1
PHOENIX
The blade of my skates cuts against the ice. Sharp. Practiced. I glide across the ice like I own it. Fast. Relentless. The cold air drifts into my mask, stinging my eyes. Every stride, every breath, every twist of my skate is a challenge I’m forcing my body to rise to.
I don’t need anyone’s approval, but hell, it’s nice to feel wanted. Needed.
The puck is a blur beneath my stick as I slam it into the net with a thunderous crack. It’s the kind of shot that should make a goalie think twice about coming near me. But here, on this rink, there’s no room for mercy. Not for me, not for anyone.
I’m the star of this team—rookie or not, the ice listens to me. But today, I’m pushing it harder than usual. My legs are burning, sweat is dripping from the back of my neck, but I don’t care. The crowd of teammates is watching now, some grinning, some clearly on edge.
They can feel the volatile energy in the air, crackling like the ice beneath my skates.
“Jesus, Locke, calm down!” Jax’s voice cuts through the noise. He’s leaning against the boards, smirking like he’s the one who knows all the secrets. Jax is always waiting for the next crazy move, but even he looks a little thrown off.
But calm down?No. This is the only way I know how to play. When I hit the rink, it’s all or nothing. Control is an illusion; I don’t believe in playing it safe.
Another slap shot, another heart-rattling thud as the puck finds the back of the net, this time hitting the post hard enough to make it bounce back into the zone. I let out a sharp breath and start skating again, my pulse speeding up. The sounds of the rink echo around me, but there’s something else now—something pulling my attention away from the puck, away
from the ice.
I spot him.
Fucking Leander Cameron.
The new kid, standing on the far side of the rink, out of the way of the chaos, was a quiet observer. He’s not like the others. He doesn’t yell praise or pound his fists against the plexiglass divider. The other guys are either sizing me up or thinking about how many beers they’re gonna have after this. No, Leander’s gaze is different. There’s something about the way he watches—calm, precise, like he’s studying the exact moment my reckless energy reaches its peak.
I stop mid-lap, skating backwards toward the boards, keeping my eyes on him. His posture is perfect, every muscle controlled. He doesn’t look intimidated, not like some of the others who still aren’t sure if they want to befriend the rookie or keep their distance. No, Leander’s got a different kind of focus—sharp, like a scalpel, slicing through everything else.
I pull my helmet off, gliding smoothly to a stop right next to the boards.
“Hey, Cameron,” I call out, my voice louder than necessary, but that’s how I roll. “You gonna just stand there and watch? Or are you gonna actually get on the ice?”
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even look rattled by the challenge in my tone. That’s what bugs me. He’s too damn cool. Too controlled. He’s the new guy, the guy who’s supposed to be hungry, desperate to prove himself. But the way he looks at me, the way he doesn’t react the way everyone else does… It’s like he’s already got me figured out.
I know I’m pushing it, trying to break him down, make him flinch, but that’s the game.
People like me don’t play nice. We push until we can’t anymore. The problem with Leander is that I can’t figure out if I want to break him or drag him into my orbit.
His sandy brown hair shields his eyes as he tilts his head, considering me.
“I’m good,” he answers, his voice low, controlled, almost like a challenge back at me. I could’ve sworn I saw a flicker of something there—maybe admiration, maybe something else—but it was gone too quickly to pin down.
I follow him with my eyes, heart still hammering in my chest. There’s something about the way he moves, something sharp, something…dangerous, like he’s just barely holding it all together. Hell, maybe we’re more alike than I care to admit.
Jax laughs from behind me, breaking the tension like a slap in the face. “Look at you, Locke. You got yourself all wound up over the quiet guy.”
I grind my teeth, pushing off the boards again, skating in the opposite direction with reckless abandon, ignoring Jax’s comment. He’s not wrong, though. Iamwound up. And I can’t shake the feeling that Leander’s the one who’s going to get under my skin more than I want him to.
The adrenaline’s still running through my veins as I skate to the center of the rink, the wind biting at my skin like it’s daring me to slow down. The rest of the team is already gathering for a drill, the rhythm of their movements almost mechanical. But I’m not here to follow the script. I’m here to rewrite it.
I glance over at the bench, and sure enough, there’s Leander—flicking off his gloves with a quiet precision, like the kind ofperson who takes their time but never wastes it. It’s almost like he doesn’tfeelthe pressure, like the speed of the game is something he’s above. The calm before the storm. My storm.
I don’t care that he’s the new guy. I’m gonna test him.
“Cameron!” I call out, my voice cutting through the noise of the practice. I can see the way his head turns, his eyes locking on me. Like he knew I was going to say something. That I was going toinsistthat he join us. My pulse hammers in my ears.
So. Fucking.Annoying.
