Chapter 13
DENALI
READY TO GET FREAKY WITH IT?
After Zariah and I broke up, hockey became my singular focus. I couldn’t be heartbroken if I was out on the ice, seven to seven every day. When I was sixteen, my new coaches and I discovered that I was fucking great at the sport, but I had no family ties to it.
Because of that, I could never measure up to my teammates. I wasn’t drafted, I wasn’t picked for any captain roles, but my coaches had the fucking audacity to take credit for everything I did. I didn’t even fucking attend Michigan anymore and they were no doubt still doing that shit.
I hated it. I wasn’t great because of Michigan, I was great in spite of Michigan.
My family never understood why I transferred to Marrs, but they never understood hockey anyway. Always the odd kid out at home. The only one who didn’t work for the family business, the only one who’d moved away. It didn’t matter, I knew how they saw it.
I’d never been number one at home. Despite my records for Michigan, I’d never been their number one either. And when Zariah broke up with me, I knew I wasn’t as important to her as she was to me.
I wasn’t Zariah’s number one. I never would be. Because of my mistakes and because I knew she didn’t love me the way I loved her.
But she wouldn’t see me like that with hockey—especially with the game against Selick. I was the captain of the Gladiators, I worked hard for what I earned. And today Zariah would finally witness that in action.
Our team arrived at the arena at seven o’clock. Music blared but the team was quiet in the locker room. We suited up, taping our sticks, slipping on gloves.
“I want to wish you a preemptive ‘nice job out there,’” Coach said, taking his place before us. “Because you’re determined to win this, and I know you will.” He grinned. “Welcome to the year, boys. How ready are we?”
“Ready,” I confirmed with a handful of others.
“I said—how ready are we?”
“Ready, Coach!”
“HOW FUCKING READY ARE WE?!”
Our team shouted in unison. A shot of adrenaline hit me, and I slammed my locker shut, listening to the sounds outside.
Selick was a small school with a smaller ice arena than most, but damn could they pack it. When we stepped out to the rink, the roar of the crowd had my heart pounding.
The roaring raised in pitch as they booed us. The audience was ninety-five percent Selick and we weren’t welcomed—fuck, I missed that. An audience actually involved in the game.
“KEEP BOOING!” Nick shouted, skating by. “I LOOOOOOOVE IT!”
I skated to a stop at the center and Elijah came close.
“Ready to get fucked-up?” he crooned, holding out his glove to slap mine for our handshake.
“Ready to get freaky with it?” I replied, slamming my hand against his, repeating those stupid lyrics from a song we couldn’t get out of our heads a couple of months ago. My grin was so wide, it hurt, and I slid into position, gripping my stick with tense fingers.
The center across from me sneered. It was obvious even through his cage, all the happy camaraderie from breakfast was gone. We waited in tense seconds while the ref talked with our coaches.
Usually, the audience melted into the background during a game.
The only time I was really supposed to wear my contacts was out on the ice, but I wore them constantly, so I tried not to focus on the details I didn’t need to.
Today, I searched the audience, scanning for one face.
I spotted Cleo in her special place close to the bench, the seat beside her empty.
I froze. She wasn’t there.
“Elijah!” I shouted over my shoulder. “Where’s Zariah?”
“Zariah?” he yelled back. “Uh, Sémajuste asked her to sell jerseys in the hallway!”
“She’s not here?”
“No?” He cocked his head. “Why?”
“I—she—” I turned back to the empty seat, my stomach clenching. “Uh—she said she’d be our good luck charm!”
“We don’t need that, Captain!”
I shoved down the disappointment threatening to drag me down. Fuck it. I didn’t need Zariah to watch the game. She’d see the effect of us winning for sure and that was good enough for me. Taking a deep breath, I shifted into position as the ref skated over.
That puck was the only thing I needed to focus on.
The crowd, the bleachers, the music disappeared. It was the first game, everything was riding on this.
The puck dropped and it was sixty seconds of pure fucking madness.
The crowd screamed. My skates crisscrossed as I shouldered my way through the Selick players.
For sixty seconds, I pushed against the opposition, moving our place across the rink until my time was done.
