Three On Ice

1

Spencer Maldonado sat in his beat-up Honda Civic and watched the luxury vehicles roll past him into the Eastern University athletic complex parking lot.

A black Range Rover. A silver Mercedes. A bright red Corvette that probably cost more than Spencer's entire childhood home.

He gripped the steering wheel and tried to remember why he had come here.

His sister Lacey had driven him to campus three days ago.

She had helped him carry his boxes up to the tiny dorm room they'd assigned him.

She had hugged him for a long time at the door and told him this was a fresh start.

She had said it like she needed to believe it too.

Spencer had nodded and said nothing. He had spent the last three days in his room, eating protein bars and watching game footage on his laptop. He hadn't met anyone. He hadn't tried.

The parking lot was filling up fast. Players were arriving in groups, laughing and shouting to each other across the asphalt.

They all seemed to know each other. They all seemed to belong.

Spencer watched them from behind his windshield and felt the familiar weight settle in his chest. He was the new kid again.

He was the outsider again. He was the one everyone would be watching and waiting to tear apart.

He grabbed his duffel bag from the passenger seat and got out of the car.

The air was cold and sharp. September in upstate New York meant the rink would be freezing and the practices would be brutal.

Spencer had played in worse conditions. He had played through injuries and insults and the kind of silence that felt louder than screaming. He could handle cold air.

He walked toward the arena entrance and tried to keep his head down.

The building was massive, all glass and steel and Eastern University's green and gold colors splashed across every surface.

Flags hung from the rafters. Banners celebrated past championships.

A giant photograph of last year's team covered one wall, and Spencer could see the faces of his new teammates staring down at him.

He recognized a few of them. Everyone in college hockey knew the Eastern University Eagles.

They were a powerhouse program. They produced NHL talent every year.

They were also notorious for their aggressive playing style and their even more aggressive locker room culture.

Spencer had done his research. He knew about Layton Sears, the captain, the golden boy, the one who would probably go first round in the draft.

He knew about Zavier McCormick, the enforcer, the one who had more penalty minutes than goals and didn't seem to care.

He knew about the rumors that the two of them hated each other, that their rivalry was legendary, that the coaching staff spent half their time trying to keep them from killing each other on the ice.

Spencer had watched their footage. He had studied their playing styles. He had prepared himself for the worst.

Nothing could have prepared him for the noise.

The locker room was chaos. Music was blasting from a portable speaker.

Someone was throwing socks at someone else.

A group of players were gathered around a phone, laughing at something Spencer couldn't see.

The air smelled like sweat and equipment and that particular locker room smell that never quite washed out of your clothes.

Spencer stood in the doorway and felt every pair of eyes swivel toward him.

The music died down. The laughter stopped. Everyone was looking at him.

"Hey," someone said. "You're the transfer. Maldonado, right?"

Spencer nodded. He kept his face neutral and his shoulders relaxed. He had learned a long time ago that showing weakness was the fastest way to get hurt.

"Welcome to the team." The guy who had spoken was tall and lean with dark hair and a friendly smile. He stepped forward and extended his hand. "I'm Drew Matthews. Left wing. I'm also the guy who'll be stealing your food from the team fridge, so fair warning."

Spencer shook his hand. "Thanks. I'll keep my food locked up."

Drew laughed. "Good answer. You'll fit in fine.

" He gestured toward the rest of the room.

"That's Terry King over there. He's our veteran.

Old as dirt, but he can still skate circles around everyone.

That's Reggie Tanner, our goalie. He's weird.

Don't take it personally. And that's Skyler Bradley.

He handles equipment. He also handles all the drama, so if you need anything, go to him. "

Skyler looked up from the bag he was organizing and waved. He was shorter than the others, with sharp eyes that seemed to take in everything at once. Spencer nodded at him and moved toward the empty stall at the end of the row.

The nameplate above it said MALDONADO. Next to it, on either side, were two more nameplates. SEARS. McCORMICK.

