Page 7 of Devil on Skates
XAVIER
THE LOCKER ROOM’S BUZZING with that usual pre-game energy, like gear getting shuffled, tape ripping, and the guys chatting. I’m halfway through lacing my skates when Coach walks in, his clipboard in his hand, his face as unreadable as always.
“Gather up,” he says, and we form our usual semi-circle around him.
Coach scans the room, his eyes pausing briefly on me before moving on. “Our rival’s defense is solid this year. Their goalie has one of the highest save rates, so we’ve gotta be smarter, faster, and way more aggressive on offense.”
I’m only half listening, caught up in this weird vibe I’m picking up from him tonight. He’s more tense than usual, his movements tight as if he’s worried about something other than hockey. Is it something about Irina?
“Gallagher, I want you pushing their defense hard right from the first whistle. Open things up. Make ‘em work,” he says.
“Got it, Coach.”
“The son of the owner of Stonebrook Shadows is coming tonight, along with my daughter.”
My pulse skips at the mention of Irina, but I keep my face blank. Coach’s eyes narrow, as if he’s trying to read me.
“I’m sure you know how important the Costello family is in the hockey world,” he adds, looking at the whole team but keeping his gaze on me. “Let’s show everyone what we’ve got.”
My mind spins. Irina’s going to be there with Keith and watching me play. It feels too perfect to just be a coincidence. But what’s Coach’s deal? Does he know about that night? About his daughter and me?
No way. If he even suspected it, I’d be off the ice. He’s probably just trying to get the Costellos to notice him or to become a member of their family through Irina, which makes my blood boil.
Still, knowing she’ll be there changes everything about tonight’s game for me.
“Questions?” Coach asks, already heading toward his office.
“No, sir,” the team answers as one.
As everyone gets back to their prep, Ronan slides onto the bench next to me. “Costello, huh? It’s a big deal having someone like him watching. No pressure.”
“It’s just another game,” I say, but we both know it’s not.
“You’ve seen Costello’s son on campus sometimes, right?” Ronan re-tapes his stick. “Can’t miss him. He walks around like he owns the place.”
A weird tightness spreads in my chest. “Oh, I’ve seen him.”
Ronan raises an eyebrow at my tone but says nothing more. Sometimes I forget he’s way more perceptive than his party-boy vibe lets on.
I finish getting ready on autopilot, my mind racing over the fact that Irina will be there.
It’s probably not by her own choice, but that doesn’t change anything.
Since that café run-in, I’ve been plotting how to make another accidental meet happen.
Now one’s basically been handed to me, even if it’s complicated because of her dad and her potential boyfriend sitting right there.
The irony? Me, a guy who could have anyone he wanted, obsessing over the one girl avoiding him.
What is it about her that she’s got under my skin so deep? That question replays in my mind as we head out for warm-ups, our blades carving fresh ice.
The stands are filling up, and I scan the premium seats out of habit. Even though I expect it, seeing her steals my breath away.
Irina’s there, sitting with Keith. Her dark hair’s down, and she’s wearing a deep blue sweater that somehow makes her look both grown-up and young at the same time.
But she looks uncomfortable, as if she’s putting on a show. Her smile’s too perfect and her posture stiff. This isn’t Irina being herself.
I know that act, because I’ve spent years doing the same thing. Showing what people expect, and not what’s really inside.
Then I zero in on Keith. His expensive, casual look and fake smile scream privilege. He’s sitting way too close to Irina, not touching, but close enough to claim her.
Something flares up inside me. She shouldn’t be there next to him in the VIP seats. She should be wearing my jersey like the other players’ girlfriends.
What the fuck?
Since when do I want a girl wearing my jersey? I’ve always avoided the whole public relationship drama, especially the social media posts about the girlfriends in special sections. It’s too much hassle for my balanced life of hockey, school, and casual flings.
But picturing Irina in my colors, cheering just for me? That’s a feeling I can’t shake.
“Earth to Gallagher.” Ronan’s voice breaks through my thoughts. “Coach’s watching.”
I snap back to warm-ups, forcing my focus on the drills while my mind splits between the game and the girl in the stands.
The warm-ups end, and we head back to the locker room for Coach’s final rundown. My chest tightens, not because of the team across the ice, but because Irina’s eyes will be on me soon.
“Discipline and execution,” Coach says as we suit up to hit the ice again. “No showboating and no dumb risks. Impress with smarts and not flash.”
He looks right at me then. I nod, playing it cool, but I’m already planning my own game. Coach wants controlled, sharp hockey to impress Keith. Me? I want Irina to not be able to look away.
