3
Layton Sears sat in his apartment and stared at the ceiling.
He had been lying in bed for an hour, unable to sleep, his mind racing with images he couldn't stop replaying.
Spencer's face smashing into the ice. Spencer's blood dripping onto his jersey.
Spencer's blank expression as he got up and skated away like nothing had happened.
Layton had hit a lot of players. He had delivered a lot of legal checks.
He had never felt anything afterward. He had never spent an entire night thinking about the person he had hit.
He didn't understand why Spencer was different.
He didn't understand why he couldn't stop picturing those dark eyes and that split lip and the way Spencer had just accepted the hit like he expected it.
He had expected it. That was the thing. Spencer had looked at Layton after he got up, and there had been no surprise in his eyes. There had been no anger. There had been just that flat, hollow acceptance, like he had been hit so many times that one more didn't matter.
Layton rolled over and punched his pillow. He had practice in four hours. He needed to sleep. He couldn't sleep.
He got up and walked to his kitchen and poured himself a glass of water.
His apartment was nice. Too nice for a college student.
His parents had money, and they had made sure he had everything he needed to succeed.
A good apartment. A good car. A good education.
Everything had been handed to him, and he had worked hard to make sure everyone knew he deserved it.
He had worked hard to be the best. He had trained harder than anyone.
He had studied game footage until his eyes burned.
He had sacrificed parties and relationships and everything else that normal college students got to enjoy.
He was going to be the first round draft pick.
He was going to make the NHL. He was going to be the best player Eastern had ever produced.
And then Spencer Maldonado had shown up and made him look like an amateur.
Layton slammed the glass down on the counter. He was being ridiculous. He was being paranoid. Spencer was just one player. One transfer from a mediocre program. He couldn't be that good. He couldn't be better than Layton.
But he was. Layton had seen it with his own eyes. Spencer was faster. Spencer was more precise. Spencer made the game look easy in a way that Layton had never been able to manage.
Layton had spent his whole life being the best. He had spent his whole life believing that he was special, that he was destined for greatness. And now there was someone who was better than him. Someone who didn't even seem to care.
That was what really bothered Layton. Spencer didn't care. He didn't care about being the best. He didn't care about impressing anyone. He just played the game like it was the only thing that mattered, and he was so good at it that it made Layton's teeth ache.
Layton went back to bed and stared at the ceiling until his alarm went off.
Practice was brutal. Coach Miller had them running drills for two hours straight, and Layton was exhausted and angry and couldn't stop thinking about Spencer. Spencer was everywhere. Spencer was scoring goals and making assists and skating circles around everyone like it was nothing.
Layton hated him. He hated him with a pure, clean hatred that felt almost good.
It was easier to hate Spencer than to admit the truth.
The truth was that Layton was scared. He was scared of being replaced.
He was scared of being forgotten. He was scared that everything he had worked for was going to disappear.
Coach Miller blew his whistle and called the team together. "Everyone off the ice. I want to see Sears in my office."
Layton's stomach dropped. He skated off the ice and walked toward the coach's office, his heart pounding. He had been called to the coach's office before. It was never good.
Coach Miller's office was small and cluttered with papers and trophies and photographs of championship teams. Coach sat behind his desk and gestured for Layton to sit down. Layton sat.
"You know why I called you here," Coach said.
Layton said, "No, Coach. I don't."
"Your team is a mess." Coach's voice was flat and hard. "The chemistry is gone. The new kid is better than you, and you're too busy being petty to see it."
Layton bristled. "He's—"
"He's exactly what this team needs." Coach cut him off. "And you're going to figure out how to work with him. All three of you are."
Layton stared at him. "What do you mean, all three of us?"
Coach leaned back in his chair. "I'm making some changes. Sears, you're a great player. You're one of the best I've ever coached. But you're not a leader. Not yet. You've been coasting on talent and ego, and that's not going to work anymore."
