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Chapter twelve

Trayton

M y eyes lock onto the puck, gliding alongside my stick as I tear up the ice with a burst of speed. The cold air bites at my cheeks, but my focus remains unbroken. I keep my gaze down, tracking the puck’s every move, but I steal quick glances to my left, sensing Cope closing in on me. He’s fast, but not fast enough. They never are.

A triumphant grin spreads beneath my helmet as I fake left, then right, my skates carving sharp turns into the ice. Snowy shards spray into Cope’s path as I blaze past him with a burst of acceleration. I draw my stick back, muscles coiling in anticipation, ready to unleash a powerful slap shot. Just as I’m about to strike, a force slams into me from the side, driving me into the boards.

“Fuck,” I mutter through gritted teeth as I crash into the side. The impact reverberates through my body—not as hard as it could have been, but enough to rattle me. I catch a glimpse of Kal skating by with a smirk. The puck deftly controlled on his stick as he races down to the other end of the rink.

Determination flares within me, and I clench my jaw, propelling myself back up the ice with renewed energy. The chill of the rink fades into the background as my focus narrows. I’m not giving up that puck without a fight.

Kal speeds down the rink, but I’m hot on his heels. I see an opening and push myself harder, my skates cutting sharp lines into the ice. Kal’s got skill, so fucking much of it. But I have the speed.

As I’m closing in, I catch Daxton’s eye on the sidelines. His presence annoys me, a distraction I don’t need, but I force myself to ignore it. Just as Kal’s about to take his shot, I intercept him with a perfectly timed body check. He loses balance, and the puck slips away. I swiftly scoop it up and head back toward their goal, hearing my friends cheer and shout. It’s a friendly competition, but the adrenaline rush is real. We’re always told to treat it like a real game. When in training, our team is our competition. The minute training is over. We’re a team. It’s something Coach drummed into us and made it clear that us being a team is just as important, but we need the practice. Not many coaches agree with this approach, but that’s Denny.

He’s different. And we all like it. He’s a good coach.

With the net in my sights, I sneak a glance to my side—but Cope is there too. When did he get so fast? Keeping my focus, I pull my stick back and watch it slice cleanly between Jennings’s legs.

I raise my helmet and speed toward Kal, doing a silly dance around him because I know how much he absolutely loves it. Not . He grunts and gives me a shove, trying to knock me over, but I manage to stay on my feet as always. Brayden skates over, breathless. “It’s not normal how fast you are, Tray. I couldn’t even keep up with you,” he says.

“It’s a tough life being a god.” I shrug sarcastically. As I turn on my skates in a circle again, my eyes catch on to Daxton, whose smile drops, and his eyes dart away from mine. Why the fuck is he looking at me and smiling? I skid to a stop on my skates, sending small ice shavings up Brayden’s leg. I grit my jaw, staring at Daxton, waiting to see if he looks at me again, but he doesn’t. He keeps his head down and then gets his phone out. He frowns down at his phone for a moment, rubbing his hand over his face. Once. Twice. Then he runs his hands through his hair. He looks up, but he’s not looking at me. Or is he? His eyes look like they are looking in twenty different places at once.

It’s chaotic.

It’s panic.

It’s pure fucking fear.

I huff and look away at Brayden and Kal, who stare at me, move their focus to Daxton, and then back to me.

“What?” I frown, crossing my arms. Brayden glances at Kal, and Kal gazes back at Brayden. Kal raises his eyebrows like they’re talking through a secret sign language only they know. “What?” I spew again. They both look at me. Kal’s lips twitch as Brayden rubs his hand over his mouth, clearly trying to hide his smirk.

He failed miserably.

“Nothing,” they both say in unison. Ugh, I hate when they do this.

They skate off the ice, and I shake my head, following them. I’m the last to walk through the gate, ready to head back to the lockers. Because I clearly like to see Daxton in distress, I turn my head, hoping I’ll see that fear in his eyes again, but I don’t.

He’s not there.

