Chapter One
Sneak Peek
CROSSED LINES
Stoneharbor Ice, Book Three
ROWAN
Theo Park has stolen my ice, my parking space, and—according to the athletic director—my entire summer.
I discover the first crime at five twelve on Monday morning.
The women’s team has the rink from five to six thirty. This arrangement exists in writing, in three calendars, and in an email thread where Theo used the phrase confirmed allocation like a man auditioning to become a spreadsheet.
Yet when I enter Harbor Ice, the men’s team is skating.
Not all of them. Six defensemen, two coaches, and Theo at center ice directing a breakout drill.
He sees me through the glass.
Does not stop.
I drop my equipment bag in the tunnel and open the gate.
The whistle around my neck is louder than theirs.
Every player turns.
Theo glides toward me in black practice gear, helmet beneath one arm. His dark hair is damp. His expression carries the calm of a person who has never been struck with his own calendar.
“Hale,” he says.
“Park.”
“We have a maintenance conflict.”
“You are the maintenance conflict.”
“The auxiliary rink compressor failed.”
“And that moved your private defense session into my full-team slot?”
“Coach Mercer spoke with facilities.”
“Did facilities speak with me?”
“No.”
“Then take your complete sentences and get off my ice.”
Behind Theo, one first-year defenseman studies the ceiling with great interest.
Theo lowers his voice. “We need twenty minutes.”
“We need ninety.”
“Your team is not here yet.”
“They arrive at five twenty.”
“It is five fourteen.”
“You can tell time. This is a strong morning for you.”
His jaw shifts.
Theo Park does not become visibly angry. He becomes more organized. Shoulders square. Words shorten. Eye contact turns into architecture.
“We have a semifinal systems review,” he says.
“You won the championship last month.”
“Summer development camp begins today.”
“So does ours.”
“You have six players registered.”
“Eight.”
“Our session was booked before the compressor failed.”
“My session was booked before your compressor developed ambition.”
The side door opens. My teammates enter in waves, carrying sticks and coffee. Behind them comes Mara Bell with a portable recorder, silver boots, and the smile of a woman discovering free content.
“No,” Theo and I say together.
Mara lifts both hands. “I have not asked anything.”
“You are recording,” Theo says.
“Ambient sound.”
I point toward the exit. “Men’s team leaves now.”
Theo looks at the clock. “Ten minutes.”
“Zero.”
“Eight.”
“Do you think this is a negotiation?”
“Yes.”
The confidence is infuriating.
I step closer.
In skates, he is taller by nearly a foot. I refuse to calculate what he looks like outside shoulder pads because hatred should not require aesthetic data.
“Captain,” I say, “move your players.”
“Captain,” he answers, “give me eight minutes.”
The title between us becomes challenge instead of respect.
Mara whispers into her recorder, “Day one. Shared ice remains a peaceful institution.”
Theo’s gaze never leaves mine.
“Seven minutes,” he says.
I smile.
Then I skate to the control box and switch off half the rink lights.
His players shout.
Theo closes his eyes.
“Zero,” I say.
He turns toward his team. “Off.”
Victory should feel better.
Instead, as the men file past, Theo stops beside me.
“The athletic director scheduled a captains’ meeting at nine,” he says.
“I did not receive an invitation.”
“You will.”
“Why?”
His expression changes almost imperceptibly.
“Because the university created a joint summer training committee.”
Cold suspicion moves through me.
“Who chairs it?”
“We do.”
“No.”
“That was my response.”
“Then we agree.”
“Apparently agreement was not required.”
Mara makes a delighted sound.
I look at Theo.
He looks at me.
A full summer of shared meetings, shared ice, and a man who alphabetizes conflict.
“Stay out of my parking space,” I say.
Theo’s brow lifts. “The one beside the loading dock?”
“Yes.”
“That is assigned to committee chairs.”
“There is one space.”
“I know.”
The second crime becomes clear.
He took it.
I grip my stick.
Theo skates away before I can use it irresponsibly.
At nine, the athletic director tells us the committee’s first task is to design a coeducational summer hockey clinic that will determine next year’s donor funding.
The second task is to stop threatening each other in recorded areas.
Mara waves from the back row.
Theo opens a new notebook.
I begin planning his death in bullet points.