Hockey sticks clack into hard, black pucks.
Ice sprays like fine diamonds into the air.
Trainees from all over the country buzz with energy, skidding from one corner of the ice to the other. Laughter rings out. Harmless ribbing. The kind of smack talk that would start a brawl if spoken anywhere outside of the rink.
This is home.
But then I see Max, the giant team manager, jotting something down on a clipboard, watching the other trainees with intense eyes.
Then his eyes skip to me.
I raise my hand in a friendly wave.
Max doesn’t wave back.
He doesn’t jot anything down.
And a dark, uneasy feeling tightens in my chest.
No, this isn’t home.
This is a gladiator ring.
Next week, someone—or many someones—are going home.
And I can’t afford to be one of them.
Chapter Three
RILEY
My first twenty-four hours as manager of Stewart’s Auto Shop (we really need a new name for this place) is spent cleaning every nook and cranny.
During those twenty-four hours, it’s just me and a recovering Jimmy who complains about his bad back every forty minutes.
Like clockwork.
However, on the second day, three of my four mechanics show up.
“Hey, I’m Riley Carter.” I extend a hand to the shorter, more heavy-set man with the full, black mustache and oily hair. He’s wearing a pair of dirty over-alls that haven’t seen a wash since a decade ago and has drowsy brown eyes. “Your name is…”
He lets the silence stretch before filling it in with his name. “Carlos.”
“How’s your mother doing?”
“My mother?”
“You had to take your mother to the hospital yesterday, right?”
“R-right. Uh… my mom is great. She’s fine.”
“That’s a relief. What did the doctors say? What kind of medicine did they prescribe?”
Carlos’s palm turns sweaty and he slips his hand out of mine. “N-no medicine. I mean, her tests were… I mean, she just needs to rest more.”
“What a relief. I’m so glad your mother’s okay. I hope she remains healthy and you don’t need to take any more days off without properly informing me first.”
His cheeks turn splotchy and his gaze hammers the ground.
