Page 5

Chapter five

Dane

M y alarm buzzed like a drill in my skull. I groaned and reached for my phone, swiping at the screen until the noise cut off. 5:15 AM. Too early for this shit.

The second I sat up, my ribs reminded me what an idiot I'd been the day before. I sucked in a slow breath, gingerly rolling my shoulders.Fucking Campbell.He'd left his mark. But so had I.

I twisted, feet hitting the cold floor as I reached for the jacket draped over the chair beside my bed. The apartment was freezing becausewhy turn up the heat when I could throw on another layer?I caught sight of myself in the mirror above my dresser—dark bruises creeping along my ribs, a raw split at my knuckles.

It was a victory, wasn't it? I proved my point, set the line, and clarified that if Leo wanted to play in Lewiston, he'd do it on my terms. When I stared at my reflection, jaw tight and stomach unsettled,I didn't look like the guy who won anything.

I checked my phone again. Coach's text from last night was still there.

Coach: 6 a.m. at The Colisée. Both of you. Don't be late.

I exhaled sharply and dropped the phone onto my bed. I already knew how it was gonna go. Coach was pissed. He'd make us pay for it.

Fuckin' great.

I grabbed my gear bag, shoved my keys into my jacket pocket, and headed for the door. Outside, the wind was sharp, slicing right through my jacket as I made my way to the parking lot. Backing out, I drove toward the only place in town colder than my apartment.

Leo's ancient Civic squatted in the parking lot, ice crusted along its rusted edges. Of course, he was early.

The service entrance creaked open, releasing a blast of manufactured cold. My gear bag thumped against my hip as I headed inside, the sound echoing through empty corridors.

The arena was mostly empty, only the hum of the lights and the faint scrape of a lone skateblade cutting through the silence. The locker room was dimly lit, too early for the usual noise of the team filing in.

And there he was.

Leo was on the far end of the room, stretching his shoulders slowly and methodically.With his hair still damp from an early morning shower, he looked… fine.Barely marked up from yesterday.

That pissed me off.

I dropped my bag harder than necessary. Leo didn't flinch. He glanced up, catching my stare, with his mouth twitching at the corners like he knew what I was thinking.

"Morning, Cap'n."His voice was easy as if we were two chummy teammates showing up for an early skate.

"Fuck off."I sat and started unzipping my bag.

"That's no way to talk to your linemate."

"We'll see if you still are by the end of today."

Leo didn't respond right away. "You good?"he finally asked.

"Never better,"I muttered, yanking off my jacket.I wasn't about to admit how sore I was and how I could still feel the ghost of his shoulder slamming into mine.

He didn't push it andwent back to stretching, back to acting like yesterday hadn't meant shit. Maybe it hadn't. Maybe I was being ridiculous for still thinking about it.

I rolled my shoulders, ignoring the tightness.

Less than five minutes later, the locker room door banged open, and Coach stepped in like a storm front rolling through.Cold air clung to him, sharp as his glare.

"Whitaker. Campbell."His voice cut through the quiet.No greeting, no bullshit."On the ice. Now."

Neither of us said a word. We grabbed our sticks and followed him out.No choice in the matter.

Coach skated out onto the ice and turned to face us. His expression was unreadable, but his jaw was set tight.

"Listen up because I'm only saying this once." His voice dropped lower. It was always more dangerous then than when he yelled. "I don't know what kind of pissing contest you two think you're running, but it ends now. You want to fight each other? Do it on your own time. You do it in my arena again, and I'll bench your asses so fast your heads will spin."

My shoulders tensed. Next to me, Leo froze.

"You think I give a shit about your egos?" Coach continued, each word precise. "Look around. You see anyone else here? No reporters, no scouts, and no one who gives a damn about your personal drama. You have one job—make this line work. Don't let it break. You work together. You trust each other. And right now? I wouldn't trust either of you to tie your own damn skates."

I clenched my teeth.Yesterday was a bad look.I knew that. But trust?Trust wasn't the problem.

Leo shifted his weight beside me. Not a flinch. Only a shift.

"Got it?" Coach snapped.

"Got it,"I grunted through my teeth.

Leo's answer was too casual.I would have been better with defiance. His indifference burrowed under my skin.

"Yeah, Coach. Got it."

He glared at us both like he was still deciding whether or not to bench us permanently. Then, he jerked his chin toward the far end of the ice.

"Start skating."

And just like that, the hell began. Coach didn't hold back.

"Baseline to baseline," Coach barked. "Full speed. No pucks. Straight lines until I say stop."

The first sprint burned. By the third, my lungs were on fire. Leo matched me stride for stride, and neither of us gave an inch. Our skates cut parallel lines in the fresh ice, the sound sharp in the empty arena.

Five sprints in, sweat soaked through my practice jersey. Eight sprints and my quads trembled with each push. Still, neither of us dropped back. Neither of us yielded.

"Puck battles," Coach called next. "Corner to corner. The winner has to make a clean pass to the loser before you switch."

Leo's shoulder slammed into mine as we fought for position. The impact jarred my already bruised ribs, but I pushed back harder. We tangled along the boards, sticks clashing, too close to ignore the ragged sound of his breathing or how his body pressed against mine.

