13 - Haven
HAVEN
I stepped out of the rink, pulling my coat tighter around me as the cold enveloped me like a living thing. Tonight was worse than most nights. The sky had gone a dull, heavy gray that came before a real storm; the kind that made everything feel closer than it really was.
Behind me, doors banged open again, voices spilling out. Not our voices, though.
The scrimmage team.
They’d been obnoxious all practice. Louder than necessary. The kind of energy that wasn’t about competition, so much as it was about being seen.
And believe me, I’d been seen.
“Hey, cheerleader!”
I kept walking.
“Yo — groupie!” another voice shouted. “You lose your way?”
Laughter followed, but I didn’t turn around. Turning around would be giving them something. And after the rock-bottom scrimmage we’d just had, I wasn’t about to give them anything else.
“I thought this was a closed practice,” yet another voice called. “Or are you part of the entertainment?”
More laughter. More jeers, and catcalls.
Not very creative, though.
I exhaled slowly, watching my breath fog outward like that of a dragon. None of this was new. Not really. Just louder, and more public.
Inside, things had been worse. Not because what they said about me — I couldn’t care less about that. Because of what they said about the Reavers.
“Nice logo,” one of them laughed earlier, loud enough for everyone to hear. “What is that — a discount Grim Reaper?”
“Looks like a cereal box mascot,” another added.
That last one had gotten one of our guys to shift. Not much, but enough.
Luckily, coach Mercer caught on. He squashed that bug with a vicious scowl before it grew into anything bigger and uglier, and his players skated away. I, however, was under no such obligation to keep my mouth shut.
“At least it’s original,” I’d said, without looking up from my tablet. “Speaking of logos, why does your viper have a hood? Wouldn’t that make it a cobra?”
The Lake Erie Viper player glanced down at his chest like the answer might be printed there. I let out a short laugh.
“What happened?” I added. “Did your designer just Google ‘snake’ and call it a day?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Ares — just for a second — huff something that might’ve been a chuckle.
Their team hadn’t held back after that, though.
“Oh, she talks,” their center had smirked.
“Careful,” someone else said. “Stat girl’s got opinions.”
“Did she come with the team?” another nudged, squirting water in his mouth on a break. “Or did she wander in off the street?”
The laughter grew thicker after that, with more voices. I hadn’t responded again. There was no need to. But I’d felt it — the familiar shift. Not from them, but from our team. They’d heard every word of it, and they hadn’t stepped in. Not for me. Not for their logo, either.
I reached the halfway point of the lot, my breath fogging up the scarf I’d pulled over my chin.
It wasn’t just them, and that was the thing. The scrimmage team could fuck right off.
It was the house. The chaos in the kitchen. The missing food, the disappearing laundry. The spot at the table that was never left open for me.
But it was also the looks. The names.
Stats-girl.
Ice Queen.
I pulled out my car keys, thinking about the constant, low-level pressure that never quite let up. The memory of this morning hit hard: hot water, until it wasn’t. One second steam, heat, relief. The next… nothing but ice.
I’d hissed like a snake, jerking back so instinctively I’d slammed my head into the shadow caddy. It hadn’t been an accident. I’d known that much immediately.
Quickly wrapping a towel around myself, I’d stormed straight down the stairs, water dripping the whole way. The living room had gone quiet, the second I walked in.
They weren’t shocked or surprised, they just sat there, staring at me. No one said anything. No one even pretended. All except—
Ares.
He’d looked me over once, top to bottom. His gaze was slow. Deliberate.
“Old pipes,” he’d said.
Flat. Like it was nothing. Like I was supposed to believe it.
I’d held his gaze for a long few seconds; long enough that it should’ve been uncomfortable. He hadn’t looked away, not for an instant. And in his eyes, I saw it. I knew.
Of course, I’d known the whole time.
I looked up again, finally approaching my car.
The lot was more crowded than it should’ve been.
The Reavers were still in the showers, but the Vipers were still there.
The scrimmage team was clustered near their bus, voices carrying across the cold air.
Something about it being down. Delayed. Not leaving yet.
“Hey…”
I should’ve heard the footsteps behind me, but I didn’t. Not until it was too late.
