1 #2
"We're going to run some drills. One-on-one, puck control. Sears, you're up first. Maldonado, you're with him."
Spencer's stomach dropped. He had known this was coming. He had prepared for it. But knowing and preparing didn't make it any easier.
Layton skated to center ice and took his position. He looked relaxed. He looked confident. He looked like he had already won.
Coach blew his whistle and Spencer took the puck.
He faked left. Layton bit. Spencer went right, slipping past him like he wasn't there. He had the puck on his stick and he was heading for the goal and he was going to score and then everything would be fine.
The whistle blew. Coach called out, "Good work, Maldonado. Sears, you need to watch your angles. He got past you too easily."
Spencer felt Layton's eyes on him. He didn't look back. He just skated to the line and waited for the next drill.
The scrimmage started ten minutes later. Spencer was on the second line, playing with Drew and a freshman named Marcus. He was nervous but focused. He knew what he could do. He knew what he was capable of.
The puck dropped and Spencer was moving. He had it on his stick. He was skating through the defense, deking left and right, threading through bodies like he was made of smoke. He saw an opening and he took it. He was on a breakaway. He was going to score.
Layton came out of nowhere.
The hit was legal. Spencer knew it was legal. Layton had checked him at the perfect angle, right into the boards, right when Spencer was at his most vulnerable. It was a textbook play and it was also unnecessary and it was also designed to hurt.
Spencer's face smashed into the ice.
The pain was instant and blinding. He tasted blood. His lip was split. His shoulder was throbbing. He lay there for a moment, trying to remember how to breathe.
The rink went quiet. He could hear the skates scraping the ice as players stopped and stared. He could hear his own heartbeat in his ears. He could hear Layton's voice, distant and cold, saying something he couldn't quite make out.
Spencer pushed himself up. His hands were shaking. His face was wet with blood. He wiped his mouth with the back of his glove and saw red.
He looked at Layton. Layton was standing over him, not offering a hand, not apologizing, just watching with that same easy smile that was beginning to make Spencer's blood boil.
Spencer said nothing. He skated to the bench and sat down and stared at the ice.
Drew came over and handed him a towel. "You okay?"
Spencer pressed the towel to his lip. "Fine."
"That was a cheap shot. He didn't have to hit you that hard."
Spencer shrugged. He had been hit harder. He had been hit by people who actually wanted to kill him. Layton was just trying to establish dominance. He was just trying to prove a point.
"Don't let him get to you," Drew said. "He does this to everyone. It's his thing. He's threatened by anyone who might be better than him."
Spencer said, "I'm not better than him."
"Sure you're not. That's why you skated circles around him in that drill." Drew grinned. "Keep doing that. It'll drive him crazy."
Spencer didn't smile. He was too busy trying to stop the bleeding.
Practice continued. Spencer went back on the ice and played through the pain. He was still good. He was still faster and more precise than most of the players out there. But he could feel Layton watching him. He could feel Layton's eyes on his back, waiting for another opportunity to strike.
When practice ended, Spencer was the last one in the locker room. He sat on his bench and stared at his bloody jersey and tried to figure out what he had gotten himself into.
The door opened. Zavier walked in.
He didn't say anything. He just sat down at his own locker and started pulling off his gear. They were alone. The silence was thick and heavy and full of things neither of them was willing to say.
Zavier said, "He shouldn't have hit you like that."
Spencer shrugged. "It's hockey."
"It's bullshit." Zavier's voice was flat and hard. "He's trying to scare you. He's trying to make you quit. He does that to everyone he sees as a threat."
Spencer looked at him. "And what do you see me as?"
Zavier stared back. His dark eyes were unreadable. "I don't know yet."
He stood up and walked out.
Spencer sat alone in the quiet and pressed the towel to his lip and thought about his sister. He thought about her voice on the phone, telling him to be careful, telling him to stay safe, telling him that Eastern was a good place and he would make friends and everything would be fine.
He had called her a liar. Not out loud. But he had thought it.
Now he was sitting in a locker room with a split lip and a bruised ego and a teammate who seemed to hate him for no reason. He was the new kid again. He was the outsider again. He was the one everyone would be watching and waiting to tear apart.
He packed his bag and walked to his car and drove back to his dorm. He didn't call Lacey. He didn't call anyone. He just sat in his room and stared at the wall and wondered how long he could last here.
The answer was a very long time. Spencer had been through worse.
He had been through the kind of pain that didn't show on the outside.
He had been through the kind of humiliation that left scars on your soul.
A split lip was nothing. A jealous captain was nothing. Zavier's unreadable eyes were nothing.
He could handle this. He could handle anything.
He had to. He had no other choice.
Spencer Maldonado lay back on his bed and closed his eyes and tried to remember why he had come here. It was because of hockey. It was because of the chance to play at the highest level. It was because of the dream that had kept him going through every dark moment of his life.
The dream was still there. It was still burning. It was still worth fighting for.
He would fight. He would skate and score and prove himself. He would do whatever it took to survive.
He would just have to survive Layton Sears first.