Layton's face went red. "I'm the captain. I've been the captain for two years. I've led this team to—"
"To the semifinals. Not the championship. There's a difference." Coach's voice was cold. "You need help. You need people who can challenge you. People who can make you better."
Layton opened his mouth to argue, but Coach held up his hand.
"I'm making you, McCormick, and Maldonado co-captains. You'll share the responsibilities and the leadership. You'll figure out how to work together, or you'll all sit on the bench."
Layton was speechless. He couldn't process what he was hearing. Co-captains. With Zavier. With Spencer. The two people he hated most in the world.
"Coach, you can't be serious," Layton said. "McCormick can't lead anything. He can barely speak to people. And Maldonado just got here. He doesn't know anyone. He doesn't know the system. He doesn't—"
"He knows how to play hockey." Coach's voice was sharp.
"That's more than I can say for some people on this team.
You've been coasting, Sears. You've been relying on your natural talent and your family name.
Maldonado had to fight for everything he's got.
McCormick had to fight too. You're going to learn from them, whether you like it or not. "
Layton wanted to scream. He wanted to punch the wall. He wanted to walk out of the office and never come back. Instead, he sat there and forced his face into a neutral expression.
"Yes, Coach," he said. His voice was hollow.
"Good." Coach stood up. "I'm announcing it at the team meeting this afternoon. You'll be expected to work together. That means no more cheap shots. No more trash talk. No more treating your teammates like enemies."
Layton nodded. He stood up and walked out of the office.
The team meeting was in the main conference room.
Everyone was there: the players, the coaching staff, the equipment managers.
Spencer was sitting in the back, his bruised face still swollen and discolored.
Zavier was on the other side of the room, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable.
Layton sat down in the front row and tried to prepare himself.
Coach Miller walked to the front of the room. "I have an announcement. Effective immediately, we're changing the leadership structure of this team. Layton Sears will no longer be the sole captain. Instead, we'll have three co-captains."
The room erupted into whispers. Layton could feel everyone's eyes on him.
"Layton Sears. Zavier McCormick. Spencer Maldonado." Coach looked at all three of them. "You're the best players on this team. You need to figure out how to work together. Until you do, no one plays."
The room went silent. Layton could feel his face burning. He could feel Zavier's glare from across the room. He could feel Spencer's quiet stillness.
Coach said, "That's all. You're dismissed."
Everyone filed out of the room. Layton stayed in his seat. Zavier stayed in his. Spencer stayed in his.
The door closed behind the last player. They were alone.
Layton stood up and started pacing. "This is bullshit. I earned the captaincy. I worked my ass off. You two don't get to waltz in and—"
"We don't want it." Spencer's voice was quiet. "I didn't ask for this."
Zavier snorted. "You think I want to be co-captain with the biggest ego on the team?"
Layton rounded on him. "What did you say?"
"I said," Zavier stood up, his full height towering over Layton, "that you're a narcissistic asshole who can't handle anyone being better than him."
Layton laughed, but it was hollow. "Better than me? The new kid has one good practice and you're already—"
"He is better than you." Zavier's voice was flat and cold. "He's better than both of us. And you can't stand it."
Spencer looked up from his doodles. His expression was unreadable. "Can we not do this? Can we just figure out how to not kill each other?"
Layton and Zavier both looked at him. He was so calm. So unaffected. It drove them both crazy.
Layton said, "I don't need to figure out anything. I've been doing this for three years. You two can follow my lead, or you can get out of the way."
Zavier stepped forward. "Or what, Sears? What are you going to do?"
"Enough." Spencer's voice was sharp. "We're going to have to work together whether we like it or not. So let's figure out how to do that without killing each other."
Layton opened his mouth to argue, but something in Spencer's expression stopped him. There was steel there. There was strength. Spencer looked like he had been through things that made this argument seem petty and small.
Layton said, "Fine. What do you propose?"
Spencer shrugged. "We talk. We come up with a plan. We treat each other like adults."
Zavier snorted. "Great plan. Very detailed."