The buzzer sounds, and we burst onto the ice to cheers. As we line up, I sneak a glance at the premium seats. Irina’s staring somewhere above the ice, not at the players.
Challenge accepted.
The first period’s the usual back-and-forth, with both teams feeling each other out. I’m playing solidly and watching Coach while waiting for my moment.
Our defenseman grabs a sloppy pass near our blue line and fires it to me. I catch it, skate hard, find the gap between their defenders, and push through.
Their defense scrambles as I close in on the net. The goalie shifts, guessing my shot. Instead of shooting right away, I drag the puck across, forcing him to commit, then flip it top shelf on his blocker side.
Goal light flashes, the horn blares, and the crowd goes wild.
Instead of joining the usual celebration circle, I skate to center ice, right in front of the VIP section where Irina sits.
I raise my stick like a salute, as if I’m acknowledging Keith, but my eyes lock with Irina’s just for a second. She’s watching now, surprise breaking through her composed mask. Keith claps and grins next to her, completely clueless.
The moment’s brief. I rejoin my teammates, accepting fist bumps like a pro. Coach nods, clearly reading my move as respect to Costello, not the message I actually sent.
“Nice finish,” Ronan says. “Very... diplomatic celebration.”
I shrug. “Just giving the VIPs their due.”
He shoots me a look that says he’s not totally buying it, but doesn’t push.
The rest of the first period passes with no more goals, but we dominate puck possession and shots. Coach is pleased, focusing on tweaks during intermission.
Second period starts, and I keep catching Irina’s gaze whenever I hit the bench. She’s getting drawn in, despite herself. Once, I see her lean forward during a tense moment, then quickly snap back into her perfect-guest role when Keith says something to her.
My next goal chance comes on a power play halfway through the period. Our point man fires a shot that bounces off the goalie’s pads right to me by the net. One quick move, and the puck’s in the back of the net before he recovers.
This celebration’s even more deliberate. After the team huddle, I skate to center ice again, facing the crowd but making sure Irina sees me. I tap my chest once, which seems like a small gesture to everyone else, but I’m sure she knows the meaning of my message.
This one’s for you.
Coach just stares at me as I return, his lips pressed into a flat line, his eyes unreadable. “Effective positioning,” he says, but I catch the warning in his tone, which I choose to ignore.
By the third period, the arena’s energy is electric. We’re up 2-0, but our opponents are pushing hard to avoid a shutout. The game gets rougher, with body checks and scrums after whistles.
At one point, their defenseman elbows me hard after I dump the puck in. I crash into the boards, and the crowd gasps. Penalty called.
As I get up, I look for Irina. She’s half standing as if she’s worried, before she settles back down. That flash of real emotion feels like a win bigger than any goal.
Power play doesn’t net another goal, but we hold on to the lead. When the buzzer sounds, the thrill isn’t just about the win. It’s about knowing that Irina caught every second.
Back in the locker room, the vibe’s celebratory but controlled. Coach gives his usual rundown and says our game was good but with plenty to improve. And he casually mentions he’s joining his daughter and Costello after, hinting we better behave if we run into them.
As everyone starts changing, Ronan drops beside me. “That was subtle.”
“What?” I ask, but I know exactly what he means.
“The look-at-me celebrations,” he says, doing an exaggerated chest tap. “Dude, you were basically performing for Coach’s daughter.”
I keep my face neutral. “Just acknowledging our special guests.”
“Right.” He glances around. “But heads up. She’s basically engaged to Keith, or they wouldn’t be sitting together like this. And Coach? He’ll bench you or worse if you get anywhere near his daughter.”
“I know what I’m doing,” I mutter under my breath and turn away.
“She’s off-limits,” Ronan says. “Even if she wasn’t with Keith, Coach probably treats her like some princess with dragons guarding her.”
Dramatic, but from what I’ve seen, it’s not far off. It explains the way she acted, disappeared, and blocked my profile, even if she unblocked it later. She’s not just avoiding me. She’s protecting herself from disappointing her dad.
And it makes me want her even more.
“Don’t worry about me.” I grin at Ronan. “I can handle it.”
His brows slowly unfurrow, and his shoulders sag as he exhales loudly. “That’s the look that means trouble. Just remember. If Coach buries you under the ice, I tried to warn you.”
I laugh, but yeah, Coach’s reputation is no joke. Crossing him professionally could kill my career. And going after his daughter? Things could get really, really ugly.
Still, as I shower and pack up, ready to leave the arena, I don’t give a fuck.
The way she looked at me during the game tells me this isn’t just a fling. It’s something real.
Tonight was just the first move in a game way bigger than hockey. And like with every game I’ve ever played, I’m here to win.