Chapter 11 Beneath The Ice Luna
Beneath The Ice
Luna
My phone is still going crazy with notifications from the day before.
New followers, likes, and worst of all, the questions about when I’m doing another live event with Beau.
My feelings are all twisted up like a laundry load full of knee-high socks.
On the one hand, my practical, logical math brain is excited about the increase in views, especially after the slump over the holidays.
Not to mention the phone call I got from Damien earlier.
He was thrilled to let me know about the donations that have been rolling in.
He even asked me if I’d planned the entire thing and knew all along about Beau’s wild promise to match all donations.
But there’s a small, petty side of me I can’t quite quash.
The side that says I wish he hadn’t been so charming.
Or so good with the cats. He didn’t even complain once after he finally figured out how to wrangle Freddy.
Nope. Even though I’m sure he’s never had to do any menial cleaning work in his life.
His cages were spotless. And then when we were chatting at the end, the cats were all over him. Even Bluebeard. Traitor.
“What was that?” Maisie pauses in the middle of taping up her socks to lean in, eyeing the phone I’m glaring at.
“Nothing. Just more new followers.”
“But that’s amazing, right? You don’t sound thrilled.” She goes back to taping, which is good. I can avoid eye contact when I admit how childish I’m being.
“But it’s because of him. All these new followers and likes are because I brought a guy into my space. Kind of takes away from my entire brand, you know. Promoting women in sports.”
“Yeah, but it’s still a good thing. I’m sure our team vids will still get views, and honestly, the more eyes, the better.
Think of it like this. You’re using him to uplift your brand.
We should do some men-versus-women competitions and stuff.
That would be so fun. We’ll rig it so we can win, and it’ll be even more glorious. ”
“Have I ever told you how freaking amazing you are?”
“You have, but don’t worry, I never get tired of hearing it. Feel free to spout all the compliments you want. I won’t turn them down.”
I yank my ponytail to tighten it and slap her on the back as I’m standing up.
“You’re awesome. The best alternate captain, ultimate friend, and of course, the fairest one of all. Thank you for allowing me to exist in your presence.”
“You’re welcome.” Her cheeks dimple as she presses her lips together to keep the laugh in.
“Okay everybody. It’s almost game time. Are you ready to kick some ass?”
Cheers echo around the dressing room, and that warm feeling of having my team at my back fills me up, pushing away all the doubts that were creeping in on me.
I’m working too hard right now. I’m exhausted from all the responsibility tugging at me from every direction, but I’ve got these ladies at my back. I’ll be fine.
We hit the ice hard to a chorus of cheers from the fans as cold air stings my cheeks. The crowd’s energy pulses through the arena louder than ever before. It’s been incredible watching the turnout grow with every game this season.
Sure, my social media might’ve helped boost visibility, but the school’s PR team deserves credit too. And honestly? We’ve earned it. Our lineup is stacked with talent, grit, and just enough chaos to keep things interesting. It’s just good hockey.
Still, we have to prove it. Every. Single. Time.
Minor mistakes are majorly scrutinized, and we’re held to a different standard than the men’s team. It’s not fair, but there’s no time for fair on the ice.
Tension is thick in the air as I line up at center. Velamir is the captain of Penn State’s team, and she’s good. Sees the ice two steps ahead. Like I heard she’s had scouts from the upcoming pro women’s league eyeing her for a coveted spot. Could just be rumors.
The ref drops the puck.
She catches and drives, stickhandling through traffic, but Penn State’s defense collapses fast. She gets locked in a tussle, hemmed in by the boards. The puck shimmies free and is snapped up on the rebound.
We reset. I swing back into position, skating hard, tracking the play.
Sab and Jenna collapse around the net. Penn State fires one from the top of the circle. It clangs off the post like a bell. They scramble for the rebound, tossing it back and forth, but can’t get a clean look.
Then Sab swoops in slick and fast, threading her stick between a pair of skates and lifting the puck free. She rockets a pass across the zone.
Right to me.
It’s perfect. I take off, legs churning, stick low. The rush is on. I feel their defenders closing the gap, but there’s no clean shot. Not yet. I pivot and dish it to Maisie, who one-times it to Beth.
I loop behind the net, shadow-quick, hoping for the rebound.
