“Get into two lines! Now!” Coach Lazovsky swept his hand out and blew his whistle at the same time, a deafening shriek that echoed around the rink. We obediently split into two lines as indicated, ready to start our skating drills. Technically, practice wasn’t supposed to begin until tomorrow when the semester officially started, but Coachwanted the team to get a head start. A large percentage of the players hadn’t touched ice over the summer, especially those of us with certain family obligations, and we were all rusty.
While I was waiting for my teammates to take their places, I glanced around the rink, taking in the minor changes from last season. A couple of new banners hung from the ceiling, and the scratched, battered plastic around the edges had been replaced with shiny, new tempered glass.
The rink itself was public, but it was located in Whelford, and therefore, Whelford University’s team, the Whelford Flames, had claimed it as their own. Despite the fact that the Cranham Kings had to share with them. Despite the fact that the public got to use it too. Despite the fact that no other UK university had their own private rink, so it wasn’t as if we were at a disadvantage against the other teams.
I shared Dan’s hatred of Whelford. While mine wasn’t personal, I hated the fact that they were not only our local rivals, but they also looked down on us. Yeah, we were small in numbers compared to them. Yeah, a large majority of Cranham Uni students were either rich through questionable family means, or they were forced to attend as a punishment for whatever reason. But who gave a fuck about that? Money was money, no matter how you made it.
“Jay.” Ryker tapped his stick against mine, and I snapped to attention, pushing off.
That first skate felt like coming home, and a smile tugged at my lips. When I was skating, I forgot about my problems. I forgot my dislike for Volkov, and he became my teammate, my goalie, someone I knew had my back until we left the ice. My body fell into the familiar rhythm, glidingacross the ice like I’d been born to do it, the slap of the puck connecting with the stick seeming to echo around the rink.
We split to do some one-on-one drills before lining up to take practice shots at the net. That was when everything went wrong. Volkov’s icy gaze met mine, and although his face was obscured by the cage of his goalie mask, I could read the taunt in his eyes. The smug certainty that I could try my best, but I wasn’t going to be able to score.
Gritting my teeth, I readied my stance, my fingers flexing on my stick.Focus. I skated forwards, swung my stick, and let the puck fly.
Volkov dived for it, catching the puck with ease. He raised his gloved hand, holding the puck, and— Yeah, that was a definite smirk. I wanted to punch him in his smug fucking face.
Coach’s whistle blew. “Again!”
Volkov saved it with ease. Again.
And again.
“Attwood!” Coach shouted. He skated to the goal, beckoning me over with a sharp jerk of his head. When I reached him, he jabbed his finger at me and then at Volkov.
“Attwood. You’re one of our best forwards, and your best isn’t good enough. You see this net?” He wrenched my stick from my hand, banging it against the metal frame. “The puck goes inside. Got that? I want you to work with Volkov. Extra drills. I don’t care when or where, I want your shots to be on target, and I want them to fucking get in the net.”
“Yes, Coach,” I muttered.
“Volkov. Good job.” He clapped Volkov on the back before skating away.
When he was gone, Volkov gave me another smug look. I understood why Dan always said Bellingham had apunchable face. Because this guy did too. It would be so fucking satisfying to rip his mask off and just?—
“Extra practice. Hmmm. I have prior arrangements with my in-laws tomorrow to discuss plans for the engagement party, and a suit fitting on Tuesday… I’ll have to consult my calendar and let you know.”
They’re not your fucking in-laws yet. I straightened up, throwing my shoulders back. “You don’t get to decide for me.”
“I have seniority here, Banks. Don’t forget, I was here first.”
The fact that he was using the nickname my closest friend had decided to bestow on me had me seeing red. I launched myself at him, swinging my gloved fist at his jaw, despite the fact that his goalie mask was in the way of my target.
There was a split-second expression of shock on his face before he roared, dropping his stick and flying forwards, sending us crashing to the ice. I was dimly aware of the shouts and blasts of the whistle, and then his heavy weight was gone.
I stood there, panting as Coach screamed at me before sending me off the ice. Alone in the locker room, I dropped my head into my hands, exhaling heavily. Why had I let my temper get the better of me? Why? I wasn’t a fucking hothead like some of my teammates.
What was it about Anton Volkov that made me lose all rationality?
5
NOVA
Walking through the cold, austere halls of Cranham University, I could almost kid myself that everything was the same as it had been last year. But it wasn’t. I would soon be an engaged woman, and my fingers would no longer be free of jewellery. My left hand would carry the heavy weight of my burden. My permanent reminder of the part I had to play.
The original plan was that my engagement would happen in the summer after my second year of university, with the wedding taking place the following summer. It felt far away enough that I’d been mostly able to pretend it wasn’t happening until now, especially because I rarely interacted with Anton. But with the pieces moving into place much more quickly than I wanted, the negotiations had been accelerated, and I was to become an engaged woman far sooner than planned. Bargained for, traded like a commodity, a product of the twisted agreement between the Thorpes and the Volkovs.
I shifted my bag on my shoulder, scanning the corridors as I made my way to the lecture hall. No one spoke to me,but everyone spoke about me. I could hear the whispers. See the envious stares—after all, who wouldn’t want to lock down the handsome, untouchable Anton Volkov? Tall and broad-shouldered, with dirty-blond hair and icy blue eyes, skilled on and off the ice, not to mention the rumours of just how ruthless he could be when his enemies crossed him… Yes. There were plenty of others who’d gladly take my place.
It was unfortunate that I felt nothing for him. Not a thing. But maybe that was me. No one else had ever made my heart race, my breath catch in my throat, my?—
