Chapter Thirteen Everest （Kane）
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
EVEREST (KANE)
Practice hasn’t even started and I already want to punch something.
The lights are too bright, and every breath tastes like blood and bile from how hard we’ve been working.
Coach is still riding our asses, even though it’s been almost three weeks since the party, since Jackson’s accident, since he decided to shove Sam down our throat.
And I hate it. Having her here, being forced to see her face, constantly reminding us that she nearly kneecapped our chance at nationals.
“Hustle up,” Coach yells from the sidelines, breaking my thoughts. “Finals are in three days, and losing to Baymont is not an option. You’ve done good the last two games without Kincaid, but win this, and it’s an automatic bid into nationals. The season’s riding on it.”
Everything’s riding on it. Which is why the second I spot Sam entering the locker room, my blood boils, that all-consuming pull of irritation biting at my skin.
“Williamsburg.”
“Yes, Coach,” Alex responds, fishing his way to the front.
“Warm ’em up.”
Alex nods and spins on his skates. “You heard him. Let’s work.”
Mountain’s the first to start his drills, slapping pucks off the boards like it’ll quiet whatever storm’s sitting behind his eyes. Alex looks like he’s running on fumes—again.
I push off, immediately getting into my zone. The moment my blades touch the ice, it’s as if the world ceases to exist. Nothing else matters—not the bullshit, not the pressure of working ten times harder than anyone else, and not the stack of medical bills waiting for me.
It’s just me, my skates, and an inch of solid ice. This is home. Not the condo that’s been empty since my mom went back into the facility, and not the room in the lake house.
I skate short bursts, stopping hard, leaving slashes in the ice.
My breath sears my lungs, but it’s a good burn.
The kind of pain that makes you forget every fucked-up thing in your world.
Time seems to stand still and before long, the guys are tapping out one by one.
But I don’t stop, I keep going, cutting deeper and deeper tracks across the rink.
Just maybe, if I go fast enough, I’ll escape the rest of this hellish life.
Alex skates up beside me, checking my speed, his eyes sharp as usual.
“Don’t burn yourself out,” he says between breaths.
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
He smirks. “Cute.”
I shoot him a look and push forward, leaving him to circle back to Mountain. It’s going to take everything we’ve got to beat Baymont, and we fucking need this win. He can act like I’m pushing too hard, but the fact is, they want this just as bad as I do.
It’s evident in the way Mountain slaps pucks away from the net, all of his frustrations leaving with each block. It’s in the way Alex leads the rush, practice or not. His golden boy facade is cracking under the pressure. He acts like he’s got it all in check, but he’s been just as on edge.
A whistle blows in the distance, bringing me out of my haze.
“Bring it in, boys. Get some rest, and be back on time tomorrow,” Coach orders.
From the corner of my eye, I witness Alex glide toward the bench, tossing his stick, then unpeeling his helmet. He stands off to the side, talking to Mountain.
“Hey, Kane,” Alex yells.
I skate closer, only staring at him, not bothering to respond.
“We’re about to get some grub. You in?”
I wave him off and continue running, determined to go until there’s nothing left. The guys disappear down the tunnel one by one until I’m alone. The way I like it.
It’s another fifteen minutes before my body finally starts to quit, forcing me off the ice.
As I remove my helmet, sweat drips from my hairline, blurring my vision.
I walk through the tunnel, my covered blades hitting the marbled floors with a clacking sound.
Pushing through the doors, I use the collar of my jersey to wipe my face.
I turn to head toward the boards and stop cold.
She’s here.
She’s crouched low in front of the skate sharpener like it’s second nature, sleeves rolled to her elbows, a fine layer of sweat clinging to the back of her neck.
My gaze runs over her, taking in the form-fitting long-sleeve tee and stretch pants that hug her body just right.
But it’s the tattoo peeking from above her waistband that holds my attention.
I’m not close by any means, but I can still make out the design from here.
A semicolon symbol. It’s small and black, inked in the dead center of her spine.
The thought clouds my mind before I can push it away, and all I can think about is when she got it and if it’s the only one.
If I recall, she didn’t like tattoos as a kid, claiming that only bad people get them.
Does that mean she’s bad? She certainly isn’t innocent. Has that sweet little girl long since disappeared?
“Yo, Sam,” someone calls out.
Sam sighs before he can even finish, already fed up with it all. She’s only been sentenced to being our new equipment manager for three weeks now, and the fellas haven’t wasted a second making her time here hell. That’s what she gets. Do stupid things, win stupid prizes.
Jackson was a pain in everyone’s ass. He’s smug, crass, and a little sadistic, but he’s a beast on the ice. So while I also wanted to punch him in the face most days, we needed him to ensure a win.
“Water bottles are empty.” The voice is smug and too loud.
I shift to follow the voice. It’s Ryker and one of his little minions.
It’s not surprising he’s the first one to really go at her; just like Jackson, he’s also a menace, always playing practical jokes and pushing boundaries just far enough to avoid actual trouble.
