Playing Dirty

I’ve always liked simple things, quiet mornings, practice, classes, terrible coffee that I still drink because it works, the kind of routine that doesn’t ask for too much and doesn’t get more complicated than it needs to be.

That’s how it’s always been, just me and my mom.

She raised me on her own, working more than she should have, smiling even when things weren’t okay, like she didn’t want me carrying any of it, and somehow it worked, we’re good, calm, stable, and I guess that’s why I got used to not looking for trouble, to keeping things in order, to being the kind of person who’s easy to be around.

You can see it on campus, people know me, but not in a loud or popular way, more in a comfortable way, I’m the one who helps, the one who listens, the one who doesn’t complicate things, the one who’s always there.

Girls like me, yeah, but not the way you’d expect.

I’m the “you’re such a great guy, Lucas” kind, the reliable one, the safe one, the best friend.

And for a long time, I thought that was enough, that I didn’t need more, until it wasn’t, until someone showed up and made everything feel… different.

Mateo Carter.

Just thinking his name already gets under my skin.

He’s the kind of guy who looks like he was born to get away with everything, star player, arrogant, confident, the type who thinks rules are optional, that everything is a game as long as he’s winning, the kind of guy who plays dirty, on and off the ice, and somehow people still like him, admire him, follow him.

The kind of guy my best friend fell for.

Sofi.

Of course it had to be her.

Sofi has always been one of the most important people in my life, noise, laughter, constant energy, the only person who can pull me out of my own head when I get stuck in it, the only one who knows me well enough to notice when something’s wrong, even when I try to pretend it’s not.

And now she’s with him.

I tighten my grip on my stick more than I need to the second the whistle blows, and I don’t even have to look at the scoreboard to know, the game is over and we lost, again, and the frustration settles in my chest while the noise of the arena keeps going around me, shouting, clapping, everything blending together but distant, like I’m not really part of it.

That’s when I see him walking toward me.

Mateo glides across the ice with that calm that gets on my nerves, like he already knew he was going to win from the start, he pulls off his helmet, runs a hand through his damp hair and stops right in front of me, too close, invading my space like boundaries don’t exist, and that’s when I really look at him, not as a rival, but the way everyone else does, like for a second I can’t help it.

Blond, but not soft or pale, more like a darker gold, messy from sweat and falling over his forehead, skin flushed from the cold and the game, a sharp jawline, lips curved in that knowing smile like he’s always one step ahead, and those eyes… green, intense, the kind that don’t just look at you, they lock onto you, like they’re challenging you even when he’s not saying anything.

He has that kind of face, the kind you see in stories, the kind people notice the second he walks into a room, and that might be the worst part, because it’s not just the way he plays that’s irritating… it’s how easy everything seems to come to him.

And still, the only thing I want to do… is wipe that smile off his face.

“Good game,” he says, and there’s nothing real in his voice.

I look at him, but I don’t answer, because if I open my mouth I’ll probably say something I shouldn’t, something I can’t say, not when he’s Sofi’s boyfriend.

He leans in just a little more, just enough to provoke.

“Almost had us… again.”

The word stays there, almost, heavy, irritating, digging in more than it should, and I swallow it down like I do with so many other things, because it’s not worth it, because I can’t, because there are things I simply can’t do without everything falling apart, because hating him isn’t that simple when Sofi is in the middle of it and saying what I really think would cross a line I can’t come back from.

So I just nod, controlled, short, and walk past him like none of it gets to me, like he didn’t just say exactly what he needed to get under my skin, even off the ice, like I don’t feel that pressure building in my chest every time I have to keep quiet.

Behind me, he laughs, low, confident, almost amused, like he already knows something I don’t, like he’s waiting for this to stop being a game.

And that’s what pisses me off the most.

Because it’s not just the game, it’s not just losing, it’s not just him.

It’s having to see him, to put up with him, to pretend I can coexist with someone I can’t stand without something breaking in the process, like everything can stay balanced when it clearly can’t.

I clench my jaw as I keep walking, trying to leave it behind, but the feeling doesn’t go away, it stays there, growing, uncomfortable, like a warning I don’t want to hear but can’t ignore.

And deep down, I know it.

I know I won’t be able to keep this up for much longer, that this fake calm, this kind of truce that was never real, is hanging by something way too fragile.

And when it breaks…

because it will break…

everything I’ve been holding back is going to come out all at once.