FIRST BLOOD

Riley's alarm went off at four-thirty in the morning, and the first thing she thought was that this was going to be the hardest day of her life — again.

She lay still for a moment. Marcus was breathing slowly across the room. Jax's bed was already empty. She had not even heard him leave.

She got up, grabbed her clothes, and slipped into the hallway before anyone else was awake. The bathroom was empty, and she worked fast — sports bra, binder wrapped tight around her ribs, compression shirt, practice jersey on top. Layer after layer until the mirror showed her what it needed to.

Ryan Morgan stared back. Tired eyes, flat chest, jaw set hard.

She pushed the door to their room open without thinking and stopped dead.

Marcus was standing in the middle of the room, shirtless, pants halfway up, his back turned. Riley's hand flew up to cover her eyes before her brain had caught up, and the sound that came out of her mouth was pitched way too high.

"Sorry! Sorry!"

"Dude." Marcus turned around laughing. "It's our room. You don't have to cover your eyes every time I exist."

Riley dropped her hand and kept her eyes on the floor. "Right. Yeah. Obviously."

Don't be weird. Guys do not cover their eyes. Stop.

She made it to her bed without looking at him again.

"You good, man?" he asked.

"Yeah. Just tired."

He pulled on his shirt. "Ready for Carter's hell week?"

"What's that?"

"First week of training." Marcus grabbed his bag. "Last year a third-year quit on day two. Cried in front of everyone. Jax just watched him walk off and went straight back to the drill. Didn't say a word."

Riley stared at him.

"Right," she said. "Can't wait."

Jax was already on the ice when they arrived.

He stood at center ice, arms crossed, watching them file in. About thirty players had gathered. All of them bigger, louder, and more certain of their place than she felt.

His whistle cut through everything.

"Line up."

Everyone scrambled. Riley scrambled with them.

"Welcome to Falcons." He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. "Some of you think you're good. You're not. The only thing that matters is what you do on this ice. Everything else is nothing."

His eyes moved across the group and stopped on her.

She stared straight back. Bring it on.

The next two hours were pure hell.

Drill after drill. Skating until her legs burned. Shooting until her arms shook. The binder squeezed tighter with every hard breath, but she kept her face blank and kept moving.

"Morgan!" Jax's voice cracked across the ice. "You're lagging. Pick it up."

She was not lagging. She pushed harder anyway — not for him.

During the scrimmage she stole the puck, faked left, spun right, and fired. Clean. Hard. Goal.

Marcus slapped her on the back. "RYAN! That's what I'm talking about!"

She tried not to flinch at the name.

Jax skated past without slowing. He didn't look at her. "Lucky shot," he said, and kept going.

"Seems like I get a lot of those," she said to his back.

He stopped skating.

He didn't turn around. He just stopped, stood there for one second, then kept going like she hadn't said a word.

That was worse than if he had turned around.

Don't push it. Not today. Not ever.

Three players quit before the session ended. Riley stayed on her feet and refused to show how much it cost her.

When the final whistle blew, Coach called out: "Showers in ten! Don't forget the welcome party tonight — eight o'clock!"

Party.

Riley's blood went cold.

Marcus appeared beside her, already grinning. "Every year the upperclassmen throw a welcome party. Girls from the figure skating academy come. They go completely insane for hockey players. Like — embarrassingly insane."

"Sounds fun," Riley said.

"Last year Evans got cornered by three of them at the snack table and didn't escape until midnight." He shook his head with genuine respect. "Three, Ryan."

Riley almost smiled. Almost.

But inside, the word party was still sitting in her chest like something dropped from a great height. A room full of eyes. Girls who would look at her differently. One wrong move and the whole thing came apart.

She grabbed her gear and moved to the private stall at the back. Closed the door. Cold shower. She stood under it until her hands stopped shaking.

One thing at a time.

She turned the water off, dried herself, and was wrapping the towel around her chest when the door swung open.

Everything in her body stopped.

Jax stood in the doorway. His eyes went straight to her — to the towel clutched hard against her chest, to the way she had gone completely still. He didn't apologize. He didn't step back out. He just looked at her the way he looked at everything on the ice, like he was reading something.

"Didn't know anyone was still in here," he said.

He didn't leave.

"Why are you like that?"

"Like what?"

"Wrapped up. Covering yourself."

"I have scars." She held his gaze. "From an accident. I don't like people seeing them."

Jax looked at her for a long moment. The kind of look that didn't have an answer in it yet.

Then he said, "Fine," and walked out.

Riley pressed her back against the wall. She counted to ten. Then she dressed, picked up her bag, and walked out as if nothing had happened.

She had made it maybe five steps when a voice stopped her.

"Hey. Morgan."

She turned.

A tall guy leaned against the lockers with his arms crossed. Number seven on his jersey. Sharp features, cold eyes, the kind of stillness that meant he had been there a while.

"Lucas Reed," he said. No smile. "Jax's old rival."

"I know who you are."

He looked her over slowly. Head to toe. Like she was something he was deciding whether to bother with.

"Small," he said. "No real size. How did you beat Carter in regionals?"

"Speed. Skill."

"Mm." He stepped closer. "Here's the thing, freshman. Nobody here cares what you did before you walked through that door. You're a name on a list right now. And names on lists?" He shrugged. "They disappear."

"I'm just here to play hockey."

Lucas smiled. It didn't reach his eyes.

"Sure you are." He picked up his bag. "Keep your head down. Stay in your lane. And maybe you'll make it to Christmas."

He walked to the exit and stopped at the door without turning around.

"See you at the party tonight, Morgan."

A pause.

"I'll be watching."

Then he was gone.

Riley stood alone in the empty locker room.

That was not an introduction.

That was not a warning.

That was a promise.