Page 8

It’s six in the morning. The cold is biting through every layer I’ve got on.

I pull the collar of my jacket tighter and push open the door to the arena, the sound of skate blades on ice hitting my ears as soon as I step inside.

The Blackridge Raven’s rink isn’t the flashiest thing in the world, but it’s a damn good place to be if you want to play hockey.

Coach Jacobs stands at the edge of the ice, clipboard in hand, wearing that stern expression like he’s about to rip into someone. I’m stretching out, trying to ignore the cold creeping into my bones, when I hear Jacobs call out.

“Alright, boys, gather round.”

I jog over, hands stuffed in my pockets. The rink’s empty except for the players and me.

Coach gets our attention by clearing his throat. “I know we had a rough patch with losing Jack.” The team doesn’t seem too bothered. “He will be missed. And Zane is out.” He takes a moment to breathe. “Anyone heard from Caleb?”

His question is met with some grunts and murmurs. “Okay then. Look, we will figure it out. Declan, you’re playing captain today.”

I don’t need to ask who’s disappointed. Declan’s the kind of guy who walks into the locker room and demands respect without asking for it.

I have seen how he has been talking to his teammates since I got here.

Hell, I respect him, and I barely know him.

He gives the team a nod, his lips curling into that cocky smirk of his.

“Alright, Declan, your team now. Let’s see if you can lead these guys,” Coach says, and there’s a hint of challenge in his voice.

Declan just shrugs, his eyes scanning the group. “No problem, Coach. We got this.”

I can feel the energy shift as the rest of the team takes in the news. Guys start to shuffle around, adjusting their gear and glancing at each other. Finn, one of the Ravens’ top centers, grins and nudges Tyler, who’s standing next to him.

“Damn, Declan’s captain now? He’s gonna have us running drills all day,” Finn jokes.

Tyler laughs, rolling his eyes. “Guess that’s what happens when you’re the one who doesn’t suck, Finn.”

It’s clear everyone’s on edge. Declan’s got a rep for being serious about the game, but he’s also a leader.

I guess that’s what makes him a good choice.

I glance around, sizing up the team. Dean, Jake, and Marcus are all here.

They’re all wearing their game faces, eyes sharp as they look over the rink.

Then, the real reason we’re all here comes into focus.

“This is Eli. First day. First practice. He’s trying out. We’re going to see how he fits in here. I hear he’s quite the player. Let’s hit the ice,” Coach says, already making his way toward the boards. “I want to see what you’ve got, Eli.”

I step out onto the ice, the cold biting at my ankles through my skates.

It feels like home already, the sharp scrape of the blades against the surface, the rhythm of the skates cutting through the chill.

I warm up quickly, getting my muscles loose, focusing on my form.

The guys are already skating hard, getting into position.

Coach’s voice cuts through the chatter of the rink. “Eli, you’re first up.”

I nod, skating to center ice, where Coach has set up a series of pucks. Declan’s got the net. I’ve seen him play, and he’s damn good, but this is my time to show him and everyone else what I’ve got.

Coach blows the whistle, and I skate forward, stick in hand, eyes locked on Declan. I fake left, go right, and snap the shot off quick. Declan’s quick, too, but I place it just over his pad, top corner. The puck slaps into the net with a satisfying thud.

“Damn,” someone mutters from the sidelines, and I can feel the heat rise in my chest. That’s the kind of goal that gets people talking.

Coach whistles again. “How are you so good?” he asks, a grin pulling at the edge of his mouth. “I know you’ve got skill, but damn, you’ve got some finesse there. What’s your story?”

I skate back to the line, my breath steaming in the cold air. “I was captain at my old school,” I tell him, trying to keep it casual, but the pride in my chest is hard to hide. “Kept the boys in check. Lead by example.”

“Yeah?” Coach raises an eyebrow. “Well, that explains some of it. Let’s see what else you’ve got.”

I roll my neck, ready for the next round. I’m not worried.

Then, just as I’m about to take another shot, I look up. That’s when I see her.

Sienna. Coach Jacobs’ daughter.

She’s leaning against the boards, arms crossed, eyes following the action.

