39. Wren
WREN
The arena is packed wall-to-wall with screaming fans, every seat filled, every inch of the building vibrating with nervous energy.
Blue and silver flood one side of the stands.
Purple and gold dominate the other. The noise is relentless, bouncing off the glass and steel until it feels like the entire building is breathing.
It’s been a while since I’ve been inside the BSU arena where the final game of the season is taking place. Being back in Blackstone feels like coming home, and yet…I’m not as nostalgic to be back as I would have been six months ago. A part of me has moved on. Found a home in Valehurst.
Unlike last time the Kings played the Steelhawks, I’m wearing a purple jersey and standing on the Valehurst side of the rink. I stand near the Kings bench with the rest of the team’s staff, my arms folded tightly across my chest as I watch the clock tick down toward the start of the second period.
My stomach has been in knots since puck drop. Not just because it’s the biggest game of the season, but because somehow, against all odds, the universe has decided to make me choose.
My current team versus my old team.
My boyfriends versus my best friend.
The Kings versus the Steelhawks.
Every time the Steelhawks score, guilt twists in my chest because Dylan is out there fighting for her season. Every time the Kings generate a scoring chance, my pulse spikes because three people I love are chasing the same dream.
It’s impossible.
I want everyone to win.
Unfortunately, hockey doesn’t work that way.
The buzzer blares, practically making me jump. I’ve chewed my nails down to the quick already, and my fingers make their way back to my mouth as players begin skating back onto the ice for the start of the second period.
I find Ronan immediately. Then Silas, and finally Lucian.
A familiar smile tugs at my lips despite the tension.
The three of them always stand out. Ronan looks calm and composed, talking strategy with a defenseman beside him. Silas is already focused, visor lowered, attention fixed on center ice.
Lucian—
My smile falters.
Something’s wrong.
My gaze runs over him, noting the tightness of his shoulders beneath his jersey, the way his eye is twitching, the snarl curling his lips.
Something is very wrong.
His focus is fixed on something across the ice, and following his line of sight, I find Isaac. The two of them have never gotten along, and I know the rivalry between them has only gotten worse this season. Still, the way Lucian is looking at him sends a chill down my spine.
When the puck drops, I’m even more anxious than before. Rightly so. All hell immediately breaks loose. It happens so fast I almost miss it. Isaac gains possession along the boards, and instead of supporting him, Lucian turns and drives straight through him, the collision enough to shake the glass.
The crowd erupts. Those who are here for the violence cheer him on. Those who are here for the game are as confused as I am. Teammate going after teammate is practically unheard of, especially in a championship game.
Isaac slams into the boards and stays down for a second. It’s only a second, but it’s enough for the entire arena to notice.
The referee skates in immediately, shoving Lucian back.
Isaac gets to his feet, glaring. Lucian says something.
Whatever it is, Isaac’s face darkens instantly.
The referee separates them with a word of warning before either can react.
For a moment, I think that’s the end of it, but the back of my neck prickles with the spidy-sense that this is far from over.
“What the hell is going on?” I mutter to no one in particular. Everyone around me is as enraptured with the showdown on the ice as I am.
Play continues. The Steelhawks clear the zone, and Isaac jumps back into the rush. Lucian follows, but he’s not interested in the play. He’s chasing Isaac across the ice like a fox after a rabbit.
Thirty seconds later, he drives Isaac into the boards again. Harder this time.
The referee blows the whistle while making his way toward them. Lucian doesn’t pay him any attention as he shoves Isaac with enough force that Isaac’s head snaps back.
Isaac immediately shoves him back.
Words are exchanged, sharp, fast, and angry.
As their fight devolves into thrown fists, linemen rush between them.
Around me, confusion spreads through the arena. Fans are standing now, their phones out and cameras rolling. Nobody is watching the game anymore; they’re watching Lucian. The commentators fan the flames, talking about a rivalry boiling over, about Lucian’s well-known streak for recklessness.
Except this is not Lucian’s normal behavior. He’s reckless, yes, but he would never compromise a game—compromise his position on the ice—to go after a teammate, regardless of the rivalry between them.
I’ve seen Lucian angry before, but I have never seen him like this. He’s practically foaming at the mouth as he hounds Isaac, ripping away from the players holding him back just so he can get another shot at him.
Whatever this is, it feels different. It feels personal.
