AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Me: Guess it's not ALL terrible. At least the rink is state-of-the art. I'll be able to practice and train like never before.
FrozenFire: See, there you go. Focus on the opportunities this move provides, not the bullshit politics and pretensions. You've got this.
Me: You're right. Can't get distracted worrying what other people think. I know what I'm capable of. Just gotta keep my head down and do my thing.
FrozenFire: Exactly. I believe in you. You're gonna do big things, dude.
His words loosen the knots in my chest, easing the weight I've felt since stepping foot on campus. It's reassuring talking to someone outside the political viper pit of collegiate sports, whose opinion of me isn't tangled up in team loyalties or rivalries. Frozen just sees me—the raw, imperfect, trying-their-damndest me.
Me: Thanks, Fire. Don't know what I'd do without you in my corner, man.
FrozenFire: Anytime. Now go show them what you do.
"Yeah, maybe I will." I murmur it under my breath like a prayer, a promise to myself.
Pocketing my phone, I feel centered. Ready to face this new challenge head on.
A tall, broad-shouldered figure in the distance catches my eye as I stand up. He's wearing a Hollowgate Athletics t-shirt, his black hair stark against pale skin. Even from behind I recognize him—I'd know those ramrod straight shoulders anywhere, like he’s got a pole shoved up his ass.
Riot Kensington in the flesh.
I consider slipping away unnoticed. Our first meeting shouldn't happen without witnesses. But the reckless part of me wants to see his unguarded reaction. Catch him off-guard for once after years facing off on the ice as rivals.
Decision made, I stride towards him with purpose, shoulders squared. He's studying a display case, focused intently on the photos and trophies inside.
"Well, well," I drawl, cocking my head as he stiffens. "Riot Kensington appreciating his own legacy. How modest."
Riot turns, eyes narrowed. They widen for a split second as recognition hits, then narrow again.
"Lancaster." He says my name flatly, lips thin. "The hell are you doing here?"
I rock back on my heels, keeping my body language relaxed to offset his coiled tension. "What, you didn't hear? I'm your newest teammate."
His jaw clenches. "Bullshit. Hollowgate would never recruit a wash-out from Ravenloft."
The dig lands, but I don't flinch. "Then I guess your coach sees something you don't seeing as how he offered me a scholarship."
We stare each other down. The animosity simmering between us now unchecked by coaches and refs. His blue eyes bore into me, icy and calculating.
"Scholarship or not, you're out of your league here." He takes a step closer, broad shoulders angled to seem even more imposing. "Go back to the streets where you belong before you embarrass yourself."
Normally, I'd rise to the challenge. Meet fire with gasoline. But I promised myself I wouldn't stoop to his level this time. I have too much riding on keeping my temper in check.
So I just smirk, looking him dead in the eye. "How about we settle this on the ice instead? First practice is this afternoon. Be ready."
I brush past him without waiting for a response. His glare follows me all the way out of the courtyard, prickling the back of my neck.
Well, that preamble certainly set the tone. If Kensington reacts like that to me joining the team, I can only imagine how the others will respond. Nothing better than some good old intra-team resentment to kick off the season.
By the time I make it to the locker room, I've got nerves going again. Feels too much like walking into a war zone. The smell of sweat and stale gear hits me, painfully familiar. At least some things are universal in the hockey world.
Voices filter from inside, and I take a bracing breath before pushing through the door. Silence falls immediately. Two dozen eyes swing my way, all filled with the same mix of curiosity and caution.
"Uh, hey." I nod, aiming for casual even as I track the nearest exits. "I'm London. Lancaster. Just transferred from Ravenloft. I'll be playing left wing this season."
For a moment, no one moves. Then the guy with the C on his sweater steps forward, offering his hand. “Good to have you, London. I'm Warren Decker, captain of this team, but you can call me Deck. Or War.” He winks. “That's Tanner, our goalie. Those idiots over there are our defensemen Barrington, but he goes by Bear, Hawk, and another new guy, Knight Maddox.”
A huge fucking guy that makes my six-one ass feel small with an unruly beard waves at the nickname Bear. The other two just stare.
