Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
LUKAS
Mornings at the rink always carry the same scent.
Cold air, rubber mats, and coffee that’s sat too long on the counter.
I open the locker room door, place my bag on the bench, and stretch my shoulders to prepare for the session.
My legs still feel the aftereffects of last night’s game.
Not sore, but energised. The kind of tired that feels good.
Ryan is already here, sitting with one skate half-laced and a protein bar hanging out of his mouth. “You’re late,” he says around a mouthful.
I glance at the clock. “I am three minutes early,” I say with confusion and a hint of amusement.
“That’s late for you.”
I shrug and start unpacking my gear. “Maybe I slept well.”
He snorts. “Or maybe you were up all night thinking about someone.”
I look up slowly. “What someone?”
Ryan grins as he shakes his head, continuing to lace up his skates. Across the room, Callum drops onto the bench with a dramatic groan, legs stretched wide.
“Coach is going to murder us today,” he announces. “There’s no way he’ll go easy on us.”
Isaac follows behind him, carrying a stack of pucks. “You say that every practice.”
“Because it’s always true.”
Brennan enters last, his composed captain demeanour already settled on him like armour. He drops his keys into his locker and looks around the room. “You done complaining?” he asks Callum.
“Never.”
“Good. Get dressed.”
I settle in and begin taping my stick, with careful movements that ground my thoughts; left to right, tight around the toe, and smoothing down the blade.
Usually, my mind is clear during this; today, it isn’t.
Today, I see a woman standing in a cold parking lot, replaying in my mind like an unending loop.
Kate. Her voice when she discusses patterns.
The way she observes people instead of performing for them.
The way she laughs when I tease her about returning for another game.
Most women would have flirted back. She didn’t even realise I was flirting. It’s… refreshing.
“Earth to Lukas.” I blink and look up as Callum is staring at me.
“You planning world domination or taping that stick?”
“I am doing both.”
Ryan leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “He’s thinking about the teacher.”
My head snaps toward him. “You talk too much.”
Callum’s eyebrows shoot up. “Teacher?”
Isaac perks up instantly. “What teacher?”
Ryan grins as if he’s lit a fuse. “The one from the school visit. Kate, was that her name? The fit one.”
“Ah,” Callum says slowly. “Car park lady.”
I narrow my eyes. “How do you know about the car park?”
“Ry saw you talking,” Callum replies.
Ryan spreads his hands innocently. “It was merely an observation.”
Brennan closes his locker with a sharp clang.
“Focus,” he says simply, and the conversation dies immediately.
That’s Brennan’s gift. He doesn’t raise his voice because he doesn’t need to.
He projects authority without being a dick about it.
We dress quickly after that. Skates are tied, helmets grabbed, and gloves shoved under arms.
When we step onto the ice, the cold instantly clears the fog in my head. Coach is already waiting at centre ice with a whistle between his teeth.
“Warm up. Two laps.”
We push off together, skates etching the fresh ice. The cold air hits my lungs as my body settles into the rhythm it knows by heart.
One lap turns into two, with the team spreading out across the rink in a quiet, focused glide. Isaac skates through the middle and shakes the bag. Pucks scatter across the ice, and the session snaps into motion.
Coach’s voice echoes off the boards, but I barely hear the specifics any more. The patterns are drilled so deeply they live in muscle memory.
I loop behind the net, collect the puck, pivot sharply, and fire it along the boards to Ryan, waiting at the blue line. It hits his stick cleanly, and we reset instantly, running it again and again until the movement becomes automatic. No hesitation. No thinking. Just read, react, move.
The pace ramps up quickly after that. Isaac dumps a puck into the corner, and I take off after it, Callum right on my heels. My skates bite harder into the ice as we battle for the line. He tries to lean into me, shoulder-checking me off the puck.
“Too slow,” I mutter. His elbow digs into my ribs in response. I come away with the puck anyway, spinning off the boards and cutting towards centre before snapping a quick pass across the ice.
Coach’s whistle cuts through the rink. “Better.”
We barely pause before the next wave begins.
