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"That obvious?" I smile ruefully. "But yeah, we've been at each other’s throats since freshman year. Never exactly saw eye to eye."
"The guy's wound pretty tight." Knight shrugs. "I'm sure he had it coming. Either way, if you ever need someone to grab a drink and vent, hit me up."
I nod, gratitude welling unexpectedly. "Yeah man, that'd be cool. Same goes for you—us transfers gotta stick together."
Knight claps my shoulder with a knowing look before heading out. I finish gathering my stuff, feeling uplifted by the support. If I can find some allies here, it'll make dealing with Riot's band of loyal ass kissers more tolerable.
Trudging back to the apartment, I brace for another chilling round of avoidance. But instead I find it empty. Small miracles. I’ve got the place to myself tonight, at least for a little while.
After scarfing some leftovers Riot labeled as his just to be a dick, I settle onto the couch and open my laptop. Navigating to my usual chat forum, I scroll through hockey highlights and team speculation threads until I find FrozenFire’s icon. The knot in my chest already starts loosening.
Quickly, I type out the events of the day, not filtering or sugarcoating. The full ugly truth, straight from the source.
Me: I fucked up today, Fire. Let my temper get the best of me during practice. Almost got my ass booted right off the roster in week one.
I gnaw my lip, guilt and anger still churning in my gut.
Me: I know getting into fights won't help my position here. But this guy just knows how to push my buttons, you know? We've gotta work together this season, but I can tell he'd rather see me fail hard. Not exactly a team player.
I sigh, shoulders slumping.
Me: I know—no excuses. I've gotta be the bigger man and keep my head down. But goddamn, it felt good to finally let him have it for once.
The relief of unloading it all leaves me sagged against the cushions, head tipped back. Fire will understand—he always does. I can already imagine what he’ll say.
Sure enough, the messaging bubble pops up, followed by that familiar reassurance flowing onto the screen. Fire just gets it, in a way few people do. With him in my corner, I can handle whatever petty crap Riot throws my way this season.
6
LONDON
The shrill blastof the coach's whistle pierces my ear, signaling another brutal practice is done. My muscles burn, and I'm soaked in sweat as I bend over wheezing. Around me, the boys are just as wrecked, chests heaving from the hardcore cardio drills.
"Good hustle, gents," Coach bellows, skating over with a satisfied grin. "You earned a solid dinner and some beauty rest. Bus leaves at seven a.m. tomorrow for our annual weekend retreat. Yes, attendance is mandatory. Don't be late."
A few rookies whoop while the vets exchange knowing smirks. The team retreat is tradition here at good ol' Hollowgate U, a chance to bond before the season.
Could be a nice escape from the nonstop training schedule and tense-as-hell vibe with my glowering roommate. An entire weekend stuck close to the king of hostility, though? Yeah, no thanks.
Speak of the devil—I meet Riot's icy glare from across the rink. We've avoided each other since our blowout under the coach's all-seeing hawk eyes. But that hostility always simmers right below the surface, ready to ignite.
This weekend means quality time neither of us wants. I barely hold back a cringe at the thought. Here's hoping they picked somewhere with enough space so we're not breathing the same air.
After a long shower, I'm towel drying my hair and shooting the shit with Knight when Coach interrupts for another announcement.
"Listen up! We're doing something different this year." He pauses for dramatic effect. "It's a surprise destination, and you'll be rooming with an assigned teammate for team bonding."
The guys stir with excited whispers as Coach unfolds a sheet of paper and starts to read off pairs of roomies.
I'd honestly rather get paired with the weird goalie who snacks on Slim Jims 24/7 and hums hardcore German metal music than be trapped with Riot. My stomach drops, dreading the inevitable.
"Lancaster and Kensington."
Motherfucker. Saw that coming.
Coach eyes us. "No swapping."
Across the room, Riot tenses up and his jaw tics. Can't blame him. Everyone knows Coach wants our rivalry snuffed out, and obviously he's not above forcing us together to do it.
