CHAPTER 9
The cold air of the rink cuts through my practice jersey as I step onto the ice, the sharp scrape of skates carving into the surface echoing around me.
The team is already warming up—gliding effortlessly, sticks clattering as they pass the puck back and forth.
Excitement buzzes through my veins, laced with a thin edge of anxiety.
Coach Rivera isn’t here yet, and I can feel it—the weight of eyes on me as I skate toward the group. This is my first official practice, and I haven’t even been properly introduced.
“Hey, Miller! Over here!” Lance calls out, waving enthusiastically.
He’s standing with Hayes, Ezra, Finn, two guys built like defensemen, and—
Zach.
So he made the team. Not surprising.
I skate over, forcing myself to breathe evenly, though nerves curl tight in my chest. It’s rare for me to feel this way.
“Hey, man,” I say to Lance.
I don’t have to look to know Hayes is watching me. I can feel his stare like a warning burned into my skin.
“Dakota,” Zach says, smiling when I turn to him. “Glad you made the team. I mean—I knew you would. You’re freaking good.”
I shrug like it’s nothing, but my eyes flick briefly to Hayes. He shifts, jaw tightening, clearly not thrilled by Zach’s praise. Zach’s blond hair is tied back in the same low bun as before, neat and effortless.
“Well,” Lance says brightly, clapping his hands together, “let me introduce you to everyone. This is Finn, that’s Ezra—”
I lock eyes with Ezra. He looks uncomfortable. I glare anyway.
“—That’s Hayes, our team captain,” Lance continues, oblivious, “and you already know Zach. This is Pete, and this guy here is Ian.”
“Hey,” I grunt, not aiming it at anyone in particular.
“Sup, man?” everyone replies—except Hayes and Ezra.
“I heard you used to play with Hayes and Ezra back in middle school,” Finn says. His voice is deep, curious. He looks a lot like his twin sister, Peach—sharp cheekbones, dark hair, freckles dusted across his nose. He’s good-looking, but not—
Nothing compared to Hayes Griffin.
“Yeah,” I answer shortly.
“Cool,” Finn says, clearly not sure what else to add.
“So you guys were friends back then?” Lance asks, slinging an arm around Hayes’s shoulders.
Hayes stiffens immediately.
“Not really,” Ezra answers after a beat of silence.
Good. I wasn’t going to.
“Wow,” Zach mutters under his breath. “So much hostility.”
Hayes hears him. He scoffs and shrugs Lance’s arm off like it irritates him.
The tension between Hayes and me still hums from earlier, sharp and unresolved. Judging by the glances passing between the others, they feel it too. Maybe I didn’t think this through when I joined the team just to get under his skin.
“Alright, team!” Coach Rivera’s voice booms across the rink. “Let’s get started!”
I inhale deeply, pushing everything else aside. Whatever’s coming between Hayes and me—it can wait.
For now, it’s just ice, blades, and the game.
“Alright! Gather round, everyone,” Coach Rivera calls out, and we skate in, forming a loose circle around him.
“First, I want to welcome the new guys to the team.” His gaze sweeps over us before he continues. “As you all know, I’m your coach—Coach Rivera—and this—” he places a firm hand on Hayes’s shoulder, “—is your team captain, Hayes Griffin.”
A few nods. A few murmurs.
“We’re in hockey season now, which means you train twice as hard as you think you should.
We’ve taken the championship title home four years in a row, and this year will be no different.
” His tone sharpens. “No drinking on weekends. That’s not a suggestion—that’s an order.
You wanna party, fine. Drinking is off the table. ”
Some of the guys shift uncomfortably.
“This team is a family,” Coach continues.
“You treat each other with respect. No competition within the team. The goal is unity. You work together, you win together.” His eyes linger meaningfully on a few faces—including mine.
“And your captain?” He squeezes Hayes’s shoulder once.
“You show him respect. No fighting. No bullying. You’re a family now, so act like it. Am I understood?”