But his sketch pad is. I turn my head to check if anyone’s around, but everyone’s gone into the lockers already. I trudge along the seats to where Daxton was sitting and glance down at the sketch pad, which is closed. I look around the rink. He’s not here, so I pick up the sketch pad and open the first page.

Shit.

It’s amazing. Fuck, why does he have to be so good at drawing? I flick to the next page, and then I frown. It’s a sketch of me, Kal, and Brayden. We’re all laughing.

We look so fucking happy.

The image is so perfect that it’s as if we’re going to come alive on the page.

How does he fucking do this? I flick to the next, and I suck in a sharp breath. It’s me.

The next one.

Me.

The next.

Me.

What the fuck? I hear a noise behind me and quickly shove the sketch pad up my jersey, turning toward the locker room.

What the fuck is this guy doing?

That evening, I steal a quick glance at Kal. He’s got his back to me, probably scowling at his phone as if it’s personally offended him. I swear, every night, he fixes himself on that phone. It’s sometimes hard to even get a conversation out of him. I quietly reach down between my bed and the wall, fingers searching for Daxton’s sketch pad I snagged earlier. My heart pounds in my chest as I keep checking to make sure Kal isn’t sneaking a peek over his shoulder. As silently as possible, I open it to the first page. There it is—the sketch of me, Kal, and Brayden on the ice at the rink during hockey practice. The fluorescent lights overhead are captured in soft shading, casting a warm glow over the scene. Our smiles are so real that they practically jump off the page. Kal’s grin is wide, his helmet slightly askew, eyes crinkling at the corners, the way they do when he’s genuinely into the moment. Brayden is mid-laugh, his mouth open in a carefree chuckle, stick propped on his shoulder like he doesn’t have a worry in the world. And me—I look alive, eyes shining, a big smile spread across my face.

The crisp lines of the rink barriers frame us, and the smooth surface of the ice is detailed with just the right amount of texture, showing the carved lines from our skates. You can almost feel the cold air and hear the echo of our laughter bouncing off the arena walls. Daxton captured everything—the friendship, the thrill of the game, the unspoken bond between us.

I want to hate it so badly, just like I did when I saw my tattoo.

But I can’t

He’s too fucking good.

God, I hate him.

I flip to the next one, and it’s me frowning down in concentration at the puck in front of me. I scan every detail of the photo, not able to take my eyes off it. It’s as if the only thing in the world that exists is that puck in front of me. I flick to the next one, and it’s me, body checking Kal when we were having our friendly rivalry, but it’s not finished. Maybe that’s when he left.

Why did he leave? Why did he look scared?

Why do I even fucking care?

I don’t. I’m just curious, I guess. I’ve always been curious.

I flick to the next page, waiting to see if he’s sketched anything or anyone else, but the next one isn’t anything to do with hockey. It’s a blue lake that ends with tall green trees. The colors blend, but in the middle of the image and behind the trees, bright light streams through the gaps. Casting a glow across the water. I squint my eyes to look at the writing in the corner. “Mystic Tealglow.”

It’s another version of the one at the shop. It looks almost the same, but the glow is from a different angle this time. It has to be the sun, right?

I get why he loves this picture, but to draw it again? He must really love it.

I flip to the next page, but there’s nothing. I flip through the rest of the pages, but that’s it. I’m drawn to the picture of the lake and the trees. I want to look at it again so turn back and stare at it. It bugs me how familiar it is, like I’ve seen this exact image before.

Does he copy art? I huff a laugh. It wouldn’t surprise me if he did. I quickly snap my gaze to Kal to make sure he didn’t turn around, but it looks as though he’s put his phone down now.

I trace the ripples of the waves with my finger and then move up to the lifelike trees. I stare straight at the glow peeking through the branches.

Why have I seen this?

I tear the page out of the sketchbook and place the book back down beside my bed. I lay my head down, keeping my back to Kal, and continue to stare at the picture. It feels so real that I swear when I close my eyes, I can hear the waves crashing together.

I keep my eyes closed and allow sleep to take me.

That night, I dream of the waves, the trees, and that glow.