I kept on walking anyway.
“Hey, I’m talking to you.”
I didn’t stop. Raising my key fob, I hit the button twice.
Wrong one.
I hit it again and the car chirped. I heard the satisfying click of the doors unlocking.
“Damn,” the voice said, behind me. “You really gonna ignore me like that?”
I didn’t answer, I didn’t turn. I just reached for the door handle…
… and dropped the keys.
They hit the pavement with a sharp, hollow clatter that felt way too loud in the moment.
Shit.
I froze, for a half a second. Apparently, it was just long enough.
“Careful,” the voice behind me said, as the footsteps grew closer. “Wouldn’t want to lose those.”
I straightened slowly, instead of bending over and giving him the show he wanted. By the time I turned, he was already there.
It was one of the left-wingers, second string. Tall. Lanky. Not very good. He had string-bean arms, and a crooked grin.
“Remember me?”
Honestly, I barely did. He was so unremarkable, I hadn’t even taken any notes on him.
I held his gaze for a moment, then his eyes moved to my keys.
“Pick them up,” he ordered, nodding toward the ground.
I didn’t. I folded my arms, instead.
“Seriously?”
Cold air bit through a gap in my coat. Even so, I didn’t shift.
“Suit yourself,” he shrugged, his smile widening.
He bent down, grabbing the keys before I could react. I stiffened uncomfortably as he dangled them in front of me, just out of reach.
I didn’t step forward. But I also didn’t break eye contact.
“Sorry baby,” he said. “You’re gonna have to get a little closer than that.”
I still didn’t move. I only stood there, numbly. Wondering what would happen if—
WHAM.
The sound hit first, before I even processed the movement.
The guy disappeared, like in some insane magic trick. Not stepped back. Not pushed. Just… gone.
He was sent sideways with enough force that his feet left the ground completely, before he hit the pavement and skidded — hard — across the asphalt. The sound of it — skin, fabric, impact — cut through the lot.
In the aftermath, my keys hung in the air, right where he’d been holding them. Gravity took over, and they clattered to the pavement.
Silence followed. I turned, and—
Ares.
He stood where the left-winger had been, shoulders square, jaw tight. His eyes were locked on the guy like he was considering whether or not to send him into the next world.
The guy scrambled, swearing under his breath. He dragged himself up just enough to regain his footing.
No one laughed now, though. No one said anything. Eventually he turned and hurried back to his team, which had suddenly found a reason to start boarding the bus again.
Ares didn’t follow him. He didn’t even turn, to watch them leave.
He just stood there for a second, breathing steadily. Like nothing he’d just done had required any effort at all.
Honestly, it made me a little… well…
He spotted the keys, and bent to pick them up. Then he walked over, and stopped just close enough to hand them to me.
“You alright?”
I nodded as I took them. My fingers brushed his.
They were warm. Too warm.
“Thanks,” I muttered.
It came out quieter than I meant it to. The cold had seized me again, infiltrating my coat and sending all new shivers through my body.
Ares watched me shudder for a moment. Snow had started falling now; tiny flakes, but many of them. I watched as they swirled lazily down around him.
Then he exhaled a quiet breath, shaking his head slightly.
“You might be an asshole, Spreadsheet,” he said.
His words were flat and familiar, with something else, just beneath. He shifted his weight, turning away.
“But you’re our asshole.”
And then he was gone, just like that. Moving powerfully in the direction of the rink, like nothing had happened.
The chugging of the bus’s engine faded into the distance, leaving me alone with the cold and wind. I still had my keys in my hand as I stood there, processing.
Not the hit. Not the guy.
Him. Ares.
I’d known he didn’t like me. That fact hadn’t changed at all.
But that— the thing that just happened?
That wasn’t nothing.
I finally bent to pull my car door open, wincing as it creaked. I slid inside, slammed the door, and tried shutting out the cold. Or at least, as much of it as I could.
But sitting there, my fingers gripping the steering wheel, I took a few seconds before starting the car.
No, Ares still hated me. That much was clear.
But apparently, he didn’t hate me enough to let someone else touch me.
And somehow… that meant something.