Pucks start flying towards the net in rapid succession.
One-timers from the slot, then quick feeds across the ice.
Rebounds crash into the crease, where Brennan plants himself like a brick wall, fighting to redirect anything that gets close.
Chaos builds around the goal. Ryan winds up for a shot and sends it sailing wide.
“That one was for the highlight reel,” I call.
“Shut up,” he fires back.
Callum skates past me and smacks the back of my shin pad. “You’re distracted today.”
“I scored yesterday.” I glare at him.
“You hit the crossbar twice.”
I shrug. “Perfection is a journey.” Isaac laughs hard enough that he nearly loses an edge.
Coach’s whistle blasts again. “Scrimmage. Five minutes.”
Now things get interesting. We split up quickly and line up for the drop.
The moment the puck hits the ice, instinct takes over.
I steal it off Ryan in the neutral zone and accelerate down the right side, the rush opening up in front of me.
Brennan tracks me perfectly, shadowing the play as if he already knows what I’m about to do.
I fake the shot, and he doesn’t even blink.
“Smart,” I mutter.
His stick lifts mine clean, and the puck is gone before I can recover. “Predictable,” he says calmly.
We reset.
Next shift, I circle behind the net, the goalie shifting with me. Without looking, I slide the puck straight through the crease. Callum is already there, and he buries it in the top shelf.
“Finally!” he shouts, pumping a fist as the bench erupts.
I skate past him, shaking my head. “Took you long enough.”
Sweat trickles down the back of my neck as we line up again, lungs burning, legs heavy but still pushing. This is the part I love most. When the pace gets so fast, there’s no room for thought. No time to overthink, and you’re down to instinct and movement. It’s just a game.
By the time Coach blows the whistle to end practice, my lungs burn and my jersey clings to my back. We coast towards the bench, breathing hard.
“Good tempo,” Brennan says quietly.
Coach nods once. “Same energy tomorrow.”
The locker room after practice is noisier than before. Callum flops onto the bench and throws a towel over his head. “I’m dead.” He pants as he wipes his face with the corner of the towel.
“You say that every day,” Isaac says.
“Because every day is suffering.”
Ryan opens his locker and grabs his phone. “Hey, Lukas.”
I look up while unlacing my skates. “Yes?”
“The Panthers are doing another school outreach next week.”
My attention sharpens instantly. “What school?”
He scrolls. “Don’t know yet.”
Callum looks between us slowly. “Oh no.”
I ignore him. “What day?”
“Thursday.”
Very interesting. I sit back on the bench and pretend I’m focused on peeling tape off my stick, but my mind is already moving. Kate works at the school. Hudson studies there. If the team returns, it wouldn’t be strange to see her again.
Callum nudges my shoulder with his foot. “You’re plotting.”
“I am considering possibilities.”
“That’s plotting.”
Isaac leans over from the next bench. “If this is about the teacher, I want front row seats.”
“Why does everyone care?” I ask.
Ryan shrugs. “Because you usually chase puck bunnies.”
“And?”
“This one isn’t a puck bunny.”
Callum grins. “Which means you actually have to try.”
I roll my eyes, but don’t argue because they’re right. Kate isn’t impressed by hockey players. She’s not dazzled by the arena, the noise, or the attention. She looks at me like I’m just a man, which is unsettling. And a little addictive.
Brennan stands up and pulls his hoodie over his head. “Whatever you’re planning,” he says calmly, “don’t let it distract you on the ice.”
I meet his eyes. “It won’t.”
He nods once, satisfied. The boys start filtering out towards the showers, still arguing about last night’s goals and who will buy the drinks after the next win.
I stay seated a moment longer, and my phone sits in my locker.
I don’t have Kate’s number, and I don’t know her schedule.
All I have is a school. A teenage son. And a vague possibility of another outreach visit.
It’s not much, but it’s enough to start with.
I stand, grab my towel, and head for the showers. For the first time in ages, the next game isn’t the only thing I’m looking forward to. That thought follows me down the corridor like a quiet promise.