Spencer's stomach tightened. Of course. Of course he would be sandwiched between the two most volatile players on the team. He set his duffel bag down on the bench and started unpacking his gear. He could feel people watching him. He ignored them.

The door slammed open and everyone went quiet again.

Layton Sears walked in like he owned the place.

He was tall and blond and so good-looking it almost hurt to look at him.

His jaw was sharp. His eyes were blue. His smile was easy and confident and completely fake.

Spencer had seen that smile in a hundred interviews.

He had seen it flash across Layton's face after goals and wins and every single moment that required him to pretend he was something he wasn't.

Layton didn't look at Spencer. He walked through the room like a king passing through his court, slapping backs and cracking jokes and making everyone feel important.

He stopped at Drew's locker and said something that made Drew laugh.

He stopped at Terry's locker and clapped him on the shoulder.

He made his way down the row toward his own stall and Spencer watched him approach.

Layton stopped at his locker and started pulling off his jacket. He still hadn't looked at Spencer. He was pretending Spencer didn't exist.

"Did everyone get the email about the new formation?" Layton asked the room. "Coach sent it out last night. I want to run it a few times before the scrimmage."

"We got it," Terry said. "Looks solid. A little complex, but solid."

"It's not complex. It's just different." Layton pulled his jersey over his head. "We've been running the same plays for three years. Time to shake things up."

"I liked the old plays," Reggie muttered. "The old plays worked."

"The old plays got us knocked out in the semifinals." Layton's voice was sharp. "We need something new. Something aggressive. Something that's going to make the scouts sit up and take notice."

Spencer kept his head down. He was lacing his skates and trying to disappear. He didn't want to be noticed. He didn't want to be part of this conversation. He just wanted to get on the ice and play the game he loved and prove that he deserved to be here.

The door slammed open again and this time the room went cold.

Zavier McCormick filled the doorway. He was huge, broad through the shoulders and thick through the chest, with dark hair and darker eyes and a permanent scowl that made him look like he was ready to fight someone at any moment.

He didn't smile. He didn't crack jokes. He walked through the locker room like a storm front rolling in, and everyone got out of his way.

He stopped at his locker. He looked at Spencer for the first time.

Spencer looked back. He kept his face neutral.

He had faced down bigger men than Zavier McCormick.

He had faced down his own father, belt in hand, screaming at him for being something he couldn't change.

He had faced down a locker room full of teammates who had turned on him overnight.

He could face down one hockey player with a bad attitude.

Zavier stared at him for a long moment. Then he turned away and started pulling on his gear.

"All right," Layton said. "Let's get on the ice. Coach wants us there in five."

The locker room erupted into motion. Guys were grabbing sticks and helmets and shin guards. Spencer finished lacing his skates and stood up. He was ready. He had been ready for this moment since the day he signed his transfer papers.

He followed the flow of players toward the ice and tried to stay out of everyone's way.

The rink was cold and bright and smelled like frozen water and ambition.

Spencer stepped onto the ice and felt that familiar rush, that moment of pure clarity that came every time his blades touched the surface.

This was where he belonged. This was the only place he had ever felt at home.

The rest of the world could do whatever it wanted. On the ice, he was in control.

Coach Miller blew his whistle and everyone gathered at center ice.

He was a short man with a barrel chest and a voice that could cut through concrete.

He had been coaching Eastern for fifteen years.

He had a reputation for being tough but fair, for demanding excellence and accepting nothing less.

Spencer respected that. He needed a coach who would push him.

"All right, listen up," Coach said. "This is our first official practice of the season. I know some of you are nervous. I know some of you are excited. I don't care. I want to see execution. I want to see precision. I want to see the kind of hockey that wins championships."

He looked around the ice. His eyes landed on Spencer.

"Maldonado. Welcome to the team. I know you're coming from Northwood. I know you had a rough time there. That doesn't matter here. What matters is what you do on this ice. You have talent. I've watched your footage. Now I want to see if you can use it."

Spencer nodded. "Yes, Coach."