A few heads lifted. Mine stayed where it was, fixed on the scuffed floor between my skates.
“Aiden, you’re centering second.”
The words took a second to register because I’d trained myself not to expect them.
Shawn, two lockers down, let out a low whistle. He was rolling his shoulders under his pads, testing the range. “There you go.”
I looked over at him.
He nodded once, sweat darkening the collar of his undershirt. “You earned it.”
He didn’t sound threatened. He sounded relieved, if anything. Last season took a chunk out of him. Rehab, conditioning, watching from the press box while someone else filled his spot. He’d fought his way back and still talked about gas in the tank like it was something he rationed.
Coach kept talking about matchups, but my focus shifted across the room.
Mason sat directly opposite me, elbows on his thighs, gloves dangling from his hands. First line center. Captain in everything but title. When Coach announced the change, Mason’s jaw tightened. He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t question it. He just looked at the board a fraction longer than necessary before reaching down to tighten the strap on his shin pad.
Everything he wasn’t saying crept into the tension seeping over the locker room. Because why did I get bumped up and nobody else?
Coach finished, told us to keep shifts short, and clapped his hands once. “Let’s go to work.”
The room broke into motion. Sticks lifted. Helmets snapped into place. I stood and slid my mouthguard between my teeth, then reached up to adjust the strap at the back of my helmet.
Shawn stepped in front of me to get to the door, shoulder brushing my arm as he passed. “Second line suits you,” he said, not slowing down. “Don’t make it awkward.”
I gave him a look. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
He grinned and kept moving.
We funneled into the hallway in pairs. The concrete under my blades scraped faintly as I walked, stick tucked against my side. The sound from the arena filtered through the walls, a steady swell that rose and fell.
Mason walked ahead of me with Grayson. Close enough that I could see the number on the back of his jersey. Far enough that they didn’t have to lower their voices much.
I didn’t mean to listen. I just didn’t have anywhere else to put my attention.
“We’re not a charity team,” Mason said. His tone stayed even, but there was weight under it. “Ice time isn’t a participation trophy.”
Grayson adjusted his gloves as he walked. “Coach isn’t handing out any favors. Santos is good. He’s been solid every time I’ve shared game time with him.”
Hearing Grayson stick up for me was unexpected, and it made me feel more than I was ready for. This whole time, I didn’t think anyone on this team gave a shit about me. About whether I showed up to warm the bench or not.
Or maybe I was just still sensitive over Sage walking out on me the other night. She hadn’t returned my texts or calls, and when I’d showed up at Purple Rose, it was always one of her colleagues there to ‘deal with me’ while she was busy with a client. Once I’d peered into the back and saw the curtain drawn, but I just knew she was in there, hiding. Knew there was no client.
“I’m not saying he is.” Mason pushed the door at the end of the corridor open with his shoulder, letting a draft of cold air roll in from the rink. “I’m saying we’ve built something here. You don’t mess with that because somebody had one strong game.”
The word ‘somebody’ hung in the air, and pricked the back of my throat. I’d been with The Surge for five fucking years.
I kept my stride steady. Didn’t crowd them, but didn’t fall back either.
One strong game.
I thought about the last one. About how everything had clicked in a way it hadn’t before. Clean reads, good timing. Coach had caught my eye on the bench after a shift and nodded once. That had felt bigger than any stat.
I also thought about Sage rolling the door on that storage unit, her expression shuttered before I could ask what the hell was wrong. There was still no answer to that, and none for why my own teammate had it in for me.
Mason was one of the golden boys of the team. He was center, sure, but in no way under any kind of threat from the likes of me. He had youth and talent on his side, and a fan following that came second only to Landon’s.
Now his voice filled the narrow corridor, and I could see the other guys trying to act like they weren’t listening too.