"You gonna pass the puck," Leo growled, "or are we doing this all morning?"

I muscled him off the puck, spinning away. "You gonna be there to receive it?"

His laugh was more of a gasp. "Try me."

The pass left my stick before I could think better of it. Leo snagged it clean like he'd known exactly where I'd put it. Like he'd been reading my mind.

We ran the drill again. And again. Each time, the passes connected smoother. Each time, we anticipated each other's movements with increasing precision.

By the time Coach finally called a halt, my legs were rubber. I hunched over, hands on my knees, sucking in air that raked my throat like shards of glass. Leo leaned against the boards nearby, his chest heaving.

Coach drove us to the edge, but he didn't break us.

When the rest of the team arrived, the mood was different. The weight of the day before hung over us like a storm cloud.

The guys weren't dumb.They knew what went down.Now, during the first passing drills, they all watched. Waited.

Carver was the first to exercise his jaw."So, what's the official story here? Was that a real fight yesterday or just foreplay?"

A couple of guys snickered. TJ tapped his stick against the ice like he wanted an answer, too.

"Go fuck yourself, Carver,"I muttered, flicking the puck to Mercier, our goalie.

"Touchy,"he shot back, grinning."I just think it's funny how I've never seen Whitaker skate harder than when Leo's in his peripheral."

More laughter.TJ shook his head, smirking.

"Hey, I'm just saying, one fight, and you're already playing more aggressively than last season."

"Glad someone's benefiting from this circus,"Mercier muttered, adjusting his mask.

I clenched my jaw, shoving down the urge to fire a puck straight at Carver's knee. Then,Leo spoke up.

"Yeah, well, at least now we know Whitaker hits harder than he shoots."

The guyswhooped at that.A few sticks banged against the ice.

I snapped my head toward him.Leo's smirk was barely there, but I saw a challenge in his eyes. He wanted to know if I'd bite.

"You want me to prove you wrong?"I shot back, voice steady.

"You could try."

There was more laughter, butit was different. Less tension. Less edge. The guys weren't looking at us like we were about to tear each other apart.They were watching a show.

Coach blew his whistle, cutting through the noise."Less talking, more skating. You two wanna keep jawing at each other, you can do it from the fucking bleachers."

The drill restarted, but the energy on the ice had changed. The guys were still watching but weren'twaiting for a fight anymore. They werewaiting to see what we'd do next.

The last whistle of practice finally blew, and most of the team coasted toward the bench, shoulders sagging, sticks tapping against the ice in relief.Everyone was wrecked.Coach had skated us into the ground, and even the guys who weren't involved in yesterday's fight were feeling the punishment.

"Hit the showers,"Coach called out."Be on time tomorrow. This is the half of the season that matters."

The team started filing out, the usual post-practice chatter kicking up—plans for grabbing food, complaints about drills, and a few lingering smirks toward Leo and me. I was already halfway to the door when Coach's voice stopped me cold.

"Not you, Whitaker. You either, Campbell."

A couple of the guys slowed. TJ raised an eyebrow but kept moving. Mercier gave me a look that said,better you than me,before disappearing through the tunnel.

I turned back toward Coach, grip tightening on my stick. Leo exhaled through his nose, buthe didn't look surprised.Only tired.

"One more drill,"Coach said, skating toward us, stick resting across his shoulders.

"What kind of drill?"I asked.

"Passing."

"We did passing drills all morning."

"Yeah, and you two still don't trust each other with the puck." The coach wasn't fucking around."You wanna be the first line? Then act like it. Until I see it, we stay on this ice."

Leo muttered something under his breath, and then he lined up across from me without another word.

"Rules are simple,"Coach said."No slap shots. No dekes. No one-timers. Just clean, controlled passes while you skate. If one of you loses the puck, we start over."

Leo tilted his head. "For how long?"

"Until I say we're done."

I gritted my teeth.

Coach dropped a puck at my stick.

"Go."

I skated forward, controlling the puck, waiting until Leo fell into stride beside me. I flicked the puck toward him—a little harder than necessary. He trapped it with his stick but didn't pass it right away. He held onto it just long enough to piss me off before flicking it back.

The rhythm should've been easy.We were both skilled players.But the tension still clung to us. We ran the drill again. And again.Every time, something went wrong.

One pass came in too hot. One came too soft. The coach's whistle was relentless.

"Again."

"Again."

"Again."

My pulse hammered in my ears, frustration crackling through every limb.It shouldn't have been that hard.

"Maybe if you kept your stick down, we'd be done by now,"I snapped.

Leo caught it with ease.Too much ease."Maybe if you learned how to read your own damn line, we wouldn't be here at all."

"You always this much of a pain in the ass, or only with me?"

That comment earned a smirk."Wouldn't you like to know?"

I clenched my teeth, resisting the urge toshove him into the boards to wipe that look off his face.

"Enough,"Coach barked."I don't care if you two wanna kill each other off the ice, but on it? You play like a goddamn unit. One more time. Get it right, or we do this until I have to turn the fucking lights off."