She’s wearing a tight black hoodie with a Ravens logo on it, leggings that cling to her every curve, and sneakers.

Her brown hair is pulled into a messy bun, and even though I’ve seen her before, there’s something about her today.

Maybe it’s the way she’s watching me, or maybe it’s the way she’s looking right at me.

I try to shake it off, but damn, my focus wavers. I line up for another shot and take it, putting everything I’ve got into it. Declan doesn’t have time to react before the puck is in the net again.

Coach blows the whistle. “Alright, alright, kid. You’ve got skill.”

I skate past the boards, giving Sienna a quick look. A wink. But she doesn’t acknowledge it. In fact, she just looks the other way like nothing.

I grin to myself. Soon enough, I’ll have her eyes only on me.

“Alright, Eli. I need you to run one more drill tomorrow morning,” Coach calls out.

I nod, “Got it.”

I skate off the ice, my breath fogging up in front of me as I head for the locker room. When I walk in, I see Tyler sitting in front of his locker, already pulling off his pads. He looks up at me and smirks.

“You did good out there,” he says. “You’ve got skills, man.”

“Thanks.” I sit down next to him, pulling off my skates. “Who’s Caleb?”

Tyler grins, a mischievous glint in his eye. “You’ll meet him soon. You’re your demeanor, you’ve probably already got your foot in the door with the brotherhood,” he says, glancing at me, his grin widening.

I freeze, staring at him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Tyler just shrugs, standing up and throwing his bag over his shoulder. “You’ll find out. But trust me, with your game, you’ll fit in.”

He walks out, leaving me in the locker room with more questions than answers.

Brotherhood like a secret society? At Blackridge?

Well now I am freaking intrigued.

My phone buzzes as I’m pulling my hoodie over my head. I glance at the screen.

Mr. Coleman. My father’s lawyer.

My stomach twists.

I shove my phone into my pocket and grab my bag, ignoring the call.

The guys are still talking shit in the locker room, so I slip out quietly.

No way I’m taking this call with them around.

I head toward the library. It’s early, and the place is practically empty.

Perfect. I duck into a corner near the back, leaning against a row of bookshelves, and call him back.

“Mr. Coleman,” I say, trying to sound calm.

“Eli,” he says. “How are you?”

“Fine,” I answer. “What’s up?”

He clears his throat. “The trial date is set.”

My breath catches. “When?”

“Three weeks from today.”

Three weeks. I rub the back of my neck, my mind racing. “I’m coming home for it.”

“Your father doesn’t want that,” he says quickly. “He was very clear—”

“I don’t care what he wants,” I snap. “I’ll be there.”

There’s silence on the other end. Then, “I strongly advise against it.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t give a damn about your advice, Coleman.”

I hang up and shove the phone back in my pocket. My chest feels tight, like I can’t get enough air. My fist slams into the wall before I even realize what I’m doing. Pain shoots through my hand, sharp and immediate.

“Shit,” I mutter, shaking it out. Not my best move.

“Eli?” A voice startles me, and I look up. Sienna. She’s standing a few feet away, holding a notebook. Her eyes dart from my hand to my face. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Nothing,” I say, flexing my knuckles to feel the stretch of pain.

She stares at me like I’m going to spill my guts under her gaze. “Nothing? You just punched a wall. You’re lucky it isn’t drywall because you would have made a hole.”

“It’s fine.” I try to sound convincing, but the throbbing in my hand isn’t helping.

She sighs and walks over, dropping her books and bag onto the table. “You’re an idiot,” she mutters, pulling out a can of Diet Coke. “Here. It’s cold.” She grabs my wrist, forcing my hand into the air, and presses the can to my knuckles.

I flinch. “Damn, that’s cold.”

“That’s the point.” She sits down, still holding the can against my hand. “Girl trouble?”

“Yeah,” I say, lying straight through my teeth.

She raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything more. Her eyes flick to the books she placed on the table. Psychology textbooks.

“You a psych major?” I ask, trying to change the subject.

She nods. “Yeah.”

“I took psych once,” I say. “Kicked my ass.”

She laughs, and it’s this soft, quiet sound that makes me forget about the pain in my hand. “What’re you studying?” she asks.

