Chapter 5
HAILEY
Fuckface: I didn’t think you’d want to dance with me on the ice this bad, Hailstorm.
Fuckface: What, no response? Or wait—are you still recovering from the thrill of being paired up with me? Understandable. Take your time.
Fuckface : [...]
Fuckface : Are you really ignoring me, Hailstorm? At least leave me on read so I know you care.
Fuckface : Actually, don't leave me on read—I’m fragile, Hailstorm. I might cry....[...]
I scowled down at my phone, my grip tightening on it like I could crush the sheer idiocy radiating from my screen.
Ugh. This idiot wouldn't stop texting. God, he was so intent on ruining the rest of what was already a terrible day. Why the hell was he texting me like we were buddies or some shit?
The locker room was a blur of movement, everyone still drying off from the showers after Coach had run us ragged post-drills.
My muscles ached, and my patience was even more shot than usual.
And yet, somehow, freaking Summers had decided that right now —after that absolute shitshow of a day—was the perfect time to blow up my phone like we were best friends.
"I'm going to kill him, I swear." I growled and Gina chuckled beside me as she dug for her stuff out of her locker. I cocked my head slightly.
Damn it. We were going to be sharing our facilities with the Rink Runners for the next thirty or so days. This entire building was now going to be tainted.
The thought sat bitter and sharp in the back of my throat as my gaze swept over the room, over the lockers lined up in perfect familiarity, over the scuffed floors we’d practically bled on, the hooks where our coats hung, the benches where we’d nursed bruises, tied skates, talked shit, fought, laughed.
This was our space.
Or, at least, it was supposed to be.
The part that pissed me the hell off about this entire arrangement was the fact that it wasn't even new. I wasn't being a bitch when I expected the worst from them. Because the memory of sharing a rink with them for two years prior was still fresh in our minds.
We’d fought tooth and nail just to get some respect, just to make it clear that we weren’t an intrusion in their world, that we weren’t just borrowing space but taking it.
And now?
Now it felt like we were just going right back to where we’d started.
Another loud ping interrupted my thoughts and I seriously contemplated just breaking the damn phone. But that would be unfair to my phone since the actual offender was that overconfident blond bastard.
"I can hear you clenching your jaw from here," Gina said, without looking up from where she was lacing her sneakers. But the amusement still laced every word that came out of her mouth.
"Looks like you've got yourself a relentless admirer." Gina continued, the sarcastic amusement in her voice clear as day, and I rolled my eyes.
"Ugh. More like dead weight." I corrected, my scowl no doubt digging grooves into the lines of my face.
"Pfft!" This barely contained laughter came from Zoe, who was currently changing into her underwear.
I shot her a glare that would've shut anyone else up. But not her. Never her. No, she was still smirking, clearly reveling in my way more than mild irritation.
Nice to know my suffering was entertaining to them, at least.
"I really don't know if I should be grateful for the live demonstration of this whole ‘we’re gonna be one team’ test run," Zoe said, her eyes bright with amusement.
"I mean, if this is how their Captain abuses phone number privileges, I am totally not looking forward to sharing anything with a Runner.
" She said and I just grunted in assent.
Because it was abuse. This slimy bastard . I thought. Just remembering the reason he even had my number made me want to blow my freaking top.
I’d barely gotten over the stupid pairing announcement before the coaches had shoved us together and made us swap numbers in front of the entire team—because apparently, forced bonding was the key to our "successful partnership."
It had been excruciating .
Not because I gave a shit about Summers—because I definitely didn’t—but because the bastard had dragged it out for as long as humanly possible.
"Oh, this is a big moment for us, Hailstorm," he’d murmured, tapping my number into his phone with an absolutely obnoxious amount of concentration. He'd looked way too excited doing it, too—like a kid with a lollipop. "I should probably mark this in my calendar—our official first date."
I’d barely resisted the urge to punch him in the face. "Shut up and text me so I can block you."
That had only made his grin widen. "Oh, my pretty Hailstorm," he'd said, "we both know you wouldn’t dare."
He had, of course, taken his sweet time sending the message. And when my phone finally buzzed in my hand, he’d leaned in, voice dropping just enough for only me to hear—
"Can’t wait for all the late-night texts, babe ."
I should have knocked his teeth out then and there. But because I didn't, I was now stuck dealing with his bullshit texts for the rest of the goddamn month.
My scowl deepened just thinking about it.
