Chapter 1
1
Tarak
This is it. Everything I’ve ever wanted—the chance to play for real—is within touching distance. All I have to do is reach out and open the door.
Then walk through it, go meet your new team, kick ass, win the league, and get scouted to play professionally.
Easy. Right?
Coach Felder promised it would be worth uprooting my life and moving across the globe, and I believed him.
So why is walking inside proving so damn tough?
Transferring my kit bag from my hand to the opposite shoulder, I take that final step, open the door, and it hits me.
Home.
Ice is ice, and the rink is where I belong. Doesn’t matter what town, country, or continent I’m in. Skating is what I do best, and I can be the best wherever I am.
It’s why I got scouted with an all-expenses paid scholarship, even though I’m in my final year at uni. Chances like this don’t come around every day, and they don’t get offered to just anyone, either.
Time to go meet my new teammates. They better be as good as Coach made them out to be. I don’t want to be carrying them the whole season.
Not that I couldn’t. I just don’t want to have to. It would be nice to play alongside peers who can actually keep up.
The arena is impressive; I’ll give them that. At home I skated semi-professionally in the Australian Ice Hockey League—the AIHL— and our local stadium only held fifteen hundred. Judging from the size of the building alone, this has to be double that. Easy. I can already imagine this place packed on game day, the crowds cheering me on.
Coach Felder raved about this team when I met him last year, said the whole city is obsessed with ice hockey. That playing a season here would almost guarantee me a spot on any professional team of my choice.
He asked me to meet him at the rink today, even though it’s been nearly forty-eight hours since I left home, thanks to a shitty layover. I swear I’m running on pure adrenaline and these weird chalky little lollies that are oddly fizzy and taste like sherbet. I don’t know what they’re called, but I ate like fifty packs of them so I’m kind of buzzing. Or should that be fizzing?
I’m excited to get on the ice, too. When I arrived, I grabbed my kit bag right out of the car that was sent to collect me and left everything else in the boot. I probably should prioritise finding campus, settling into my room, sleeping…but it can all wait. The ice calling to me can’t.
“Ah, Tarak, you’re here already. Welcome.” Coach Felder grins warmly at me as he walks through the arena doors.
I’m not precisely sure of his accent—I think all Brits sound the same: either like Michael Caine in The Italian Job or like the royal family. And Coach is definitely in the latter category. But he swears a lot more than I bet the royal family does. Would have loved to hear the late queen dropping the f-bomb, though. Bet she was a badass, rest her soul.
Can’t believe I asked Coach if he knew Prince Harry when I met him. He thought I was joking and called me a twat. Apparently, the Brits don’t really like the ‘ginger tosser’ anymore, so that was a bit of a sore subject.
“S’up, Rhys.”
“It’s ‘Coach’ in the arena, mister.” He chuckles. “Decent flight?”
“Not the worst. I came straight from the airport like you said. Didn’t take too long to get from… however you say it.”
Coach laughs. “Birmingham?”
I pull a face. “That is not how it’s spelled. The stewardess nearly pissed herself with the way I pronounced it. Cochmouth wasn’t much better.”
“It’s coke-muth, not cock-mouth.” He chuckles. “Be glad you didn’t have to say you were going to Worcestershire.”
“What’s that?”
“You’ll learn. So, do you want to see the ice?”
“Hell yeah. I think this is the longest I’ve ever gone without skating.”
“Follow me.”
Wordlessly, I trail after Rhys, who’s practically bouncing on the balls of his feet with excitement. Can’t say it’s not infectious, but the ice does that to me, anyway.
As soon as Rhys pulls the doors open and the crisp, cold air hits me, I’m home. It’s huge. The lights are dazzling. Everything is perfect. All the weariness of the last two days of travelling, all the doubts, the anxiety…it all melts away. I breathe deep and fill my lungs with confidence. This was the right decision. This rink? I belong here.
“Seats three thousand,” Rhys tells me with a chuckle. “A little bigger than the one I saw you play in.”
It’s true. Even though I played for the Adelaide Adrenaline back home, Rhys first saw me play while he was on holiday in Brisbane. He watched our match against Brisbane Lightning and their tiny little arena only seats three hundred and fifty.
This place is insane by comparison. Even the ice itself seems larger somehow. I drop my kit bag at my feet, toe off my runners, and pull out my skates. Rhys watches me with amusement etched on his face, but I don’t care. I just want to get out on the ice.