"Do you have a better one?" Spencer looked at him.
Zavier was silent for a moment. Then he shook his head. "No."
"Then let's talk."
They talked for an hour. It was painful and awkward and full of passive-aggressive jabs. But they talked. They talked about practice schedules and formations and how to handle the other players. They talked about everything except the things that really mattered.
When they finally left the room, Layton felt exhausted and angry and confused. He didn't understand why Coach had done this. He didn't understand why he had been forced to work with two people he couldn't stand.
He didn't understand why he couldn't stop thinking about Spencer's bruised face and quiet voice and the way he had looked at Layton like he was seeing right through him.
Practice the next day was even worse. Everyone was on edge. The team was divided, some players siding with Layton, some with Zavier, most just trying to stay out of the way. Spencer was in the middle of it all, doing his best to keep everyone focused on the game.
Layton watched him during a drill. Spencer was working with a group of freshmen, showing them how to position themselves for a breakaway. He was patient and clear and completely focused on the task.
Zavier was on the other side of the ice, running drills with the veterans. He was intense and demanding and refused to accept anything less than perfection.
They were both good leaders. Layton hated admitting it. They were both better than him.
He skated over to Spencer. "We need to talk about the formation for the scrimmage."
Spencer looked at him. His expression was wary. "Okay. What about it?"
"I want to run the new play. The one Coach showed us yesterday."
Spencer nodded. "That's a good idea. It'll confuse their defense."
"I know." Layton's voice was sharp. "That's why I suggested it."
Spencer didn't react. He just nodded again. "Let's run it during the next drill. I'll take the left side. Zavier can take the right."
"Zavier can't handle the right side. He's too slow."
Spencer looked at him. "He's not slow. He's smart. He knows how to read the play."
Layton opened his mouth to argue, but Spencer was already skating away.
The drill was a disaster. Layton and Zavier couldn't agree on anything. They argued about positioning and timing and who was supposed to cover which player. Spencer tried to mediate, but it was hopeless. The two of them were too busy trying to prove each other wrong.
Coach Miller blew his whistle. "Everyone off the ice. I want to see the co-captains in the locker room."
The locker room was empty except for the three of them. Layton was still angry. Zavier was furious. Spencer was exhausted.
Coach walked in and closed the door. "What the hell was that?"
"Ask him," Layton said, pointing at Zavier. "He can't follow a simple play."
"Ask him," Zavier said, pointing at Layton. "He can't stop trying to be the hero."
Coach held up his hand. "I don't care who's to blame. I care about results. And right now, the results are terrible."
Spencer said, "We're working on it, Coach. It's going to take time."
"Time is a luxury you don't have." Coach's voice was hard. "You have one week to figure this out. One week to start playing like a team. If you can't do that, I'll bench all three of you."
He walked out.
The silence was deafening.
Layton sat down on a bench and stared at the floor. He was exhausted. He was frustrated. He didn't know how to fix this.
Zavier sat down across from him. Spencer sat down between them.
"This is impossible," Zavier said. "We can't work together. We hate each other."
"Then maybe we should figure out why," Spencer said. "Maybe we should stop pretending we don't have anything in common."
Layton looked at him. "We don't have anything in common."
Spencer looked back. "We're all hockey players. We're all on this team. We all want to win. That's enough to start with."
Zavier was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, "Fine. Let's start with that."
They sat in the locker room for another hour. They talked about hockey. They talked about the season. They talked about everything except the things that really mattered.
But it was a start.
That night, Layton was in his apartment. He had been drinking. He shouldn't have been drinking, but he couldn't stop thinking about the day. He couldn't stop thinking about Spencer.
He pulled out his phone. He had Spencer's number from the team group chat. He typed a message. Deleted it. Typed again.
Layton: You okay? After today.
He stared at the message for ten minutes before sending it.
Spencer replied within seconds.
Spencer: I'm fine. Goodnight.
Layton threw his phone across the room. He wasn't fine. None of them were fine.