Gina was totally amusing herself at my expense because she said, "You know, most people would be thrilled to have the star center and captain of the Rink Runners texting them non-stop. He pretty much has all the girls sniffing after his ass."
As if she didn't already know that we both couldn't stand each other.
"I'm not most people," I shot back, and yanked my skates off with probably more force than necessary. "And he's not that good."
"Didn't he score four goals in their last game?" She arched a brow at me, and I narrowed my eyes at her.
"Hey, whose side are you on?"
"Just saying." She made a ‘don't shoot the messenger’ face back at me, hands raised like a visual disclaimer.
"Though I guess after that stunt you pulled with the practice schedule, you're not exactly looking to make friends."
Ah, right. That. The ‘stunt’—otherwise known as me challenging their Captain; that bastard Lively, to a one-on-one face off match for the prime practice slots.
Coach Hawkins was still pissed. She’d turned an alarming shade of red when I’d issued the challenge. But I wasn’t backing down now; not from a challenge I'd issued with my own mouth.
But Coach had taught us to fight for every damn thing we had. And if we wanted the best practice slots, we weren’t about to just roll over and let them take them. My challenge was a strategy.
And she knew that.
Rolling my eyes now, I leveled a flat stare at my vice-captain. "It wasn't a stunt. It was a perfectly reasonable solution to a bullshit situation." I said and she arched her brow even higher.
"Coach Hawkins is still pissed, you know," Gina pointed out, ever helpful. "I haven't seen her that shade of red since Zoe tried to fight that ref last season."
"Hey, that ref was a freaking bastard." Zoe rose to her own defense almost immediately, and I would have laughed at that, if I had the chance to find it funny.
But I didn't. Not right now. Ugh!
"Let her be pissed." The words came out hard and sharp, just like everything else today. It wasn't like she could do anything about it because—
"She knows this is the right call." I said. "If we want to make it to the Collegiate Championships, we can’t afford to let those assholes control ice time."
Gina and Zoe hummed in concert. But I could tell Gina wasn't quite convinced. Oh, she wasn't arguing but not exactly agreeing either.
"Yeah, but you also know she doesn’t like when we—how did she put it?—‘act like entitled little shits instead of just getting the job done.’" She said and I did my best to hold back my scoff.
"Which is rich," I muttered, "considering she’s the one who drilled ‘take what’s yours’ into us."
Dani chimed in, shaking out her damp hair. "Yeah, Captain. Coach really ran us into the ground today because of that, too."
I clenched my jaw. "Sorry about that, guys."
The bustle of the room had reduced to a low buzz now, so they could all hear me.
"Well, we're not mad," Sarah Dane, one of our wingers, piped up from across the room. She was toweling off her damp hair, sitting cross-legged on one of the benches, her face split into an easy grin. "We know you're only looking out for us."
Sometimes, I wasn’t sure I deserved their blind trust. But every time they gave it to me, it made my chest ache with something sharp and full.
"Can't say the same about Coach, though." Dani shrugged, snapping her hair into a tight ponytail as she did it.
No shit.
Gina sighed. "But are you sure you're up for it?"
I arched a brow at her. "What, you're doubting me now?"
She raised her hands in mock surrender, but her tone turned serious. "Have you actually thought about how you're going to play this? That bastard Summers has got the skills and the size and—"
"—an ego so inflated he might actually float away?" I cut in.
The locker room exploded in giggles.
Sarah snorted. "That too. But the point is, he's not gonna hold back, Captain."
"Yeah? Well, neither am I." I shouldered my bag, the familiar burn of competition coursing through me. "I’ve got speed and better footwork. He gets tunnel vision. And in a one-on-one match? That’s his weakness." I pointed out.
I'd chosen a one-on-one game for a reason, after all.
One faceoff. Sudden death. Puck drop to goal. Whoever scored first, won. And the winner controlled the prime practice slots. It was that simple, and that was exactly why I would be the one to win this.
Gina, however, still didn't look convinced. My Vice Captain could be something of a worrywart, even though she didn't look it.
"The match is in two days," she pointed out.
I shrugged. "I can hack it." I said. "Look, I'm not losing," I said, finality in my tone. "End of discussion."
The locker room exploded into chaos at my declaration.
"Kick his ass, Cap!" Dani whooped.
"Make him eat ice!" This came from the back of the locker room, from one of the reserve wingers.
"Shatter his pride!"