Chapter 4
4
Hudson
The air feels heavy with anticipation.
This isn’t just another game.
It’s my game.
My first as a Redville Saint. My first shot at proving I belong here.
I’ve spent the past few days replaying every moment of that disastrous first game in my head.
The closet fiasco. The late arrival. Molly’s silence. Dane’s anger. Coach’s barely concealed irritation.
It all circles back to one thing: I have something to prove.
Mason claps a hand on my shoulder, his grin easy. “You ready, Wilde?”
I glance at him, and for the first time since that disaster of a morning, I feel a flicker of something close to gratitude. Mason’s been in my corner since the second I stepped into this locker room, and he hasn’t stopped trying to lighten the load.
I force a smirk. “Born ready.” My answer might come off as cocky, but it’s better than admitting I’m not.
“Good.” He leans in. “Because if you fuck this up tonight, Coach will have your ass. The man is no joke. If you’re not careful, he’s liable to have you weeding the courtyard of Lancaster Arena. And when you pass out from the exertion, he’ll step over your body without a backward glance.”
I laugh despite myself, shaking my head. “Wow. Um . . . thanks for the pep talk.”
Mason grins. “Anytime.”
Together, we make our way onto the ice.
It’s pure chaos. The crowd cheering is like nothing I have ever heard before.
It’s deafening, and I fucking love it.
This is what I’ve worked my whole life for.
The minors were nothing like this.
Even the lights here are more blinding, the energy in the arena more palpable. My heart pounds in my chest.
All the doubts creep back in.
Then the puck drops and everything else fades away.
From the second my stick touches the ice, I’m locked in. The Colts are fast, but I’m quicker. I push hard. My lungs tighten from the exertion, but I have too much to lose, so I push through the pain. My skates slice across the ice as I dart down the rink. The puck finds my stick, and instinct takes over.
I pass it to Aiden, who maneuvers around the defense with the ease of a veteran. Now I see that he lives up to the hype. He’s that good. He fakes left, then sends the puck back my way. I barely have time to think before I shoot it past the goalie and into the net.
The horn blares, and the crowd erupts.
One goal.
My first.
I don’t have time to celebrate. The Colts push hard after the face-off, and suddenly, I’m being crushed against the boards.
Before I can react, Dane is there, barreling into the guy like a freight train. He doesn’t even glance my way. He skates off like protecting me is just another part of his job, which I guess it technically is. It still pisses me off, but I don’t have time to dwell on it.
The puck’s back in play, and I’m moving again, faster this time, more aggressive. I force myself to play harder than I ever have, desperate to prove I belong here. Every pass, every shot, every stride feels like a test, and I. Will. Not. Fail.
I block a pass from one of the Colts forwards, stealing the puck and driving it up the ice.
Another pass. Another shot. Another goal.
Two goals.
By the end of the first period, I’m drenched in sweat but buzzing with adrenaline.
Mason nudges me as we head toward the locker room, his grin wider than I’ve ever seen. “Not bad, rookie.”
“Not bad?” I scoff. “I’m carrying this team already,” I joke, or at least attempt to, but seeing as Aiden scowls at me, I don’t think it hit the way I wanted. Oh, well. I can play the role of the cocky bastard.
“Easy there.” Aiden pushes past us. “You’re still a rookie, remember?” he says, confirming my suspicions. He’s not my greatest fan. Yet. I’ll win him over eventually.
I roll my eyes but can’t help the smile tugging at my lips. At least I’m starting to prove myself.
Before we leave the rink, I catch sight of Molly in the stands, and my stomach twists. She’s sitting near the glass, her face unreadable. Her silence in the hallway still stings, and the fact that she’s watching me now only adds fuel to the fire.
Fuck.
The second period is brutal.
The Colts are relentless. Their weak defense from the first period is tight now. They are trying to close the gap. That much is obvious.
At one point, I’m slammed into the boards again, harder this time. My vision blurs for a second, but before I can even process the hit, Dane is there. He grabs the guy who hit me and makes quick work of putting him in his place.
The penalty box door slams shut behind him, but not before he shoots me a look. I can’t tell if it’s a warning or an acknowledgment. I hope it’s the latter.
It’s bad enough that I already got off to a bad start with him. I intend to be with the team for a long time, and since Sinclair is a veteran of the Saints, I’d rather have him on my side than against me.
The whole period is a blur.
Must be the adrenaline.
Because the next thing I know, it’s time for the second intermission. Once in the locker room, Dane approaches me.
“Not bad.” His tone is dry. I wonder if he’s fucking with me.
I glance up to assess his mood. Even though he isn’t smiling, I can tell this is the real deal. He means it. “Thanks.”
He nods, crossing his arms. “You’re a good addition to the team.”
The compliment catches me off guard, and I’m not sure how to respond. I feel like I’m at a crossroads with him, and I don’t want to fuck this up.
“Thanks,” I say again, more sincerely this time.
He studies me for a beat longer before nodding. “Just . . . keep it together, Wilde. We don’t need drama.”
“I’m not the one causing drama.” Shit. It slips out before I can stop myself.
I tense, waiting to see how he’ll take it. If the olive branch he tossed my way is genuine enough to withstand a snarky comment or two.
Dane’s jaw tightens, but instead of snapping back, he exhales heavily and offers a reluctant nod. “Fair enough.”
It’s not exactly an apology, but it’s the closest thing to a truce we’ve had since I joined the team.
As he walks away, I can’t help but feel a flicker of relief. Maybe, just maybe, things are starting to look up.
By the time the final horn sounds, we’re up by two goals, and the arena erupts in cheers.
As I skate toward the bench, Mason greets me first, clapping me on the back. “Hell of a debut, Wilde.”
“Thanks.” I nod.
Dane is next, his expression unreadable but his nod of approval clear.
“Good game.” Note to self: Dane isn’t a talker. This is the best I’m going to get.
“I did kill it,” I tease. This is who I am and always have been. Hell, I was voted class clown for my high school superlatives. It’s best they know my personality now if we’re ever going to get along.
He doesn’t say or do anything for a second. Fuck, did I read this wrong?
Then he shakes his head, but I swear I see his lips twitch.
Good.
This can work.
Even with the rocky start, I can make a home here on the Saints.
For now, I’ll take that win.