10. Hayden
HAYDEN
T he game is just about to start, the buzzing of the crowd vibrates through the arena, the ice cold air biting at my skin as I stand near the boards, waiting for the puck drop. The Kings of Castlebrook in our navy and white, facing off against The St. Charles Spartans in their dark green and white. There’s no real rivalry here, not for us at least. For the fans, sure. But for the players? We don’t give a fuck. It might as well be a damn game of pickup in a parking lot.
I glance over to Tristan. His goalie mask is up, dark eyes scanning the rink, already mentally shutting out the crowd. I swear he only shows up for this shit so he can beat the fuck out of people without getting any side eyes.
“Hey, Vale,” Callum shouts from the bench beside me, “you’ll ruin my game highlights if you let anyone score.”
Tristan gives a single nod but doesn’t look at Callum. Callum laughs and nudges me. “God, he’s such a pain in the ass.”
I chuckle, shifting on my skates because Tristan says the same about him. The Spartans are already lined up, their players getting ready to rush the ice. Everyone’s got their focus on the game, but I don’t want to be here at all. Kirsten was supposed to bring Madison with her, but I haven’t seen anyone except Winter sitting in the front row. I decide to give it a few minutes, because God only knows how long it takes Kirsten to get ready.
The game begins with a rush of players skating hard, sticks slapping against the puck. My body shifts with the movement, the coldness of the rink hitting me like a burst of energy, but I’m still not fully engaged. Not like the crowd expects me to be.
“Nice move, Blackwood,” I shout across the rink, recognizing Ramsey's figure speeding past. He’s Tristan’s cousin on their mothers’ sides of the family and he’s a tech whiz. Ramsey has helped us out of a jam or two over the years and we’ve returned the favor just as often. We’re rivals on the ice, but we have each other’s backs off of it. We play up the banter between us, but it’s all a show.
“Fuck you, Lockwood!” he yells back, flipping me off. The audience eats it up, cheering louder than when Scott Jacobs scores a goal.
I skate back into position, keeping my eyes on the puck as it moves between players. The St. Charles team is good, but they’re predictable. They’ll try to make a move at Tristan soon. They always do, but the only way they score is if he walks off the ice. Which he inevitably will when the ref is on his ass. Tristan refuses to sit in the penalty box for any reason, and it’s hilarious when he just walks off mid-game.
My eyes flicker briefly to the stands, scanning over the crowd. She’s still not here.
“Hey, asshole!” Callum shouts, nudging me again, “Are you planning on playing or are you just gonna stand there?”
I blink, coming back to the present, and skate forward, eyes glued to the puck. I ignore Callum’s laugh and block out the distractions, focusing on the game. If my girl doesn’t show up soon, I’m going to have to go looking for her, which I’ll gladly do.
The whistle blows, the ref calls a penalty on St. Charles for interference. We skate in tight circles near the bench, waiting for the next faceoff, our skates cutting up the ice.
I scan the arena again searching for Madison. The game is in full swing again, but my mind is nowhere near the ice. It’s consumed with thoughts of her and the noises she made when I was kissing her.
“Focus, Lockwood,” Callum says, flicking the puck across the rink to me. I catch it effortlessly, and sling it across the ice to the new guy Riven Kozlov. He’s got a temper to rival Tristan on his worst day so I steer clear of him. I don’t need another reason to have bloody knuckles. I’ve been in my fair share of scuffles lately, and I could see the way Madison flinched when she saw me beating the fuck out of Meyers. Scaring her is my only regret.
Kozlov dives across the ice, taking out two Castlebrook players in the process and uses his stick to sling the puck across the ice and into the net. He’s an absolute psycho and he hates this school with a passion. He’s only been here a few weeks and he’s done everything he can think of to get kicked out, but his father donates too much for that to ever happen.
As I turn to push my way to the other side of the rink, I see Kirsten, but no sign of Madison. My sister’s surrounded by a couple of guys, none of them even glancing her way like she wants them to. I groan inwardly. I told Kirsten to keep an eye on her, and to make sure she came to the game. But clearly, she’s far more interested in whatever guy she can string along for the night.
I get the puck and then slide it to Callum with a flick of my wrist, my eyes still scanning the crowd. If Madison doesn’t show up soon, I’m leaving. I don’t give a shit about this game. Not right now.
Five minutes left in the first period, and I’m still waiting. That’s when I spot that Winter has moved. She’s up from her seat and standing alone by the plexiglass, the reflection of the ice on her face. I watch her for a moment, wondering where the hell Madison is, when Winter does something that catches my attention. She blows a kiss at Tristan, who’s guarding the net like the fucking stone-faced wall that he is. His eyes flicker for just a second, and then he reaches up, gloved hand in the air, and catches the kiss, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
I feel a twist in my gut because even though people give them shit about being foster siblings and they swear up and down they’re not fucking, I want what they have. She blindly trusts him no matter what, and I need to prove myself to Madison, to show her that I can be that for her.
Winter’s face lights up with a mischievous smile, clearly enjoying the fact that she's trying to embarrass him in front of everyone. But Tristan? He doesn’t even flinch.
I hate the way it feels, watching them. There’s a connection between them, an understanding, like they can read each other’s minds. It’s almost like they’re inside each other’s heads, anticipating every move before it happens. It’s effortless. Pure.