But this isn’t one of his usual stunts. There’s something meaner in his tone today. Something colder.
He tosses one at her without looking. It clatters to the floor at her feet.
“Dude, give her a break. Can’t you see she’s busy?” His buddy snickers. “She’s got skates to sniff or something.”
Laughter erupts as they circle her like sharks smelling blood.
“That’s what we’re calling it now?” Ryker says, nodding toward the blades she’s holding. “Working?”
Sam doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even blink. Just tightens her grip on the skate and sets it on the sharpener with mechanical focus. She inhales slowly, her spine straight but stiff.
“I’ll get to the water bottles in a minute,” she says, low and even, without turning around.
“No,” Ryker snaps. “You’ll get to them now. Or I’ll tell Coach you’re slacking.”
“She doesn’t give a damn about the job,” Issac says, sneering. “She got what she wanted, found a way to weasel her way close to the team.”
“Classic puck bunny move,” Ryk adds. “Start some drama. Play the victim. End up in the locker room.”
Her silence only fuels them.
“You hear me?” Ryker bumps her shoulder, harder this time. “Hello?”
The skate slips, sending sparks and a loud grinding sound through the air. I flinch, but my feet don’t move. Sam juts back before that could turn bad.
“Whoops.” Ryker smirks then slaps Issac’s arm with the back of his hand. “Got to be more careful.”
“What the hell is your problem?” Sam shoots up, standing her ground, toe to toe with her bully.
“You. Whore.”
Before he could dot the period in his sentence, Sam responds, her tongue just as sharp. “That’s funny, I don’t see your mother anywhere.”
Ryker lunges forward, his hands balled into fists.
“Watch yourself. That was my brother you injured,” he seethes. It’s low and full of hate, but I can still hear every word.
“So being an asshole does run in the family,” she bites back.
“You bit—”
“All right, that’s enough,” I interject, stopping things from going too far. I refuse to look at her to give her any ideas that I stepped in for her.
I didn’t. Did I?
They stay like that for a moment, both refusing to back away.
It’s obvious she doesn’t want to be here any more than we want her to be, but it’s also clear that she isn’t about to take the disrespect without a fight.
And as much as I hate to admit it, her resolve is as admirable as it is infuriating.
I want her to break, but only for me, and that realization pisses me off even more. What do I even care? I shouldn’t. I don’t.
“What’s your angle, huh? Where the hell did you come from?”
At Ryker’s question, Sam pauses for a second. It’s not long, but enough for me to catch it. Then she stands, eyes landing on me, full of disdain. I see the moment she decides not to be quiet any longer.
With a blink, she faces them, sets the skates down, and says, “Ask Kane.”
Heat creeps up my neck, and my fists curl instantly. Ryker and his friend look at me, but all I’m focused on is Sam. So this is how she wants to play it? Turning the attention from her to me, potentially stirring up things I’ve worked hard at keeping to myself.
She’s going to pay for that. If she thought being in that bathroom with me was bad, she doesn’t even know the half of it.
Sam walks away, throwing an evil glance over her shoulder at me before disappearing around the lockers.
Ryker and Issac stare at me for a moment before finally waving me off, cursing under their breaths as they walk away.
The moment they’re out of sight, I stalk in the direction Sam was heading, finding her sorting through the uniforms.
Her actually being good at this fucking job wasn’t on my bingo card.
In fact, I was banking on her royally screwing up so that I wouldn’t have to look at her.
This might be a punishment for her, but finding a good equipment manager who knows our needs isn’t as easy to come by as one might think.
Being good means Coach might actually start to favor her, and then I’ll never be rid of her.
Sam is lost in her task, her body jerking and swaying with each aggressive shake of a garment or every toss into the respective bins.
My eyes go to her ass in those leggings before I can stop them.
Damn.
That thin, stretchy material clings to her like a second skin, molding around every curve with zero shame. Each movement she makes sends a subtle ripple through her thighs, the muscles flexing beneath skin I suspect is smooth.
She’s a nuisance. A fucking distraction. And I hate that I even look at her like that, hate myself for noticing anything other than that.
I storm forward, wrap my fingers around her arm and force her to face me. I bring my face so close to hers I can smell the Skittles she had at lunch.
“You think that was cute? I told you, Sam. Don’t fucking test me.”
“What’s the problem? Don’t want your little teammates to know you used to be friends with the girl that ruined your chances?” Sam yanks away defiantly.
“You were never my friend. Just some pathetic little girl that followed me around.”
“Then why do I bother you so much?”
“You don’t. I just don’t want to see your face.”
“Could have fooled me. You’ve gone out of your way to not be bothered.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. Everyone hates you.” I snatch a jersey from her hand.
That rattles her. Sam stumbles slightly at my words but manages to pull herself together in a mere second.
“Yeah, well, I’d rather be hated than to hate myself.” Sam yanks the sweater from my grip, throws it into the bin, and leaves me to sit in her resentment.
And in this moment, I realize why I hate her so much… She sees right through me.