“Yes, Coach!” we shout in unison.
“Good. Let’s practice.”
We break into warm-up laps, skates slicing cleanly through the ice. Lance ends up beside me, gliding like it’s second nature.
“Just remember, keep your head up,” he says lightly, flashing a grin. “Hayes isn’t all that bad, you know?”
“Easy for you to say,” I reply, forcing a smile.
I push myself harder, matching Lance’s pace, feeling the ice respond beneath my blades. With every stride, my body remembers—muscle memory snapping into place.
After warm-ups, Coach calls us back in.
“Today, we’re working on passing and positioning,” he says. “I want to see how you handle pressure. Griffin—you’re running the drills.”
All eyes shift to Hayes.
He steps forward, effortless and composed, like he was born in the center of attention. The way he carries himself—it’s infuriating. Like gravity bends around him, pulling everyone else into his orbit.
I shove the thought away. I’m here to play hockey. Not to think about him. Not to remember the past.
We break into pairs, and I’m matched with Zach. He’s solid but a little tense, hands tight on his stick.
“Relax,” I mutter. “Trust your passes.”
He nods, and we get into it—short, quick exchanges, the puck moving cleanly between us.
“Nice pass, Dakota!” Coach Rivera calls from the sidelines.
A spark of pride flares in my chest before I can stop it.
Maybe I really do belong here.
After several rounds, Coach blows the whistle. “Scrimmage time.”
Energy spikes instantly as we divide into two teams.
Then I hear it.
“Miller—you’re with Griffin’s line.”
My stomach tightens.
Great.
I skate into position, dread and determination tangling together in my chest. This isn’t middle school anymore. I’m not that kid.
And if Hayes thinks he still owns this ice—
He’s about to be proven wrong.
The whistle shrieks, and we’re off.
The puck flies from stick to stick as the scrimmage explodes into motion.
Hayes immediately takes control, barking orders, his voice cutting cleanly through the noise of blades and boards.
I fall into rhythm faster than I expect—anticipating plays, reading movement, letting instinct take over.
The adrenaline hits hard, sharp and electric.
This is my element.
The pace intensifies, bodies colliding, sticks clashing. Hayes drives us relentlessly, pushing the line harder, faster. I slide into open ice, positioning myself perfectly.
The pass comes.
I catch it clean and shoot in one smooth motion.
The puck rockets past the goalie and slams into the net.
“Nice shot, Miller!”
The praise scrapes against my skin like sandpaper.
I glance up just in time to catch Hayes’s eyes. His stare is sharp—mocking, taunting—and then his lips curl into a slow, malicious smirk. A shiver runs down my spine, every hair on my body standing on end.
Sick bastard.
The scrimmage resumes, faster now, rougher. I feel locked in, confident, like I finally belong on this ice.
Then—impact.
Hayes cuts sharply toward me.
“Watch out!” he yells.
Too late.
He sticks his skate out just as I pivot, and my balance is gone. I hit the ice hard, palms burning as they scrape against the cold surface.
Laughter erupts around us.
I shove myself upright, fury blazing as my eyes lock onto Hayes.
“Are you okay, Dakota?” Lance and Zach ask at the same time.
I don’t answer.
I skate straight toward Hayes.
“What the hell was that?” I snap.
He only smirks.
“Guess you need to work on your balance, Dakota,” he says, mockery dripping from every syllable.
I grit my teeth, forcing myself not to react to the way my name sounds coming from his mouth.
Oh, he’s going to pay.
The humiliation burns, sharp and bitter. This is exactly what I signed up for—to face him, to take back what he stole from me. But knowing that doesn’t make it easier when he stands there, smug and untouchable.
I push the anger down, straighten, and skate back into position. Determination coils tight in my chest.
Coach Rivera’s whistle cuts through the tension.
We gather around.
Hayes stands across from me, his dark eyes still locked on mine, blazing with something unreadable.
“You okay, Miller?” Coach Rivera asks.
“Yes, Coach.”