I look over at Tristan again, his expression neutral as he stares at the puck flying toward him, blocking it effortlessly.
Since Madison's clearly not with Winter, I need to find her. I keep telling myself I’m being irrational, but I can’t stop. Something feels off, and I need to know she’s okay. I have to make sure no one is hurting her. Especially not after the whole necklace in my locker thing. I glare at Kirsten who is hanging on the arm of one of the guys sitting near her while he looks to someone sitting next to him, having a conversation that Kirsten clearly isn’t a part of.
If anything happens to Madison in the time she was supposed to be at this game, I’m going to rip Kirsten’s head off and use it as a hockey puck. She had one fucking job.
I need to get off the ice, and I need to get off now.
The ice whines beneath me as I skate hard, cutting across the rink with precision. I don’t even look at Callum or Tristan. I’m not asking for help. I can’t have them in on this.
I see a St. Charles player coming at me, his attention focused elsewhere, not on the puck. I steal it from him in one smooth move, sending it flying toward Ramsey Blackwood because he owes me a favor. I’m not aiming to pass or score. No, I’m aiming to make a statement. The puck connects with the side of his body, hard. He spins around, his eyes narrowing on me as he gets into defensive mode.
“What the fuck, Lockwood?” Ramsey barks, his voice loud enough to carry across the rink. I just smirk at him, grinning like I’m the one having all the fun.
He cocks his head, confused, but there’s no question in his eyes. I throw my gloves off and stand tall, I want him to know what I’m about to do.
“Fight me,” I demand, my voice steady. The crowd’s energy shifts. They get it. They know what’s coming. The air around us crackles with anticipation. But I can’t tell if it’s because of the play or because they smell blood.
Ramsey doesn’t hesitate. He tosses his gloves off too, his stance widening, and the crowd’s cheers intensify. It’s the perfect moment for me to make my exit. I grab him by the collar, and he does the same to me.
“I need off the ice,” I say, my words rough but calm.
He laughs, a knowing glint in his eye, the tension easing between us for a moment. “I got you. Make it look good.” He pauses, glancing toward the stands. “Got a sweet little thing up there who's gonna want to play doctor after the game.”
I can’t help but laugh at that because that’s such a fucking Blackwood thing to say. I throw the first punch, landing a solid hit against his helmet. It’s not meant to hurt. Just a way to set the stage. Ramsey swings back, catching me in the ribs. I wince but don’t react. I know what he’s capable, of and he’s holding back.
As Ramsey pulls me into a bear hug, I reach up and yank his helmet off, tossing it across the ice like a piece of trash. It skids across the surface, but before Ramsey can react, I take my shot. My fist connects with his nose, just hard enough to make it bleed.
The crowd roars because this is what they came for.
Ramsey stumbles back, blinking from the blow, and instinctively, he retaliates. He knocks me to the ice, his momentum sending us both crashing. I’m already rolling with it, punching him back, landing soft blows that look like they might kill.
We clamor together until we’re nothing but a mess of limbs. We’re just two guys trying to look good for the crowd. It’s a controlled chaos, but it’s just enough to get me off the ice without drawing the wrong kind of attention from Coach.
I hear the whistle blow, loud and sharp, signaling the end of our fake fight. Before I can process it, the refs are pulling me off of Ramsey. I let out a slow, amused breath. Ramsey’s voice cuts through the noise, loud enough for me to hear.
“Happy doing business with you,” he grunts, giving me a mock salute.
I grin back. “We make a good team.”
The ref yanks Ramsey back, a little too aggressively, and on reflex, Ramsey elbows him, knocking him backward. Nothing serious, because one thing about Ramsey Blackwood is that he’s careful not to cross the line, but the ref is knocked off balance. That’s when the ref who’s holding me blows the whistle right in my ear, an explosion of noise.
I don’t even think. My skate is already lifting, hooking it around his leg, and in an instant, the crowd erupts in a loud “ooh” as the ref trips and stumbles, struggling to keep his footing. I’m laughing, already backing away.
The ref’s yell still cuts through the noise. “OFF THE ICE! EJECTED!”
I throw my hands up and shrug, feigning innocence. “I thought you’d never ask,” I smirk, skating off the ice with ease.
As I pass by Coach, I notice him glowering at me. His disappointment doesn’t faze me. What does have my attention is what my teammate is doing.
Kozlov.
He’s standing near the bench, watching the aftermath of the scene. His eyes are eerily quiet, not reacting, not even sneering. He’s just… observing. Studying me and what I clearly just orchestrated.
I shove the thought aside, not having the time to waste on some player I don’t know. But it sits in the back of my mind, a nagging sense that I’ll need to keep an eye on Kozlov. He’s clearly up to something and I put nothing past anyone at this point.
As I reach the locker room, I rip my skates off and pull my pads off quickly, tossing them into my locker. The adrenaline is still humming under my skin, but the unease about Madison doesn’t leave me. I need to find her.
I take the quickest shower of my life and then change into gray sweatpants and a navy blue Kings hoodie. I barely glance at my reflection in the mirror before I head straight for the door. Madison better be okay, because if one single thing happened to her, I’m going to turn this whole fucking campus upside down.