I headed for the bench, sucking in hard breaths, ripping off my helmet.
“That’s what I like to see!” Sémajuste bellowed, urging us in, directing new players out in a seamless, endless cycle.
I drank half of my water, eyes on the ice as my team forced the Selick players to retreat. When Coach threw down his left hand, I erupted onto the ice again.
“Here we go, Denali!” Nick yelled and I hollered back, rushing towards the puck. My stick shot out, an extension of my arm, the puck flying towards Nick. I picked up speed, racing towards the net.
It was a move we’d practiced so many times, I could’ve done it in my sleep.
My stick went for the puck, and it disappeared into the net. The goal horn screamed a deafening roar, only overtaken by the booing.
Fuck the Selick crowd. By the end of the first period, we were at one to zero. Their boos didn’t matter, we were winning.
I waited in the locker room during our break, craning my neck for Zariah. She wasn’t there. Sémajuste finished his speech, and there was no flash of dark curls, no hint of her golden skin anywhere.
We returned to the freshly-polished ice and she didn’t show.
Nowhere. She wasn’t watching.
Ignoring it as best as I could, I threw myself into the game. By the middle of second period we’d ticked our score up two to zero, and still no Zariah. I finished off my water, sweat pouring down my back, hair sticky against my forehead.
Where the hell is she?
“Sémajuste said even if she doesn’t finish selling jerseys, she can watch third period,” Nick told me, his words dull over the noise.
I kept my emotions in check. “Who?”
“Don’t do that, Denali. Or I won’t tell you next time.”
I held his look before I reluctantly broke. “Thanks.”
“Try not to have a hernia next time you thank me,” he grumbled. I snorted and the relaxed vibe stopped when I saw the look on Nick’s face. His eyes shot wide, and he jerked forward. “What the fuck?”
I glanced back to the game.
Something was wrong.
I realized what I was seeing too late.
Montoya rushed to the right in a clear arc to take the puck from Selick.
“Denali!” Sémajuste’s voice shattered my shock.
It wasn’t my time to go out yet, but I shoved myself onto the ice while Sémajuste stopped another player from going. The plan was ruined—we were off the grid now. I had no idea what the fuck was going on.
I had no idea what Montoya was doing.
What part of ‘stay down’ did he fail to understand?!
I was furious. His mistake would cost me my shift. Swearing under my breath, I made double-time to him while he evaded a couple of Selick offense players. I’d take the puck from him and shove him back to the bench if I had to—so fucking help me.
Another player rushed him along the boards and Montoya flinched hard, ruining his drag.
I could practically see the Selick player recognize it.
A predator identifying prey.
He cut Montoya off, pushing him back. I rushed in to break it up. Holy shit, Montoya was in the fight zone. He had to move—he had to. My stomach dropped at the close contact between them.
The other player grabbed him by the jersey. Montoya flailed and his helmet was knocked off. I watched in shock as the Selick player’s fist flew.
Montoya collapsed to the ice.
The arena went fucking insane. People screamed from the bleachers, and I grabbed the Selick player, hauling him back before our line rushed over—fuck, no, the entire team poured out from the bench.
Gladiators locked on the Selick players. More fists were thrown. Threats flew across the ice while two refs blew their whistles hard enough to shatter eardrums.
Ref signals were snapped our way, and I couldn’t believe it.
“What?! I didn’t do anything!” I shouted. “I was pulling him off my player!”
Another hand signal, another whistle, another penalty.
Montoya was ushered off the ice, blood dripping from his nose, and the penalties were given left and right.
I couldn’t believe it—I couldn’t fucking believe it.
The only ones allowed on the ice were Fridge, Nick, and Elijah.
How Nick and Elijah weren’t caught fighting, I had no idea, but we had so many penalties piled up, the box was overflowing with Gladiators.
We were well and truly fucked.
And then…I saw her.
The one person I’d been searching for—Zariah. Her dark curls were fanned out, she was instantly recognizable and actually in her seat. Holy shit, she’d seen everything.
I folded myself in half, head buried in the crook of my elbow so the refs didn’t hear. I gritted my teeth. “Fuck!”