Beth shoots. Their goalie blocks it with the blade of her stick. It pops loose. Right to me.
Instinct takes over. I drop my shoulder, square up, and send it top shelf, high glove side.
The puck slams into the back of the net, and it lights up.
We crash into each other, celebrating with gloved high-fives and shoulder bumps, helmets clacking in a pile-up of joy. Maisie grins at me, then tips her chin toward the stands.
And that’s when I see them.
A mix of emotions fills me at the sight of what must be the entire guys’ team in the stands. They’re in full jersey. On their feet, clapping and whistling.
It should feel good. And it does. But it also feels... strategic.
They’ve never come out like this. Not all of them. Not without an angle. With the sponsorship deal on the line, I can’t help but wonder if this is theater.
Now that this sponsorship thing is hanging in the air between us, they’re putting on a show. But snagging the donor will benefit us as much as or more than them, so it’s for the best. At least Beau’s taking this thing seriously.
Knowing I should step up and match them gesture for gesture, I break off from my team and skate toward the glass. I slam my stick against the glass once and raise it up to point at him.
Beau lifts both arms, then spins around to show me the back of his jersey. And that’s when I see it.
The name embroidered in bright yellow against the purple background is not his.
It’s mine.
WILDER, stitched in gold in bright contrast to the deep purple. For everyone to see.
My fingers go cold. Something shifts in my chest. Heat, disbelief, something sharp and warm. It may all be for show, but damn if it doesn’t feel real.
Every clap and cheer and whistle adds to the excitement of our team celebrating the win. We take a final skate around the edge, waving at the fans before we head off the ice.
The tunnel is lined with fans and a few significant others.
Jenna’s girlfriend is, as always, the first to step forward with an enormous hug.
Beth hits me with a fist bump and heads over to her boyfriend.
It’s a sea of excited purple and gold. But I spot two fans in particular that stand out.
Mostly because JJ is bouncing up and down next to Beau.
Beau’s shoulders are a little stiff, and he winces when a girl grabs his arm.
His smile doesn’t leave his face as he shakes his head at her, but it’s strained, disingenuous.
He almost looks like he needs a rescue. I’ve seen that look on the faces of my friends at a club before when some random guy gets too friendly.
Concern for him overrides any other feelings, and I tromp over. It’s not like there’s anyone else waiting for me. Dad tries to make it out to as many games as he can, but between caring for Mom and Celeste, he can’t attend them all.
“Hey, what’s up?”
Beau looks relieved when I wedge myself between him and the brunette. Her nose wrinkles when I get too close, and she steps away. There are advantages to sweaty hair and the post-game funk.
“Good game.”
“Thanks. It was a bit of a surprise to see you there.”
“Well, you know we’re a team now, right?” He doesn’t sound as sure of himself as he usually does. Voice a little weak with a hint of a tremor.
“Yup. Does that mean I have to show up to watch your games?” My eyes are locked on his hand as he brings it up to swipe at his hair. There’s a slight tremor, and beads of sweat have popped up on his brow despite the chill in the arena.
“Guess so.”
“Are you okay, Whitaker?”
“I’m fine. But I gotta go.” He sounds short of breath, and his eyes are darting around as if he’s searching for an escape route.
“Right.” Alarm bells are going off in my head. Something is off.
He rushes away, but I’m worried about him. I’ve never seen him less than polished and perfect. He might not be my favorite person in the world, but I’d feel like a massive asshole if I let him go off alone when he needs help.
His long legs eat up the ground as he pushes through the crowd to get into the quieter hall, away from the public eye. Instead of heading for the guys’ dressing room, he swings open a random door and darts inside.
My heartbeat picks up, anxiety rising when there’s no answer to my knock.
I hesitate before pushing it open. What if he’s naked in there or something?
But my concern outweighs my fear, and I push it open slowly.
The room is empty except for a lonely desk with an inch-thick layer of dust on it.
I’m a hundred percent sure he came in here, but where is he?
A gasped breath catches my attention, and I walk over to the desk. He’s sitting on the floor, hidden from view. His head is propped up on his hands, and his chest is moving way too fast.
“Whitaker, should I call an ambulance, grab the medic? What’s going on?”
