Tempting the Teammate (Arctic Titans of Northwood U #8)

Chapter 1 Andrei

ONE

Andrei

“What the fuck is going on?” Phoenix stormed into the locker room with an expression of utter horror. He was five minutes late, which made him the last person to hear the news.

The muttering from my teammates didn’t satisfy him.

“I’ll ask again, what the actual fuck is this?” He crossed his arms and lifted his chin, a winged creature tattooed on his neck seemingly growing before my eyes.

“We were hoping you’d tell us,” Griffin said, glancing at me for approval. A cold, steely gaze from me gave him what he needed.

Phoenix snorted. “Nobody told me shit.”

Another round of grumbling and groaning passed through the locker room as my teammates strapped their pads and blades. Griffin held his stick the usual way, which was to say he didn’t hold it at all but spun it between his hands.

Most of us had returned to Northwood yesterday or the day before.

This was the first reunion of the new year and new season at the rink.

Of the usual things you’d expect on such a day, there were few.

Sure, we would warm up, feel the ice under our skates, and scare a few freshmen with the weight of expectations.

Nobody expected three vans with camera crews, two producers, six boom operators, and an entourage of assistants to be parked by the entrance, clearly unloading their equipment for a purpose that inevitably involved all of us.

Phoenix stomped over to his spot and stripped his T-shirt off, tossing it on the bench. “Bet they’d have told me if I were Beckett Partridge,” he muttered.

I’d never met the former captain. Phoenix had taken over the captaincy two years ago, in his sophomore year.

Leading the Arctic Titans in the shadow of someone as legendary as the entire Partridge family, as well as having been eviscerated by the Steel Saints last year, did little to boost Phoenix’s confidence.

A film crew parked outside our door without his knowledge would only deepen the damage.

“And I’ll tell you this, Coach Murray never would have agreed to any of this without our knowledge,” he said.

“Perhaps not,” Coach Neilsen said, stepping into the locker room.

Phoenix’s eyebrows flattened over his eyes as his cheeks turned a little darker with embarrassment. “Sorry, Coach.”

Coach Neilsen wore a blue tracksuit with white stripes along the sides and a white T-shirt that was barely showing.

He carried a large, flat tablet, having abandoned the signature clipboard in favor of a more contemporary device.

The tablet allowed him to edit spreadsheets and tabulate scores with more flexibility.

The fact that he was twenty-nine and still fairly new to this line of work completed his look.

Not unlike Phoenix, Coach Neilsen worked against the collective memory of people like Murray and, lest it be forgotten, Nate Partridge himself.

“You’re alright,” Coach Neilsen told Phoenix, not taking Phoenix’s words personally. In fact, he was beaming. “I would have liked to share the news myself before the crew arrived, but the universe plays tricks on us.”

I crossed my arms on my chest and drew a deep breath, reluctant to exhale just yet. This wasn’t going to be good news.

“Northwood’s Athletic Department picked you as the university’s flagship team, boys,” Coach Neilsen declared. “It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to help the department attract donations, raise your profiles for scouts, and continue promoting the Arctic Titans legacy.”

My jaws clenched harder with each point Coach Neilsen brought up. I decidedly refused to acknowledge the fact that my palms were growing wet with cold sweat. Cameras, microphones, a global audience. It didn’t sound good at all.

Griffin, on the other hand, wore his signature half smile, hazel eyes glittering as he dreamed of the opportunities laid out before us.

He was born to be in the spotlight. And frankly, the spotlight didn’t deserve him.

The quirked side of his lips formed a dimple in his cheek, and my heart beat ever so slightly faster before I rolled my eyes and looked away.

“Our Athletic Department has teamed up with NextPlay Media for a yearlong production of a documentary series featuring our team and our lives. And I’ll let Jen Harding, the producer on the series, take over from here.”

If Coach Neilsen was holding for applause, none came.

A young woman with high cheekbones, brown hair tied in a tight ponytail, and a black blazer over a cream blouse stepped into the room.

