you know why this year’s tournament is different?”

I shook my head.

“There are no second chances.”

He tapped the first word.

“One team wins.”

The second.

“Everyone else goes home.”

The third,

“The winner takes all.”

Silence settled between us. Coach folded his arms.

“National scouts will be there, NIL sponsors. Professional development programs, you name it.”

He mentioned as he held my gaze.

“One good tournament is what it takes to change a career.”

My heart was pounding now.

This was it. Everything we’d trained for. Every early morning.Every injury. Every practice. Every sacrifice. Each of them had been leading here.

I let out a slow breath.

“So…?” I asked as a smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. “When do we start?”

Coach didn’t answer, instead his eyes drifted away from mine.

The excitement in my chest slowly faded. Something wasn’t right.

He walked back toward his desk and opened the top drawer then pulled out another envelope.

This one was different. No tournament logo or league stamp, just a plain brown envelope with my name written neatly across the front.

Brent Lennox.

A strange feeling settled in my stomach. “…What’s that?”

Coach didn’t answer. Instead, he slid it across the desk. It stopped inches from my hand. I looked from the envelope to him.

“Coach?”

“Open it.”

My frown deepened. “I don’t like surprises.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you giving me one?”

His expression didn’t change. “Because I don’t like them either.”

The knot in my stomach tightened. I reached for the envelope with my good hand, paper crinkled beneath my fingers. For some reason, I hesitated and Coach noticed.

“So did I.”

“What?”

“I hesitated the first time I opened it.”

A chill ran down my spine. Slowly, I pulled the papers free and the first page carried the university’s official letterhead.

The second… My eyes stopped moving.I read the same line again then a third time.

“…What?” My voice barely came out. This couldn’t be right. I flipped to the next page. It had the same document. Same signature line.Same decision. Same everything.

“No…” I looked up at Coach Jake.

“There has to be some kind of mistake.”

“I was hoping you’d tell me that.”

My pulse started pounding in my ears. “Who filed these?”

Coach held my gaze. “I don’t know.”

I stared back down at the papers. My fingers tightened around them. The words blurred together until only one sentence remained clear.

Notice of Withdrawal from the University Hockey Program.

I hadn’t signed it. I hadn’t even seen it before today.

So who had?