Rival Power Play (Scorching on Ice #2)

Chapter 1

Aaron

“Nice moves, Aaron Kelly.”

I spin around on the ice and take a deep breath before my brain catches up to the Russian accent.

I’ve been out here since six running drills by myself—wrist shots, crossovers, edge work, the same stickhandling sequences until my hands stopped thinking and just moved.

It’s early August. Off-season. The rink is empty and the Sentinels won’t report for preseason camp for another week.

I haven’t even met most of my new teammates yet, but in a few days I’ll be standing in front of them as their co-captain, a junior transfer leading a team he just joined.

So here I am, getting the feel for my new rink.

If I can’t show up with the right words, I can at least show up with my game dialed in.

None of which explains why Sasha Vorontsovsky is standing at the top of the bleachers at the hockey arena at Ashford University.

Walking down the steps now, actually, in a gray hoodie and well-fitting jeans, that dark golden hair falling past his collarbones.

He moves like he’s in no hurry at all. Like showing up uninvited at a new teammate’s unscheduled solo practice is completely normal.

There’s a thing he does in every postgame interview—pushes the hair back with one hand while he’s grinning at the camera.

The comment sections online obsess over his looks and arrogance. I find the whole thing annoying.

He’s even taller than he looks on TV. Lean and built, shoulders that fill out the hoodie.

And when he gets close enough to lean over the boards, I can see a scatter of freckles across his nose and cheekbones that the cameras never pick up.

His lips are full and his smile is relaxed, crinkles around his eyes like he’s enjoying this moment.

Don’t stare, I tell myself.

I know who he is. Everybody who follows college hockey does.

Just Sasha—because nobody in America can get Vorontsovsky right—so he’s become a one-name sensation.

The arena chants, the highlight reels, the media in awe of him like he’s the best thing to happen to the sport.

I’ve watched every one of his postgame interviews.

He hangs over the cap rail, forearms crossed, sleeves pushed up. Doesn’t say anything. Just takes me in with this amused half-smile, looking down at me from above—I’m on the ice and he’s leaning over the boards, and the angle puts me at a disadvantage I don’t appreciate.

“So.” I clear my throat. “You must be my new co-captain. Voront—Vorontsov—”

“Just call me Sasha.” His grin widens. “Everyone does. The name is too much for the American tongue.”

I grit my teeth. I don’t want to call him that. Like I’m one of his fans. Or one of those fawning sportscasters.

“Right. Sasha. You must be my new co-captain.”

I reach up and offer my hand. He takes it. His grip is warm and strong and he holds on for a beat longer than necessary, Something in my stomach flips.

Just nerves, I tell myself.

“And you must be the transfer everybody’s talking about. I wanted to see for myself what all the fuss was about.”

“And?” I hold my breath involuntarily, waiting for his verdict. I have no idea how long he was up there watching me.

He tilts his head like he’s thinking it over. Takes his time. “Not bad.”

“How did you know I’d be here?”

He waves the question off. “I know a lot about you, Aaron Kelly. I’ve watched your game tape—every game from your last two seasons. You’re fast. Smart positioning. Excellent hands.”

Heat prickles up the back of my neck. “You watched my tape?”

“All of it. You’re going to Albany after graduation, yes?

The Riverhawks. They’re smart to have drafted you.

A right winger with your speed and hockey IQ — most teams would kill for that.

” He says this casually, like he’s reading off a stat sheet.

Like he didn’t just rattle off details about my career that half my own teammates from New York wouldn’t remember.

“And what about you?”

“I’m the center. Which means I have the best position to lead the Sentinels into a record-setting season this year.” He doesn’t even try to be modest about it. “But we’re not talking about me.”

“Feels like we are.”

He grins. “We will. There’s plenty of time. Right now, I’m talking about you.”

I want to ask what else he knows. I don’t trust my voice, so I just nod. “You’ve done your homework.”

“I like to know who I’m sharing my rink with.” He leans forward on the rail. “Especially when Coach Rafferty calls me over the summer and tells me I’ll be sharing the captaincy.”

Here it comes. I shift my weight on my skates, grip tightening on my stick.

Sasha’s been the star of this program for two years.

The Titans are waiting for him in NYC after graduation.

The kind of talent that makes everyone else on the roster feel like a supporting cast. And now some transfer shows up and gets handed co-captain before he’s played a single game in an Ashford jersey.