“So, I’ve arranged for the team captain to meet us today.”
“Great. I can’t wait to meet my teammates. But yeah, meeting the captain first is probably a good idea.”
“Especially since we’re not teammates, yet.” A second kit bag thunks against the mat, and I spin to see a scowling man with his arms folded over his chest.
Huffing out a sigh, Rhys moves to stand between us. “Tarak Cook, meet Jace Miller, captain of the Cochmouth Cavaliers. Jace, this is the winger I told you about. Just got off the plane a few hours ago, so be nice.”
His glare doesn’t move from my face. “I’m always nice to rookies trying out for the team.”
I clench my jaw tight and try to remember to breathe. Punching my new captain would be a very bad move.
No way did this guy just call me a rookie. And why the hell did he just say “trying out”?
“I thought this was a done deal,” I say through gritted teeth. “My scholarship here depends on me playing for this team.”
Jace looks me up and down, assessing me. Joke’s on him. This hockey-butt is perfection. But if I can’t convince him of what I can do, I’m screwed. I can’t afford to go back home empty-handed. Hell, if they rescind my scholarship offer, I can’t afford to go back home full stop.
“I really don’t give a fuck about your scholarship, rookie. All I care about is my team having the best players who earned the right to be here.”
Rhys places a hand on the young captain’s shoulder, but he doesn’t budge. “Jace, we talked about him?—”
“And the team agreed he should try out like everybody else. I don’t want some convict, dingo-loving meathead, dragging us down because he impressed you while you were day drinking on your holiday!” he snaps, finally turning his fury on the coach who convinced me moving my life across the planet was a good idea.
“It’s fine.” I cut them both off from their arguing. It isn’t going to solve anything, and besides, this works out easier. They’ll never respect me unless I prove myself, so I may as well do it sooner rather than later. “I’ll jump through whatever hoops you want, doesn’t matter to me. By the time we’re done, you’ll be begging me to join you.”
A wry smile pulls at Jace’s mouth as he bends down, picking up his bag. “Big talk from a lad in his sushi socks.”
Ah, shit. This would’ve been way more convincing in my skates.
“Sushi is delicious. Now do you wanna see me skate or would you rather keep trash talking?”
Jace’s eyes flick to Rhys, who’s watching us like an impending car crash that’ll hit him in the face any second. “Actually, I don’t hate this guy.” Turning his attention back to me, he continues, “I’ve got two other guys trying out on Tuesday at eight. You’ve got ‘til then to get your head in our time zone and squeeze in a practice.”
“8 p.m., right?” I ask, my eyes widening at the thought of him meaning eight in the freaking morning.
He gives me a flat look.
“8 a.m.?”
“We can’t all be laid-back layabouts, lazing around on our surfboards all day long.”
“One, that was way too much alliteration for my sleep-deprived brain to handle. And two, I can’t surf for shit. Can’t balance.”
Jace stares pointedly at my skates and raises a brow in amusement, so I add, “Can’t balance on liquid water.”
“As opposed to?” He snickers.
My gaze hardens. “The frozen kind. You know, ice?”
Rhys groans. “All right, you two. Enough.” He turns to Jace. “You were serious about the two from the Raiders?”
“I think they’ve got Cavalier potential. No harm in giving your boy some competition, right?” Jace chuckles as he picks up his kitbag and adjusts it on his shoulder. “Let’s catch up tomorrow, Rhys. And I’ll see you Tuesday, rookie.”
Rhys grimaces as Jace exits the rink, the doors clanging shut and echoing through the empty arena. “Well, that went about as well as expected.”
A shiver runs through me, the adrenaline wearing off as my body starts to realise I’ve been awake for over thirty hours. This sucks. I shouldn’t need to try out again. Even though he’d been on a holiday, Rhys put me through every drill he could think of. I’m ready for the Cavaliers. The question should be if they are ready for me .
“I’m sorry for the mixup.” Rhys claps me on the shoulder, snapping me out of my thoughts. “I can help you book some practice slots before your tryout if you like. Otherwise, you’ve still got time for a quick session if you have the energy to hop on the ice. The Raiders guys are good, but I know you’re better if you get your head in the game.”
Grinning at the sight of the rink empty for me, I take a seat and shove my foot into my skate, quickly tying up the laces. “I’ve always got the energy for this, Coach.”