Whatever dislike I’d held on to in the heartbeats between her announcement and her appearance melted away.

She had big, curious eyes, and I couldn’t force myself not to give her a chance.

“Hello, Titans,” she said in a naturally high-pitched voice.

“As Coach Neilsen said already, we’re incredibly proud to say that NextPlay Media is developing a series about you.

From your wide recognition to the staggering number of former team members drafted by the NHL, NextPlay Media is excited to help build the next chapter in the story of the Arctic Titans. ”

A few people murmured their approval, but I wasn’t quite yet sold.

Jen Harding continued in a more inspiring tone.

“This show, which we are calling Blades of Northwood, will depict more than the games you play. It will follow your highs and lows, your friendships, your rivalries, your struggles, and your victories.” Then, as a few more heads nodded, she continued.

“Participation is voluntary, of course, but we highly encourage as many of you as possible to take part in the project for various purposes, chiefly to further your profiles and the appeal among the scouts.” Jen looked around, then folded her hands.

Her smile returned upon crossing Griffin’s beaming face.

“While our technical teams prepare their crews and equipment and determine the main locations for the first season, my team will observe your drills and conduct interviews for all willing participants. The idea is that everyone remains authentic to their true self, while leaning into their strengths.”

Ah, I thought. There we go.

I’d seen a couple of docuseries about college football players.

Some guys knew how to cut through the noise and cultivate a following.

I wasn’t one of those guys. My focus was on my skills and on my relationships within the team.

I couldn’t “lean into” my signature traits when I had none.

I wasn’t a showman, an actor, or a dancing monkey.

I was just some guy with a stick and a quiet passion for teamwork.

The first practice of the season kicked off ten minutes later with three producers sitting behind the boards and taking notes, photos, and videos with their phones.

Coach Neilsen put us to work on the ice, warming us up with light skating and tossing before pushing us hard in small, dedicated teams.

I played side by side with Griffin. Coach Neilsen had seen us play last year and knew without a doubt that we belonged shoulder to shoulder.

Sometimes, you could talk to a person without ever speaking a word.

Sometimes, you knew what the other person was thinking with little more than a glance in their direction.

Griff’s face was never a mystery to me. With his high cheekbones and quick smiles and deep dimples, I knew his face better than I knew the contents of my left pocket.

I ignored the producers the same way I ignored any audience. Letting the fact that I was being watched by strangers sink in was the quickest way to lose my focus. So I didn’t.

After practice, we showered and dressed, while Coach Neilsen beamed with pride. He probably thought we were all given a massive opportunity. Or, which was worse, he played along because he couldn’t stand up against the Athletic Department’s wacky ideas.

As fate would have it, I was in the first batch of interviewees that afternoon.

Toby went first, Mason second. Each strolled out with inflated chests and broad shoulders swinging.

I didn’t think the same tricks would work for me.

In fact, I was forming polite ways to say I had no interest in taking part in this experiment.

I settled into the plastic chair across from Coach Neilsen’s desk, which Jen Harding had commandeered for the afternoon.

She’d moved his usual clutter to one side and set up a small recording device between us.

The office smelled like old coffee and the pine air freshener Coach kept plugged into the wall outlet.

“Thanks for doing this, Andrei,” she said, consulting a tablet. “I know this is all pretty sudden.”

I shrugged. “It’s fine.”

She looked up from her notes, those big eyes studying me like I was a puzzle she wanted to solve. I hated how disarming her curiosity was. “Tell me about yourself. What drives you? What makes you tick?”

The questions felt like trapdoors. Each one led somewhere I didn’t want to go. “I play hockey. I’m good at it. That’s about it.”

“Come on, there’s got to be more than that.” She leaned forward. “What’s your story? Where are you from?”

“Chicago. Moved here two years ago on a hockey scholarship.” I kept my hands flat on my thighs, resisting the urge to bite the inside of my cheek.

“Did you try for a Chicago-based team?” she asked.