Searching the sea of purple jerseys, I find Ronan and Silas in the thick of it as they try to peel Lucian away, but every time they manage to create an inch of space, Lucian breaks free and closes the gap.
Blood streaks the ice. Isaac’s helmet comes loose and slides away.
Eventually, enough players manage to pull the two of them apart with enough distance that the referee can get between them. That calms the chaos…
…For exactly forty-three seconds.
Lucian digs his skates into the ice and launches himself across the rink. The collision is brutal. The sound echoes across the arena. Gasps ripple through the crowd.
The whistle shrieks.
The entire arena gasps. It’s the kind of sound people make when they witness something shocking.
Whoever wasn’t already in the fray immediately rushes forward.
Isaac doesn’t even get a chance to hit the ice before Lucian follows him down. He rains blows at Isaac’s face, torso, and sides like a man possessed.
Coach is screaming from the sidelines.
The Steelhawks join in an attempt to break the two men apart.
And through all of it, Lucian keeps hitting Isaac.
My heart slams against my ribs. “What is he doing?”
Nobody answers. Nobody can. Because nothing about this makes sense.
Officials flood the ice. It takes five of them to finally pull Lucian away so medics can get in to check on Isaac.
Isaac is yelling something. Whatever he says has Lucian lunging again.
Thankfully, the hold the officials have on him remains. They pull him further away from Isaac, and I catch a glimpse of his face. The look he’s wearing steals the air from my lungs.
I’ve never seen him look like that. Not once. Not even during his worst fights.
This isn’t anger. It’s rage.
Pure. Unfiltered. Rage.
It’s the kind that doesn’t care who’s watching or what the consequences are. The kind that only exists when something has broken.
Referees wrestle Lucian off the ice.
“Game misconduct,” the commentators announce for everyone watching. “Caulfield has been ejected from the game.”
The crowd reacts instantly.
I shake my head, not understanding what the fuck is happening.
Lucian loves hockey. He loves it enough to build his entire life around it. Yet he just threw away the biggest game of his career without a second thought. Which means whatever this is…
Whatever Isaac did…
Lucian thinks it’s worth more than the Frozen Four.
Shocked and unable to wrap my head around what I’m witnessing, I look toward Coach Wexler. He looks ready to commit murder because Lucian has just blown up our championship game.
And the worst part?
As he’s dragged toward the tunnel, he doesn’t look sorry. He doesn’t look regretful. He looks like he hasn’t gotten enough.
Just before he disappears, his gaze finds mine. Rage darkens his gray eyes, but something else slips through. Something raw. Broken.
I take a step toward him.
I want to yell and scream at him, but more than that, I want to wipe that look from his face and make it so he never looks at me that way again.
I don’t get to do any of that, though.
An official jerks him forward, and the moment slips away.
In a daze, I turn toward the ice. Isaac is still there. Blood sheets down his face. One eye is already swelling shut, and his nose sits at an angle noses aren’t supposed to sit at. He spits a mouthful of blood onto the ice, and something white lands with it. A tooth.
I recoil. It’s the one thing about hockey players that grosses me out.
A medic shines a penlight into Isaac’s eyes while another presses gauze against a laceration on his face. It takes them a while to check him over, and when they finally attempt to help him up onto his skates, his legs buckle beneath him.
The crowd falls strangely quiet, and we all stand witness to the extent of his injuries as a stretcher is brought out to carry him off the ice. There is no way he will be finishing out the game. Hell, it looks like he will be spending the next week in a hospital bed.
Seeking out Ronan and Silas in the hopes of gaining some answers, I notice them exchange a look.
Neither of them looks surprised at the violence that just unfolded.
Whatever has pissed Lucian off, they know about it.
They know what it is. It’s safe to say, I no longer give a shit about who wins, because whatever is happening out there…
It’s bigger than hockey.
I barely even register the final buzzer when it sounds. The Steelhawks erupt in cheers, yet I feel nothing. I haven’t been able to think of anything else since Lucian was taken off the ice. The only reason I haven’t already sought him out is because I have a job to do.
But now that’s done.
Around me, Kings staff stare out at the ice in stunned silence. Some look devastated. Others look angry. Coach Wexler is already storming toward the tunnel, his face thunderous.
The season is over.
The championship is gone.
I’ve never cared less about a hockey game.