Hayes might think he won this round.
But I’m just getting started.
That night, after practice, I collapsed onto my bed, still feeling the adrenaline from the day and the heavy weight in my chest. My muscles ache, but my mind won’t shut off.
I should feel proud about making the team.
It’s what I wanted, wasn’t it? To finally show Hayes he doesn’t have control over me anymore.
But the more I think about it, the emptier it feels.
Tripp was right—it’s a big deal, especially with Hayes as captain. But something about it feels… hollow.
I didn’t just join the team to play hockey. I did it to prove a point, to show Hayes Griffin I’m not the same weak kid he used to push around. And yeah, part of me loves the idea of messing with his perfect world. But another part… another part wonders if it’s worth it.
My hand absently drifts to the old hockey jersey tossed on the chair in the corner of the room—my dad’s.
He would’ve been proud of me today. Hell, he would’ve been the first person to throw his arm around me, tell me how I’ve got the same fire he did when he played.
I try to remember the way he used to talk about the game, how it wasn’t just about winning but about heart, about pushing yourself beyond what anyone else expects of you.
But he’s not here to say those things anymore.
Fuck. I miss him. I miss him so fucking much.
I roll over, staring at the wall, my mind drifting back to my father when he was alive.
Hockey used to mean something to me. Back when Dad was around, it wasn’t about revenge or proving a point.
It was about the game, about pushing myself.
I still hear his voice in my head sometimes—“Play with heart, Dakota, not anger.” He always said that.
But now, it’s hard to remember what that even feels like.
Maybe that’s why it feels so hollow now.
What am I really trying to prove? That I’m stronger than Hayes?
That I’m not the same boy who left town four years ago, broken and angry?
Maybe. But sometimes it feels like no matter how much I’ve changed, Hayes still has this way of getting under my skin, of pulling out that version of me that I thought I buried a long time ago.
A knock on the door breaks the silence, and I tense immediately.
“Honey, are you decent? ‘Cause I’m coming in!” She doesn’t wait for an answer, just pushes the door open and steps inside like it’s her room
“Dinner will be ready soon,” she says, crossing her arms as she leans against the doorframe. Her voice has that edge to it, the one that always makes me feel like shit.
I’m not in the mood to talk right now.
“So I guess you made the team, huh?”
“Did Mrs. Griffin tell you that? You know since you guys are now besties.”
She sighs, the sound heavy and annoyed, like she’s the one who has to put up with me. “Stop being a brat, Dakota. No matter what you say, Kim and I are gonna be friends.”
Right.
I roll my eyes, my fingers coming to toy with my short hair.
“Look, I know you’re still adjusting to being back, but it wouldn’t kill you to try and talk to me once in a while. I’m trying here, Dakota. I’m seriously trying to make things work between us. I miss us. I miss talking with you,”
“Baby steps, mother. Baby steps.” I sigh and stand up, pulling my hockey Jersey over my head and tossing it on my bed.
That’s a signal for my mom to leave, but she doesn’t. I turn to look at my mom and she’s staring at the tattoos on my body. She’s still trying to get used to it. I can still remember the look of disappointment on her face when she found out for the first time.
“How was practice?”
“Good,” I say, my tone sharp and bitter.
“And I thought we were making progress with us,” she sighs, hesitates by the door, like she wants to say something else, but then she just sighs again and walks out, closing the door a little too hard behind her.
The second she’s gone, I sit down on the edge of my bed and rub my hands over my face, trying to shake the frustration that always comes when we talk.
Coming back here was a mistake, I know that.
But I didn’t have a choice. Mom needed to come back, and I’m stuck dealing with this town, with Hayes, with all the memories I tried to leave behind.
I glance at the photo of my dad and me on the dresser—the one I can never bring myself to put away.
I was 8 in the photo, with a big smile on my face as my dad held me. If he were here, maybe things would be different. Maybe I wouldn’t feel so lost all the time.
But he’s not here. It’s just me. And I have to figure this out on my own.