I held back a snort. I hadn’t, although it had been on my mind. After Griffin had decided to try for Detroit’s Arctic Titans, I went with it and never looked back. Now, I was glad I wasn’t playing for Chicago’s Steel Saints. Those guys got on my nerves. “No,” I said.

“And before coming here?”

“Before coming here, I played hockey somewhere else.”

Jen’s smile didn’t waver, but I caught the flicker of something sharper behind it. Interest, maybe. Or recognition that I wasn’t going to make this easy.

“You’re not much of a talker, are you?”

“Not really.” Not the type who’d make it in reality TV.

She made a note on her tablet. “That’s actually perfect. You know what reality TV needs? The strong, silent type. The guy who keeps his cards close to his chest. Viewers love trying to figure out what’s going on behind the mask.”

I felt my jaw tighten. “I’m not wearing a mask.”

“No?” She tilted her head. “Everyone wears masks, Andrei. The question is what happens when they come off.”

The recording device sat between us like a tiny black judge, capturing every word. I wondered what Griffin would say when he sat in this same chair. He’d probably charm her within thirty seconds, make her laugh, give her exactly what she wanted without even realizing he was doing it.

“Let’s talk about your teammates,” Jen continued. “Who are you closest to on the team?”

The question hit like a slap shot to the chest. “We’re all close.”

“But there must be someone special. Someone you trust more than the others?”

Griffin’s face flashed through my mind. The way he’d looked at me in the locker room, those hazel eyes bright with encouragement. The wink that had sent my pulse skittering.

“Phoenix is our captain,” I said instead.

Jen made another note. “What about Griffin Shaw? You two seem to have great chemistry on the ice.”

My throat went dry. “We play well together.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.” I liked Jen, I won’t lie, but I wasn’t going to share the entire history of Griff and me with a big-eyed stranger, no matter how easy she made it to trust her.

Griffin was my best friend. He had held that title for over a decade.

He was in every good memory I had. He was in every important event of my life.

He was a constant fact in my universe, like a monolith older than time itself. Those were the facts.

He also happened to be the only person I ever wanted to spend my life with. Now, that…that was daydreaming.

She watched me for a long moment, and I had the uncomfortable feeling she could see straight through whatever facade I thought I was maintaining.

“Okay,” she said finally. “One last question. What do you want people to see when they watch this show? What’s your story?”

I stared at the recording device, at the red light that meant everything I said was being captured, stored, ready to be broadcast to strangers who would judge me based on thirty-second clips.

“I don’t have a story,” I said.

“Everyone has a story, Andrei.”

“Then maybe mine isn’t interesting enough.”

She smiled again. “Oh, I think it is. I think you’re going to be exactly what this show needs.”

I left the office without understanding what she meant, but with a cold certainty that I’d just signed up for something that would cost me more than I was prepared to pay.

Griffin was waiting in the hallway, spinning his stick between his hands, and when he saw me, his face lit up with that golden retriever enthusiasm that made my chest ache.

“How’d it go?” he asked.

“Fine.”

“Just fine? Come on, you must have crushed it. You’re mysterious and brooding. Chicks dig that.”

If only he knew how wrong he was.

“Your turn,” I said, nodding toward the office door.

He grinned and shouldered past me, close enough that I caught the scent of his shampoo. “Watch and learn, Sokolov. This is how you win over a room.”

The door closed behind him, and I was left standing in the hallway, knowing with absolute certainty that Griffin would charm Jen the same way he charmed everyone.

He would, without a shred of doubt, be the star of this show.

And knowing just as certainly that I’d agreed to spend the next year watching it happen, cameras rolling, while I pretended not to care.

Phoenix emerged from the other end of the hall, looking like he’d swallowed something bitter. He caught sight of me and shook his head.

“What a joke,” he muttered. “They want us to be characters, not players.”

Through the office door, I could hear Griffin’s laugh, warm and genuine, followed by Jen’s responding chuckle. My stomach twisted.

“Yeah,” I said. “What a joke.”

But I was already in it now, for better or worse. And mostly, I suspected, for worse.