Chapter 1 - Karter #2
“Alright, boys. Welcome back,” Coach said, his flat Minnesota accent clipping the vowels. “I could stand here and give you the usual speech about how wearing the Ridge Cross crest is a privilege. But you already know that. So I will keep this short.”
He took off his team cap and ran a hand over his thinning gray-brown hair, letting out a sigh.
“Look, what I’m trying to say is keep your grades up.
Don’t get arrested. Curfew is at midnight on game days.
Do not make me chase you down.” He popped the cap back onto his head and nodded toward the couches.
“Now, you all know the tradition. The first meeting of the year belongs to your captain. Elliot, you have the floor.”
Coach Corby gave a sharp nod and stepped out the front door, letting it click shut behind him.
Elliot stood up immediately. He put his hands on his hips, adopting Coach’s exact stance. “We have a standard to maintain this year.”
“Back-to-back champions, boys,” Trenton added loudly.
“Exactly.” Elliot looked around the room, making eye contact with the guys on the couches first. “This year is about upholding Ridge Cross traditions. We did not win those titles by playing selfish hockey. We won because of loyalty. Because of legacy. When you wear this crest, you are part of a team that has worked together for decades. So, we protect our own, and we do not let outside distractions mess with our locker room.”
A lean guy by the window let out a short, quiet laugh.
I recognized him from the team roster photos as Angel Perez.
He had the compact build of a quick winger, but it was his clothes that caught my attention.
He wore a faded hoodie with re-hemmed cuffs, at odds with the country club aesthetic of my brother’s friends.
He bounced lightly on his toes, seemingly burning off a restless energy as he chewed a piece of gum.
Pointing with his chin toward Elliot, he spoke up. “Sure thing, Captain.”
Tuning out Elliot, I glanced toward the kitchen doorway just as Aleksey reached the entranceway. He brushed past the crowd and leaned his broad shoulders against the wooden frame. His arms were crossed tightly, and I zeroed in on the thick, white scar running along his jawline.
“Here, we do things the right way,” Elliot continued. “The Ridge Cross way.”
Aleksey snorted loudly.
The sound was quiet and derisive. But what threw me off was that he’d seemingly aimed the dry scoff at me.
I went entirely still, studying the jagged white line on his skin instead of looking away. Aleksey tilted his head, catching my gaze. His dark eyes were openly hostile.
A cold drop hit my stomach. I should have looked at the floor, but a sudden stubborn streak clamped my jaw shut. Keeping my chin up, I refused to pull in the air my tightening lungs demanded. The thick, silent tension stayed between us for three agonizing seconds, costing me everything to maintain.
“That is all I have for today,” Elliot announced, oblivious to the silent standoff happening in the doorway. He grinned and pointed toward the back of the house. “The puck drops Monday morning. But today, we celebrate.”
Someone cranked up the stereo seemingly on cue. Deep bass rattled the floorboards, instantly turning the mandatory meeting into a loud party. Guys started shouting over the track.
I took a step backward out of the living room. Aleksey didn’t move from the doorframe. His intense gaze tracked me all the way to the stairs, pushing me up toward the attic.
I shut my attic door, twisted the flimsy lock until it clicked, and collapsed onto my mattress.
Four hours bled away inside that cramped room as I hid from the other occupants of the Ice House on my first night.
Outside the tiny window, the daylight melted into a dim, murky gray that washed over the faded rug as the welcome back party continued downstairs.
And I could hear muffled bass thump steadily through the floorboards, vibrating against my spine as I listened to the shouts and the loud music, staring at the slanted ceiling, feeling utterly out of my depth.
Then I heard the wooden stairs creak over the thumping bass of the party.
Someone was coming up to the attic. The steps were slow and heavy, matching the exact rhythm of the boots I had heard through the wall earlier.
And since Matt was stuck in California, that meant only one other person had a reason to come up here.
I pushed myself off the mattress as fear flooded my chest, rushing straight up my neck.
I crossed the faded rug, stopping just inches from the wooden door.
Instead of backing away, I instinctively shifted my body toward it.
My heart hammered against my ribs as I pictured Aleksey standing in the narrow hallway.
The brass door handle turned slowly. It hit the lock with a sharp click.
A dry, humorless scoff slid through the wood.
“Smart move, Johnston Jr.,” Aleksey said.
The words carried all too easily through the cheap wooden door.
“But locks don’t last here,” he added.
The muscles in my abdomen tightened. He was testing me. My eyes locked on the handle, waiting for it to rattle. Part of me wanted him to push it, just to get the confrontation over with right now.
“Keep hiding, legacy. Just like a good boy,” Aleksey said bluntly as the brass handle snapped back into place. His words dripped through the cheap wood like oil. “Guess you’re following the rules already.”
Heat climbed the back of my neck, but I didn’t answer. Instead, I held my breath as I listened to him walk down the hall. The old wood groaned under his weight until I heard his own door shut. Only then did I step back and sink back onto my bed.
The lock had done its job, but the drop in my stomach wasn’t relief.