“Look, I know that probably wasn’t what you wanted to hear—”

“Why not?” He looks genuinely confused. “Coach gave me the choice. He said he was bringing you in as co-captain and asked if I had a problem with it.” Sasha shrugs. “I told him I didn’t just accept it. I was enthusiastic about it.”

My stick nearly slips out of my hands. “You were — enthusiastic?”

“I’ve been watching your game tape, Aaron Kelly. Not just a little.” Those intense blue eyes, up close, are even more striking than they look on camera. I have to look away.

“You know, Ashford has an impressive record in college hockey. You know about Wyatt Tate and Austin Nash?”

“Of course I know about them. Everyone does. They're on the Fraser Valley Falcons in Canada.”

And they went to this school and were both out as a couple while they played college hockey, I think. Why is he asking me if I know about them?

“They are an incredible pair to watch. The way they played together here, the way they pushed each other to be better. That’s what a team needs — not one star, but two highly competitive players who make each other better.” He pauses. “I’ve been waiting for someone....what is the word in English?"

His eyes brighten. "Formidable. Someone formidable to play off on this team. And now here you are. Wearing Austin’s number, no less.”

I glance down at the 17 on my practice jersey. “You noticed that.”

“I notice everything.”

Sasha laughs. He’s clearly loving this exchange. “You were expecting me to be territorial, yes? And threatened? The angry Russian who doesn’t share?”

“I mean…” Yes. Exactly that. “I didn’t assume anything. But most athletes wouldn’t like the idea of sharing the title. Especially with someone they haven’t even played with before.”

“Most athletes are insecure.” He’s laughing now, and it’s a good laugh—low and rough and it does something to the base of my spine.

“I like it this way. I like people assuming I’m impossible to deal with.

It’s good for my reputation. The media loves it.

It will serve me well to be notorious, not just famous, when I go pro.

” He pauses. “But I don’t need to be the only name on this team. ”

I drag my eyes to the far boards. “Well. Thank you. For not giving me a hard time. You could’ve had the title to yourself and you didn’t fight it. That’s—I didn’t expect that.”

“You can thank me by keeping up with me.” He says it with a grin.

“That’s not going to be a problem.” I hold his gaze without smiling. “But you already know that since you saw my game tape.”

Sasha doesn't break the eye contact. “There is something I have wondered. Why does a player with a scholarship to a top New York City university transfer to Ashford before junior year?”

My jaw tenses. My fingers flex around my stick. This is the part I never know how to say without making it weird.

“So. My dad had lung cancer.”

The smile leaves his face and he goes still, listening.

“He’s fine now,” I add quickly. The cold is starting to settle into my legs.

I shift on my skates. “Cancer-free. But his stamina’s not back yet, and he’s got a landscaping business that doesn’t run itself.

I spent most of my last semester in New York traveling back and forth between games and my parent's house in West Roxbury. Trying to keep up with hockey and my premed classes and be there for my family all at the same time. Something had to give.” I shrug.

“So I gave up the dream of playing in New York. Just for now. I’ll get back there after graduation. ”

Sasha frowns. “So you gave up a free ride to play hockey in New York City for four years to be closer to your family?”

“Lost the scholarship when I transferred, yeah. I'm taking on student loans I didn’t ever expect I’d be saddled with, considering my GPA and hockey skills.

” My voice stays even. “But I'm not complaining. Especially not to my family, who have enough to worry about doing their best to pay off my Dad’s insane medical bills.”

Sasha only nods. He doesn’t say he's sorry for what my family went through or that it must have been so hard for me.

“Not everyone has what it takes do that,” he says. “Make sacrifices for their family. I respect it.”

I’m awkwardly quiet. I don’t know what to say to that at first. It’s not what I expected from him. I thought he’d tell me I didn’t belong here and I’d quietly put up with his resentment. This is something completely different.

“Thanks. It’s not the worst thing. I still get to play hockey for a top team. I still get to finish my degree at a great university.”

He rests his chin on his folded arms again. “You looked good out there.” He studies me. “But you’re favoring your left side. What happened to your back?”

I stiffen. “It’s nothing.”

“You were compensating for the last twenty minutes. I was watching.”

Twenty minutes. He sat up there for more than twenty minutes watching me before he said a word.