1
MARCUS
Some guys get allthe glory…
Sitting there on the bench, Marcus couldn’t help but feel envious. The screams were deafening, and the signs, banners, and jerseys he saw in the stands were for everyone else but him. He was the newbie. The crowd loved the ‘main team’ – or so they called it – and he?
He was invisible.
A benchwarmer.
A nobody.
A green rookie who had somehow slipped through the cracks and landed in a place he wasn’t sure he belonged.
He shifted on the bench, the weight of his gear suddenly feeling heavier than it should. He’d done everything right to get here. He worked harder. Stayed quieter. Even lied to secure his spot on the Wolverines hockey team.
Marcus bought a cheap ring at Walmart to make himself look married when he met with the coach of the Wolverines. He wasn’t married. Heck, he was barely twenty-five, and this was his first chance at the ‘big boys club’ at the ‘boy aquarium’ inQuebec. It wasn’t like he was rejected or anything; he just didn’t feel like he fit in.
There were twenty-six guys on this team – not seven.
“Shaw!”
Marcus jerked his head up so fast his neck twinged. His gaze collided with Captain Liam Savage’s sharp stare. Savage—cool, composed, untouchable—stood at the center of everything, a natural leader with a stupid nickname and a fanbase that worshipped the ice he skated on. One of the ‘Elite Seven’… or so he’d dubbed them. Before he could answer, Jett Acton leaned in, smacking Marcus lightly in the chest with his gloved hand.
“Yeah, Green-Bean,” Jett jeered, a grin tugging at his mouth. “This ain’t the AHL or U-Sports. You get to hang with the big boys now. When he talks, you listen.”
A ripple of laughter moved through the bench.
“Thank you, Acton,” Savage said with a chuckle.
Jett leaned closer, voice dropping just enough to carry. “And when I talk—you listen too, Newbie.”
Marcus nodded immediately. He had no interest in rocking the boat. No interest in drawing the wrong kind of attention. He’d learned that much already: if you wanted ice time, you kept your head down and played nice. Favorites stayed favorites. Rookies stayed quiet.
He swallowed and met Savage’s eyes again, catching something like concern there—brief, but real.
“I’m listening, sir.”
“All right guys, now let’s get back to it. We’re about to hit the ice with the Kodiaks, and they slaughtered the last team, leaving a few of their players injured. We’ve got to get the puck, keep it, and do everything we can to score a point.”
“Quick note, fellas,” Coach Starnes interrupted. “When we hit the ice, try to keep Toby in your thoughts and prayers. He tore his hamstring jogging this weekend and we’ve got areplacement filling in for the guy. Harper should be just fine and will also be attending the Christmas party with everyone – so be nice.”
“We’re always nice,” Jett sassed.
“As long as we muzzle Jett – we’re good,” Kenneth Salas volunteered, garnering a few laughs as Jett stuck out his tongue at the other man.
Thirty minutes later, Marcus was back in his usual spot.
Watching.
Waiting.
Wishing.
The ice gleamed under the lights as the game surged on without him. He tracked every pass, every hit, every near miss with aching precision. His stick was taped to perfection. His hydration? Impeccable. His body rested, coiled, ready.
Too ready.