His head shoots up, and he shakes it at me, eyes wide, but it looks like he’s struggling to catch his breath. So many alarms are going off in my head at the sight of him. Struggling for breath, sweating.
I drop to the ground in front of him. “Hey, eyes on me.” He locks his blue eyes on mine. “Tell me three things you see in the room.”
“You.” He only gets out the one.
“Fair. What color are my eyes?”
He studies me for a beat. “Green, a little blue, some brown.”
“Okay. What about my jersey? What colors do you see?”
His eyes drop to my chest. “Purple, yellow, white.” His words are coming out a little stronger than before, and his breathing is a little more even.
“Great. Now count backward from ten. Can I touch you?”
He nods as he counts, and I place my hand on his shoulder. Just a light touch to ground him and bring him out of his own head.
The words get steadier, and his breath evens out until it’s coming at a nice steady rhythm again.
As soon as he reaches number one, he shifts around, dropping a hand to the floor to push himself back up.
“Where are you going?” I ask him, pressing down on his shoulder in an attempt to keep him from standing up. That’s all I need today. For him to stand up too soon and pass out.
“I should go,” he says, swiping an arm across his face.
“No, you shouldn’t. You should stay here and make sure you’re good before you tear out of here. Drink some water.”
He accepts the purple plastic water bottle I pass him, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he squirts it into his mouth.
“Thanks. But I should get going.”
“Not so fast. Has this happened before?” I suspect the answer is yes, given how quickly he darted out of there and away from prying eyes.
He sighs. “You’re not letting me out of here without talking about this, are you?”
“Nope.”
“Fine. Yes, it’s happened before.”
“Okay. I get it. I started having panic attacks after my mother’s accident. The first time it happened, I thought I was dying.”
His shoulder shifts under my hand as he turns to look at me. “Your mother’s accident?”
“Yes, she was in a car accident when I was in my senior year of high school.”
There’s a look of deep sympathy on his face, and I struggle to find the right words to explain.
He probably thinks I lost her, and I kind of did, but not in the permanent way he’s thinking.
Saying she’s okay is not quite the truth, but I don’t know how much detail to go into.
“She’s alive. Not the same, but she’s okay. ”
His shoulders relax a little.
“Anyway, I started having them at the worst times. During games, in class. It sucked, but Dad found a therapist for my sister and me to talk to. She was nice. I still have monthly appointments because they’ve been helpful.
But she helped me figure out techniques to deal with the anxiety and how to bring myself out of a panic attack. It’s helped me. Knowing I’m not alone.”
Heat creeps up my neck as I realize how focused he is on me. I wouldn’t quite call us friends yet, and I’m spilling all my secrets. But if it helps him, I guess it’s worth the embarrassment.
“I’ve always had anxiety, but this year it’s gotten worse.”
I nod. “You’re under a lot of pressure.”
“Yes. And mental health isn’t really something we talk about in my family. My father considers it a weakness if you can’t control your emotions.” His voice is rough around the edges.
“I’m sorry. So you don’t have anyone to talk to about it?”
“My sister. Sometimes. But she started dating Dev, and it’s been harder to talk to her since then.”
“Yeah, I get it. Well, you can talk to me. I’m here if you need me. But if you’re not seeing a therapist now, it might be something you want to look into.”
“Maybe.”
I shift my legs, skates clashing together, and I glance down. Right. I’m still in full gear. My skin feels tight and itchy with dried sweat, and my ponytail is hanging limp at my back.
“You should probably go get changed. Everyone will be wondering where you disappeared to.”
“Yes, I should. Are you going to be okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine.”
My hand slips from his shoulder as he pushes to his feet. Any hint of vulnerability has been wiped from his face. He straightens to his usual ruler-straight posture, twisting his head back and forth to crack his neck.
“Can you not... tell anyone about this?” he asks.
“I would never.”
“Good. Okay. Thanks. I’ll see you later.” He reaches out to me. His hand is still a little chilly when it closes around mine, and he pulls me to my feet.
“Yup. Listen. If you ever need to talk, you can call me.”
“Sure. Catch you later, Wilder.”
“Bye, Whitaker.”
I stare at his back as he leaves the room. That was unexpected. Now that I’ve seen this side of him, I don’t know that it’ll be so easy to maintain the anger that he tends to inspire in me.