Ice Mechanic

Chapter 1

CHAPTER

ONE

CHANCE

My veins buzz the moment I step into the rundown stadium. One-by-one, the lights thud on. Some of them flicker a few times in silent protest, reluctant to shine on me.

That’s a metaphor for my life if I’ve ever seen one.

I take a big sniff, the scents both foreign and familiar. Nothing beats the dry, crisp air in the stadium. The perfect circumference of the rink. The way the lights bounce against the ice. The way the seats smell like varnish and W-D40…

I wrinkle my nose.

Actually, that smell is new.

“Ack!” A thin black man wearing a jumper streaked in oil explodes into my line of vision. Sharp brown eyes land on me, narrow slightly and then widen. “Well I’ll be.”

“Hey.” I slip right into my people-greeting persona, tucking away my fidget spinner and reaching out for a handshake.

“Oh, I…” He swipes his hands on the sides of his pants and then hesitates. “I’m Bobby Hewitt. I’m a huge fan and I really want to shake that hand, but you mind saving it for later?”

“I’ll save it with interest.”

His smile widens a tad. “Wow.” His eyes gleam. “Chance McLanely. The Clairvoyant in the flesh.”

I rub the back of my neck. “The Clairvoyant. Haven’t heard that name in a while.”

Bobby laughs and mimics the movement of a skater on the ice. “Man, you knew where the puck was going ten years before it got there. You were on a roll before the…” His eyes shift away. “Uh, before everything.”

Something sharp pierces my heart.

Before you got suspended…

Before …

It’s agony to know that my plummet from the top is the marker of my life.

Before the league.

After the league.

But my chapter isn’t done. I’ll walk through hot stones in flowing lava to reclaim what’s mine.

Joining The Lucky Strikers is my first lava-soaked step.

“Uh,” Bobby’s eyes dart to the ground and he chuckles awkwardly, “Look at me yapping. You must be here to see Max.”

I nod and notice his oil-stained hands. “Were you fixing something?”

“No, no. Well, kinda. I’m the Zamboni driver, but the stupid machine’s been breaking down left and right and the mechanics haven’t been able to find the problem so I’m here reading up on engines like I know anything about, oh… here I go talking too much again. Let me show you to the office.”

“I know where it is,” I assure him.

His eyebrows hike. “Then why’d you come this way?”

I glance at the rink.

“Ah.” He lifts an oil-stained finger. “Gotta make your introduction to the lady.”

I chuckle. “I’ll see you around, Bobby.”

He waves and goes back to his Zamboni-fixing research. I continue to the admin area.

You got this, Chance. Go get ‘em.

Despite the self-talk, my nerves attack me like those defensemen at last year’s Halloween charity game.

Heart? Palpitating.

Lips? Trembling.

Fingers? Fidget-spinning.

After one more tug, I shove the fidget spinner back into my pocket, paste on my don’t-care smile and blow open the door marked ‘TEAM MANAGER’.

“McLanley!” A man twice the size of a defenseman in the Canadian league lights up at the sight of me.

“Max.” I smirk.

Max Mahoney springs out of his chair so fast, it spins like a top before careening into the glass window facing the arena. He launches at me, grabs my arm and pulls me in for a bear hug.

I’m 6’4” and used to towering over people, so it’s an odd sensation to be looking up at anyone but I do have to tilt my chin up to grin at Max.

“I thought you got lost in traffic!” Max bellows.

“What traffic? I didn’t even see a single traffic light driving down here.”

“We have a traffic light,” Max says haughtily, like it’s some kind of flex. “It’s over on Howard and Green.” He pats me on the back. “Have you settled in yet?”

“Yeah, man. Don’t worry about me.”

“Worrying about you is kinda my job.” He smirks. “By the way, where are you staying?”

“Somewhere with an elevator and housekeeping.”

“Long term, that’s going to get old. If you haven’t found any rentals yet, you can always room with me.”

“Once in this lifetime was more than enough, buddy.”

“Door’s always open as they say.” He laughs. “I know you didn’t have much time to prepare for the season, but I have all confidence in your skills.”

“Is that my official welcome?”

“Wasn’t good enough?” Max coughs and then spreads his hands wide. “We’re over-the-moon that you chose to join the Lucky Strikers, Chance.”