We skated again; this time, I didn't think about anything exceptmoving with Leo. The puck slid between us, easy and clean.

Pass. Receive. Pass.No hesitation.

For the first time,magic took over. It was the unspoken rhythm of knowing where he'd be before he got there. We'd reached the moment where our gameslocked in, sharp and fluid.

Leo's breathing was steady.His eyes stayed locked on the ice, not me. I hated how much I liked the way it felt.

"That's more like it,"Coach muttered."Do that in a game, and maybe we'll start winning."

Leo and I were both still breathing hard, standing too close, with our bodies wound too tight.

"Get off my ice,"Coach added, already skating away."I don't wanna see either of your faces until tomorrow."

As he skated off, I pulled my gloves off, flexing my fingers to work out the stiffness. My knuckles still ached from yesterday.

The ice was almost empty, only a few stray pucks scattered near the goal crease. Most guys would've left them for the rink staff to clean up, butI hated leaving shit unfinished. I skated over, nudging one of the loose pucks toward the boards.

That's when I saw him—a little kid, maybe eight or nine, standing just outside the glass near the tunnel.He was probably one of the assistant coach's kids, judging by how he was bouncing on his toes,wearing a too-big Lewiston Forge hoodie, and gripping the rail like he'd fall over if he let go.

His eyes tracked the puck as I stopped beside it, wide-eyed and hopeful. I turned and flipped it up with my stick, caught it with my glove, and then flicked it over the boards, soft enough for the kid to catch.

He scrambled and snatched it up with both hands like it was the Stanley Cup. "For me?"he asked, voice small but excited.

I shrugged, already turning away."Guess you better work on your wrist shot."

Behind me, I heard him gasp before running off toward the tunnel, shouting to someone about how he hada real puck from practice. I exhaled, rolling out my shoulders as I skated toward the bench.

Then, I saw him—Leo, watching me. Not saying anything and not smirking. Watching.

"What?"I muttered, yanking my helmet off.

He tilted his head, dark eyes flicking toward the tunnel where the kid had disappeared, then back to me. "Didn't take you for the sentimental type, Cap'n."

I scoffed, stepping off the ice."Stick around; maybe you'll learn."

I didn't wait for him to answer. Just grabbed my gear and headed for the locker room, ignoring how my pulse was still too damn fast.

With the other guys already gone, the locker room wastoo quietafter the extra practice session. Everyone else was long gone,which left only Leo and me in the aftermath of whatever the hell that was.

I peeled off my jersey, wincing as my ribs protested the movement. Every muscle in my body ached.A deep, raw kind of soreness. From across the room, Leo stripped off his own gear.Bruises marked his ribs.Faint, but there.

He caught me looking.I knew it the second our eyes met. I should've looked away first. I didn't.

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.Not sharp. Not mocking. Knowing.

"You always stare at guys in the locker room?"

I scoffed, rolling my shoulders.

"In your dreams."

"Oh, so you do think about me."

I turned away, biting back my response.

The showers were running, steam curling through the air.We were the only two left. I grabbed my water bottle, took a long drink, then reached for my towel—

So did Leo.

Steam filled the shower area, thick enough to blur the edges of everything. The spray hammered against my tired muscles, and I kept my eyes fixed on the tiles in front of me. Leo was two showerheads down, far enough that I could pretend he wasn't there.

I reached for my shampoo bottle, and at the same moment, Leo stretched for something on the shelf between us. Our hands collided, slick with water and soap. Neither of us pulled back immediately.

His fingers brushed against my knuckles, lingering over the bruises we both knew he'd put there. My breath caught in my throat. The contact lasted maybe two seconds, but it could have been forever—time stretched and warped in the steam-thick air.

"Thought you didn't like me." Leo's voice was quiet, almost lost under the shower spray. "Isn't that your whole thing, Cap'n? The golden boy who's too good to mix with guys like me?"

I couldn't look at him. Couldn't move. "The fuck you know anything about that."

"No?" His fingers traced one particularly dark bruise on my hand, feather-light. "I think maybe I know too much."

The shower room suddenly was too small and too hot. I jerked my hand back like his touch burned.

"We done here?" My voice didn't sound like my own.

Leo's laugh was soft, dangerous. "Not even close."

I stood there with my pulse racing and my body still keyed up from practice.

I got out of there before I did something stupid.

The drive home was a mess of exhaustion and static. My body was wrecked, but my head was worse becauseI ran the last moments in the locker room on a tape loop in my mind—Leo's fingers tracing my bruises, his voice low under the shower spray. "Thought you didn't like me."

The thing was, disliking Leo had been easier. Hating him had made sense. But this?

I could still feelwhere his fingers brushed mine.Where his breathghosted over my shoulder. It meant nothing.It had to.

Except, in the silence of my car, when I should've been thinking aboutour next game, or my next shift, or literally anything else? All I could think about was we were supposed to be enemies. That was the script—fight, clash, stay the hell away from each other. Simple.

So why couldn't I stop wondering what would have happened if I'd left my hand there? If I'd turned around in that shower instead of running?