Ignoring Trenton, my gaze drifted across the rink. Aleksey and his crew ran their drills with pure aggression. They hit hard and didn’t apologize. Every muscle in my body felt on edge watching them, while my eyes tracked where Aleksey was at all times.
So far, the other scholarship guys had given me a wide berth. During a puck-handling drill, Angel Perez skated in my direction. He had the perfect angle for a body check. But instead of making contact, Perez pulled up and swerved at the last second.
“Watch your left,” Perez muttered as he passed by.
My skates dug into the ice, stopping me short. “Don’t go easy on me.”
Perez shrugged, bouncing lightly on his skates. “Hey, I mean... captain’s orders, man. Nobody breaks the little brother. And Coach isn’t exactly gonna argue with the Johnston checkbook.”
The special treatment drove me crazy. But it seemed Aleksey didn’t get the mandate... or he simply ignored it.
We both ended up in the corner chasing a loose puck. Reaching for it left me exposed. Aleksey drove his shoulder right into my back. The force threw me into the acrylic glass, and the impact rattled my teeth. My ribs ached.
But underneath the sting, a sharp, burning frustration flared up. The adrenaline rush felt incredibly good. Aleksey wasn’t treating me like a fragile kid.
Coach Corby blew his whistle. “Scrimmage! Blue versus White!”
Once again, the metal blades of our skates dug deep into the fresh ice. Catching a pass from a winger, a quick fake shook the defenseman, allowing a blind backhand pass right to Elliot’s stick. He fired it into the net.
“Great vision, Karter!” Coach yelled from the boards. “That’s how we move the puck!”
Elliot skated by and tapped my helmet. “Nice setup.”
Turning to skate back to center ice, Aleksey came out of nowhere.
He hit me square in the back. My body collided with the boards. The impact pushed all the air out of my lungs. Dropping to the ice, my weight slid forward on my stomach as my teeth clamped down on the inside of my cheek. Blood pooled on my tongue as I gasped for air, the arena spinning out of focus.
Aleksey hovered over me, holding his hand out as if he were going to help me up. Through the ringing in my ears, I reached up to take it, expecting a standard post-hit assist. But he didn’t grab my palm. Instead, his hand darted past mine, his thick fingers locking like a vise around my bruised wrist.
The hollow clatter of his stick hitting the ice was my only warning. He wrenched my wrist inward, and his newly freed hand locked onto the front collar of my jersey, bunching the fabric into his fist. He hauled me to my feet in one violent motion, jerking me forward until our chests pressed together.
My eyes tracked the thick white scar running along his jawline while he glared at me from beneath his black helmet. His hand slid down to the gap between my jersey and hockey pants, fingers digging into my waist to haul me flush against him. The intense physical contact threw my equilibrium way off balance.
“Keep your head up, legacy,” Aleksey whispered. “This isn’t a game.”
His hand slid down my side. And he held me pinned there for two extra seconds, making sure I knew who had the upper hand.
My breathing hitched. Pushing both hands against his shoulders, my body ripped out of his grip. Standing tall on my skates, backing away wasn’t an option.
“Back the fuck off, asshole,” I told him.
“Hey!” Elliot shouted, skating over fast. Trenton and the rest of his line rushed in right behind him.
Aleksey pushed me back slightly and skated backward to meet them. His scholarship crew swarmed in at the exact same time. Perez and the others flanked Aleksey, raising their sticks.
“Back the hell off,” Elliot yelled, checking Aleksey’s shoulder.
Aleksey hit back harder. “Teach the kid how to skate, then.”
Coach Corby blew his whistle three times in a row. “Knock it off!” he shouted. He and the assistant coach opened the benchdoor and stepped onto the ice. “Break it up right now! Get back to your sides!”
The guys separated, muttering curses at each other. Trenton bumped shoulders with Perez as they backed away.
Elliot turned toward me, reaching out to check my helmet. “Are you okay?”
I swallowed the warm blood pooling in my mouth before my glove batted his hand away. “I’m fine. Stop hovering.”
I wasn’t about to complain. Even rubbing my sore ribs would give away too much. Forcing myself to just stand there and take steady, deep breaths was my only play.