“He didn’t choose us. He had nowhere else to go,” someone mumbles.

The smile freezes on my face, and I glance over my shoulder. I was told I’d only be meeting the manager today, but I’m not surprised to see a few guys from the team lined up and waiting for me. Their faces are tense, frowns hard as the puck that makes or breaks our game.

Max coughs, “Chance, meet the, uh, the Welcoming Committee.”

I hope this Welcoming Committee also serves death penalty inmates their last meal. They’d do a bang-up job.

Facing my teammates fully, I tip my chin up in greeting.

No one returns it.

Max points to a man wearing multiple gold chains and a gold ring on his finger. “That’s Cooper Theilan. The guy in the Hello Kitty Crocs beside him is Viking Renfrow. They’re our two best forwards.”

I’d have guessed by their confident stance. Charging in to retake possession of the puck takes a certain level of daring. You can’t be afraid of making mistakes or second guess yourself on the ice. From their haircuts to their style choices, it’s clear Theilan and Renfrow are daring both inside and outside of the stadium.

“Ren Watson, our goalie,” Max continues, nodding to two bulky men wearing gym clothes. “And that’s Gunner Kinsey.”

“Center,” I say before Max can explain.

“Yeah.” Max blinks in surprise.

I’d have known Gunner was the center even if I hadn’t studied every game the Lucky Strikers played last season. Out of all my new teammates, he’s the one staring at me like he wants me to fall into an open manhole walking down Main Street.

“Hey.” My wave encompasses them all. “I’m Chance McLanely, your new captain.”

Theilan, the guy dripping in gold, snorts.

Renfrow, Mr. Hello Kitty, rolls his eyes.

Watson, the goalie, folds his arms over his chest, showing enough muscle to prove he doesn’t skimp on the protein shakes.

Gunner sneers. “A reject from the league gets team captain just by showing up?”

“Well…” Max begins.

“If the former team captain had done a better job, it wouldn’t have been so easy to take the position.”

Max coughs. “Ch-Chance, why don’t you?—”

“You want to take this outside, McLanley?” Gunner stalks toward me, his face reddening.

“No, there will be no fighting.” Max waves his tree-trunk arms.

I flick my fingers at the window overlooking the arena. “We can talk on the ice.”

“One on one, I’m going to chew you up and spit you out,” Gunner hisses.

“No, no, no.” I point to the others. “You need at least three of you guys if you want to do that.”

Max smacks his forehead.

The other men get very tense.

Gunner scoffs. “You sure that big mouth of yours can survive outside the penalty box, McLanley?”

I stiffen.

Watson snorts out a laugh.

Renfrow and Theilan smirk.

Fingers fisting, I lunge forward. Max tries to wedge himself in front of me, but I sidestep him so I’m facing off with Gunner.

“You wanna know why I’m captain, Kinsey? Your center is putting up more of a fight here than on the ice.” I point to Theilan. “Your right winger is your only defense.” To Renfrow. “Your left winger is right-handed and his back hand is insanely weak. So like I said, it’ll take all three of you?—”

“Alright, that’s enough on the introductions for now. I need to speak with Chance privately.”

No one moves because they’re all too busy glaring a hole into my skull. Thankfully, eyeballs can’t turn into jackhammers or my skull would be shattered on the floor.

“Ehem, gentlemen?” Max’s voice turns firm. “You’re dismissed.”

Gunner stares me down. “See you on the ice.”

“Looking forward to it.”

The rest of the guys file out after Gunner.

The door clicks shut, and the silence that falls is so thick, it’s suffocating.

“Make friends, I said.” Max sinks into his chair and covers his face with his hands. “Be nice, I said. Why’d I waste my breath?”

“Putting it all out in the open is better for everyone. At least now we know where we stand.”

“Did you have to antagonize the wingers too?”

I shrug. “You called me here to stir the pot, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t ask you to turn the pot over and dance on the chicken bones.”

That’s a vivid image.

“Gunner’s got a grip on this team and you know it. You’re in as shaky a position as I am.”

“Oh, no, McLanley. After all that,” he gestures to the door where my new teammates stormed out, “you’re in a much, much worse place than me.”

Maybe so.

But the thing is, I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to claw my way back to the league and nothing in this Podunk town of Lucky Falls, USA can stop me.