“Pre-law,” I say.

Her eyebrows lift. “Wow. Impressive.”

I watch her carefully. Her face softens like she misread me.

She pulls back the soda can and studies my hand. “You’re lucky you didn’t break it, Mr. Anger Problem.”

I smirk, loving that the teasing feels like flirting.

“So,” I say, nodding at the books, “you working on a project or something?”

“I’m new here. I just transferred, and the professors need me to catch up.” She leans back in her chair, crossing her legs. Not that I’m looking. Okay, maybe I’m looking.

“You’re new here?” I ask, gesturing toward the Ravens hoodie.

She glances down and nods. “I was in college in California but transferred here. You’re new, too, right?”

I break our eye contact, glancing around the library. “California, huh?” I ask, not wanting to talk about me. “What’s that like?”

“It’s different. Sunny. Expensive.” She shrugs.

I nod, pretending I know anything about California.

“Where’d you transfer from?” she asks.

My eyes meet hers again, and I hesitate. I could lie. Make something up. But instead, I mutter, “New York.”

She tilts her head. “What brought you to Blackridge?”

I lean back, folding my arms. “You should mind your own business.”

She winces. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to pry.” She presses the soda against my hand again, and then she stands.

I reach out, catching her fingers.

Her eyes meet mine, confused.

“Thank you,” I say. “For the coke.”

“Anytime.” She grabs her books and bag and then heads for the door, pausing to look back. “Try not to punch any more walls, okay?”

“No promises,” I say, grinning.

She rolls her eyes but smiles as she walks away. I watch her go, her black hoodie swaying with every step. Gorgeous girl. Smart, funny, and the coach’s daughter. Just out of reach. Figures.

I lean against one of the shelves, letting myself breathe. The pain in my hand’s dulling, but I’m not in a rush to move. A book she left on the table catch my eye. It’s smaller than the others. Psychosexual Behaviors: A Study of Human Desire in bold black letters.

Interesting. I reach for it and flip it open.

The first page I land on talks about physical responses to stimuli. My eyes skim over phrases like “erogenous zones” and “sensory escalation.” Not exactly light reading, but interesting. Really interesting.

Is this what her new classes has her studying?

I glance over my shoulder like someone’s going to catch me, then flip another page. Diagrams. Graphs. Okay, this is wild.

My lips twitch into a grin. Curiosity gets the best of me, and I tuck the book under my arm. I head toward the checkout desk, nodding at the librarian as I slide the book across.

“Enjoy,” she says with a knowing smirk.

“Yeah, thanks.”

Book in hand, I’m halfway out the door when I spot Sienna again. She’s got her bag slung over her shoulder, her hips swaying as she walks.

I jog to catch up. “You left this book.”

Her brows knit together. “What book?”

I pull it out, letting her see it.

Her eyes go wide, and she lunges, snatching it from my hands.

I laugh, stepping back. “What, are you embarrassed? It’s just a book.”

“It’s not—” She cuts herself off, her cheeks flushing. “I just… It’s research.”

“Research for what?”

She tightens her grip on the book. “None of your business.”

“Now I’m really curious.” I smile, watching her squirm.

“Well, stay curious,” she snaps, turning on her heel to walk away.

I follow her. “Will you do something for me.”

She stops abruptly, spinning to face me. “What kind of something?”

The way she tilts her head, her lips slightly parted, has my brain going straight to the gutter. It would feel so good to push my cock straight through that pretty pout.

“Drive me home.”

Her face scrunches in confusion. “What? Why?”

I hold up my injured hand. “Messed it up earlier remember. Don’t wanna risk making it worse, and I live close. Easy favor.”

She eyes me suspiciously, weighing her options. Finally, she sighs. “Fine. Give me the keys.”

I bark out a laugh. “You won’t need ‘em. My car’s push-to-start.”

Her cheeks flush even darker, and she mutters something under her breath before turning away.

“See? This isn’t so bad,” I tease, falling into step beside her.

“You’re annoying, you know that?”

“Yeah, but you’re still helping me, so what does that make you?”

She shoots me a glare, but the corner of her mouth twitches like she’s fighting a smile.

This is gonna be fun .