Page 1

T he lights in the rink go off one by one, but I stay behind, still in my pads, skates unlaced and ankles sore. I’m not practicing anymore; I'm killing time. Stretching the hours between this place and the hell waiting at home.

Coach left twenty minutes ago and the janitor passed through once. I think he saw me, but he didn’t say a word. He knows.

I’m not the kid people ask questions about; I’m the one they pity in silence.

The cold air clings to me, but I welcome it. At least it's clean and honest, unlike the stench of cheap whiskey and bad decisions that clings to the walls of my father’s trailer.

"You planning to sleep here or what?"

I glance up and see Aidric leaning against the side of the rink, helmet tucked under one arm, smirking like he can see straight through me.

I roll my eyes. "Didn’t think anyone was left."

"Didn’t think you’d still be here." He drops his gear onto the bench and shrugs. "Or maybe I did."

I don't respond. Aidric’s one of those guys who doesn’t ask permission to speak, he just does. He’s a year older, already tall and cocky, and skating like he was born to do it. He's a good friend, though. At least, he tries to be.

He sits down and glances at me sideways. "You ever heard of the Ice Lords?"

I frown. "The team?"

"Not the hockey team." He chuckles. "Ya know how my brother’s a senior at North Ridge University?" he asks, like he wants me to reassure him of the fact.

"Yeah," I grumble.

"Well, a couple nights ago, I heard him talking on the phone. Said something about a secret society and initiation."

I blink. "The hell are you talking about?"

Aidric leans in slightly. "There’s this group, not just athletes, but a legacy.

These guys have real power. They call themselves the Ice Lords.

And if you’re in, you’re in . They handle everything from winning games, getting good grades, making money, and even securing cover-ups for any stupid shit they do. "

Shaking my head, I try not to think about how much something like that could change the course of my life. If there's anything I've learned from my shitty life, it’s that having hope is dangerous.

"Sounds like bullshit."

"Sounds like opportunity," Aidric counters.

"Why are you telling me this?" I throw up my hands, confused and refusing to let that little glimmer of hope cling to me. I don’t want it.

Aidric shrugs. "Because I trust you, and because you don’t scare easily. It's still a few years away, but if we play our cards right, maybe we can get in."

That would be a fucking dream, but I don't tell him that because dreams aren't attainable for people like me.

When I don't say anything, he stands and grabs his helmet again. "Anyway. Figured you’d want to know in case you’re tired of being a punching bag."

Swallowing thickly, I watch as he walks off without another word.

The thought of something bigger and better could be just the thing I need right now because everything outside of this rink feels pointless.

It’s another reason I stay late, watching the ice and just breathing it in.

This isn’t just the only place I can find peace, but it’s also the only place that reminds me what it is to truly live.

The janitor eventually clears his throat, keys jingling in his hand, and I stand, grabbing my bag and getting to my feet. The walk home isn’t far, and as soon as I get to the door, I already know what’s awaiting me on the other side.

Sure enough, the air already reeks of liquor and cigarette smoke. The door barely opens before I hear my father’s voice, slurred and sharp.

"You think you’re better than me?" he snaps, appearing in the hallway, shirt half-buttoned, eyes wild. "You think that fucking jersey gives you value?"

I keep my head down, grip tight around the strap of my backpack. I try to ignore him and push my way to my room, but he grabs me as I pass, his hand unrelenting around my arm.

"Get off me!" I try to pull away, but he only holds tighter, nails digging into my flesh. "Let go!"

It was the wrong move because his slap comes fast. The back of his hand cracks across my cheek, jerking my head sideways. My cheek explodes with heat, and I taste copper.

My father is a good six inches taller than me and has way more muscle. His body is tight with rage, the usual anger somehow even more potent tonight.

When he steps in, breath thick with whiskey, I know it's only going to get worse from here.

"You're nothing, boy," he hisses. "You think some school, some scholarship, and some rink is going to rewrite who you are?"

I stare at the floor, quiet and unblinking, face burning as I try to do the one thing the rink taught me to do—survive. This is his game. He always wants a reaction, wants to feel bigger than me, stronger than the bottle he never puts down.

When I don’t play along, he presses his finger into my chest. Right over the jersey, right over the number that gives me more purpose than he ever could.

"You’ll never be more than my fuck-up son."

He grabs his drink from the table beside us and throws his empty glass against the wall, causing it to shatter on impact.

I don’t flinch—not anymore. His punishing grip finally loosens as he no doubt goes to search for another cup, or hell, he might just drink from the bottle at this point. Either way, I refuse to stick around and find out.

I hear him finally calm down on the other side of my door.

He's probably face down on the couch sleeping it off.

Not wanting to risk a run in with him again, I forgo any thought of dinner as I toss my bag in the corner, reminding myself to steal some change from around the house to wash my hockey gear with later.

My heart is still beating rapidly and the idea of falling asleep early isn’t appealing, so I pace my floor, trying not to let my father get to me. Once I've exhausted myself and it's past midnight, I sit on the floor in the dark.

For a moment, I almost let my father's words take root in me, almost allow them to drag me under to that dark place that takes days or even weeks to crawl out of. It’s hard not to when that’s all I’ve been told for years now, that I’ll always be less than enough.

Then I remember what Aidric said earlier about the Ice Lords—the power and the loyalty. That’s when that stupid feeling I try so hard to keep buried pops into my head, and a dangerous plan begins to form.

Hope is what has me standing, walking over to my bag to get out my phone and begin my research. If this secret society exists, I’m going to find it, then I'll make sure they invite me in if it’s the last thing I do.

My father's words play on repeat in my head, but as I dig deeper to find what’s hidden behind secret firewalls, his insults begin to fall away.

And for the first time in my life, I think maybe I could be something more. Maybe, just maybe, I could be an Ice Lord.