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1
ATLAS FROSTESON
WasI the only person who wanted Wystan Finch to fucking die?
My blades cut into the ice as I made a hard turn and shot after him. I stared out over the sleek surface scored by the blades of this afternoon’s debacle. His dark hair flew behind him because it was a little longer and neither one of us had on our helmets. Wystan didn’t even have one of the blue-and-white Polar Storms jerseys yet, but he was owning everyone else as if he’d been playing in New Gothenburg for years. The fucker was working out in an old ratty gray sweatshirt like he was having fun on someone’s frozen backyard pond without a care in the world.
He didn’t need this the way I did.
The fucker didn’t deserve it.
I’d worked my ass off to be here.
“Look at Wystan fly!” I didn’t bother glaring to my left where Dad stood next to Kasen Hill, our coach. His voice had always been loud and carried over everything else in the rink.
“You’re a natural! Kick ass, Wy!” his mom shouted. She would be making goo-goo eyes at my dad, which made sense, since she was going to be moving into our fucking house today. I had no idea how Dad could meet someone and decide he wanted to fuck them forever in a month. They’d only met when the team’s preseason practices started,but here we fucking were.
Wystan pulled away from me, and I swore under my breath. My lungs burned, sweat stuck my hair to my head, and my muscles ached because we’d already been at this for a while. Today was not the fucking day to get distracted. The whooping and yelling of the other guys on the team made my head hurt as the echoes bounced off the ice.
No, if I fucked up now, I was screwing myself for the season. My entire college career. Maybe even my whole goddamned life. Right down the drain in a big stinky swirl.
“Good job, Wy! You’re my star player!” Coach Hill yelled, and my blood ran cold as I stumbled on my skates. All last season it had been me getting that encouragement.
Blind fury ate at me as I pushed to catch up to Wystan, but it just wasn’t happening. I could say what I wanted about his puck handling skills or his knowledge of the game, but he was fucking fast. Tears burned in the corners of my eyes and I growled. This was supposed to be my season. I’d paid my dues while waiting for Hoffman to graduate with his BA in psychology so that I could be captain. I’d kissed his ass and run his errands, and fuck, I’d even blown him once after a tough defeat to raise his spirits. I’d done anything I could to guarantee he would recommend me to the team as his replacement, but he’d flaked.
The bastard wasn’t here today.
He’d promised to show up.
Now this bullshit was fucking happening.
How had an exhibition for the team before the vote for captain turned into this dumpster fire?
Wystan spun on the ice right in front of the net, showing off because he had enough time to do it, and Thane Harding, our goalie, stood aside and let him sink the shot uncontested. The fuckingtraitor. He could’ve at least made Wystan work for it.
Wystan skated around the net, flashing a wide grin and taking a bow while everyone—fucking everyone—chuckled like he was their favorite person on the planet. The overhead lights glittered on the dark stubble covering his jaw and made his blue eyes gleam even more than the smug joy radiating from his stupid face.
I stopped so hard I almost fell onto my stomach and clenched my stick while fighting down a growl.
Boss Vero came to a stop beside me. In a Polar Storms T-shirt, he wasn’t dressed to do much more than be a spectator. He flipped his black hair off his forehead and beamed at me, showing off dimples in his cheeks. His warm brown eyes scanned me from head to toe and his smile dimmed.
“Wy’s going to help the team. I heard he’s on the radar for the New Gothenburg Blizzards. He started too late for the draft, but you know he can always be picked up as a free agent. My uncle told me they’re watching him this season. He washed out for the Olympic figure skating team when he was seventeen, picked up a hockey stick, and he’s been on fire ever since. He played junior league when he was younger, too. Him being here is agood thing.” Boss shot his brightest grin at me and rocked on his skates, clearly tickled pink to have some kiss-ass prodigy on our team. Nevertheless, he patted my shoulder in sympathy.
“No shit. Great,” I snarled, and he raised his eyebrows, then slapped the back of my head before skating away.
Harding slid the puck out of the net, and Wystan spun around with the puck, using his hockey stick to tap it in a circle while he was at it, getting some laughs out of the rest of the team gathered around watching us, which pissed me off all over again. I skated forward and plowed into him, nearly knocking him off his skates as I stole the puck. I was bigger and stronger, and his speed couldn’t do a fucking thing about that.
“Are you dancing or fucking playing?” I yelled over my shoulder, then took the puck fast toward the goal on the opposite side of the ice.
A loud “Ooooh!” from the guys gathered around and more laughter made me grin, but I swore as Wystan came up on my left and shocked the shit out of me as he swiped the puck away. I might as well be a first-year player.
He was just thatfucking fast.
“Good job, kid!” I froze for a second because that wasmy dadtelling this clown show how great he was when I had to work myself into the ice to get the same compliments. I slammed my hockey stick against the ice.
Wystan shot ahead and gently tapped the puck into the net, then blew me a kiss as he skated back to the other side of the rink where the guys were gathered. I followed him, imagining cracking the back of his skull with the blade of my hockey stick. I’d once done that to a watermelon, and I expected his head would explode the same way if I hit it hard enough. I gritted my teeth.
“Great hustle, Atlas! Excellent recovery, Wy! We’re gonna kick ass this year!” Coach Hill shouted. His cheeks were flushed red and he shoved his sweat-damp brown hair back with one hand, looking like he’d just witnessed the second coming of Wayne Gretzky.
