Focus.
My eyes snap back to Coach just as he drops the puck into the corner. I explode off the line, get there first, and pin it with my skates. Coleson arrives like a freight train. If he were Kai—who I’m normally paired up with—he wouldn’t hit dirty in practice. Kai plays clean and smart and still manages to make you feel like you got hit by a truck.
But Coleson isn’t Kai. He only wishes he were.
He slams into me at full force. The puck pops free.
“OOOOH!” Weston’s voice echoes through the rink. “Coleson, bro, lighten up on the hits!”
I grind my teeth.
Coleson’s voice is low, close to my ear. “What’s wrong, Bennett? That’s seriously the best you can do?”
I twist my head slightly, our cages mere inches apart. “You enjoying this?” I mutter.
His mouth morphs into a cocky smirk. “A lot.”
We reset. Coach drops another puck. This time, I take a wider stance, dropping my center of gravity. I’ve been playing against assholes like this long enough to clock their habits fast. I take the contact, roll my hips, and kick the puck out with my skate instead of trying to muscle it.
It slides into the slot.
Asher’s already there—because of course he is—but I know where his weaker spots are.
I shoot.
The net pops.
Score.
Coach’s whistle cuts through the arena. “That’s it! That’s the play, Bennett!”
Weston throws his arms up like he participated. “I assisted spiritually.”
I’m coasting back to the line when Kai glides in front of Coleson, but he doesn’t touch him. He doesn’t need to. Kai gets his attention instantly, meeting Coleson’s eyes as he says, “We go hard, but we don’t go stupid.”
Coleson’s smirk falters, but Kai’s gaze doesn’t.
“Coach,” Kai calls, voice level, the way a captain keeps it clean. “Can we keep contact controlled? We’ve got a game this week.”
Coach Graves looks like he wants to argue on principle, but he also respects Kai more than he’ll ever admit out loud. “Fine,” he barks. “Control yourself, Richards. Keep it moving.”
Coleson says nothing and skates back into line.
And for the rest of the drill, he plays like someone who suddenly remembers there are consequences.
I head to the bench for water, and that’s when I see him.
The scout by the glass wearing a dark sweatshirt, a clipboard in one hand, his cellphone in the other. His expression is bored enough to look like he’s watching paint dry while simultaneously holding my future by the balls. My stomach squeezes before I can stop it.
Weston follows my gaze and whistles low. “Your boyfriend’s back.”
“I didn’t get enough sleep to deal with you today,” I say, taking a long drink from my bottle.
Weston’s grin shifts, just slightly—something softer under the joke. “Relax. He’s probably here for Kai anyway.” He’s lying, and we both know it, but I appreciate the effort.
Kai skates by, unbothered, like the scout doesn’t even exist. No—worse. Like he’s trained himself not to acknowledge pressure because the moment he does, it becomes contagious.
Must be nice.
