Page 6 of Arctic Titans of Northwood U: Volume 1

Cocky freshman who thought they were irreplaceable tended not to react well to any sign of a condescending tone. But they also couldn’t be left to their own devices. That was how rookie mistakes were made out on ice.

I thanked Sawyer, who was already glaring at his phone again. By his standards, he was having a tranquil afternoon with some peace and quiet, I thought.

When I marched down the creaky wooden stairs, I held my breath. Be the captain they think you are, I whispered to myself. Lead them. And if you can’t, pretend that you can. They will follow. Just keep it the fuck together.

I inhaled, feeling a zing of motivation, a glimmer of hope. I could do this. I could fucking do this.

I turned at the foot of the stairs in the basement, holding a deep breath of air in my lungs to pump myself up and inspire this new guy to join in the camaraderie and brotherhood of the team.

Our basement lounge was well lit and not particularly crowded. Most of the guys were out already or napping after the drills. I quickly scanned the room, spotting Tyler and Sebastian playing table soccer on the far right end of the room, and Paxton lecturing them. Ahead of me, Beckett Partridge wore a coy smirk that reminded me of his uncle, Nate Partridge, who is hockey royalty and, according to some, the reason Beckett was even here. Beckett was a good player, but he wasn’t the best as he imagined. But that train of thought stopped abruptly because Beckett directed his gaze over the newcomer’s shoulder and met mine. Amusement rose on his face so quickly that I sensed something being wrong before my brain could register the cold, cruel facts.

One, this guy was no freshman. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a wide upper back and strong curves below his waist. Those legs had been skating on ice for much longer than a few high school years.

Two, his unruly black hair should have been enough to fill in the rest.

Three, the cold gaze over his shoulder as he turned his head was as murderous as on the day I had last received it.

My stomach dropped into the abyss. My throat closed and I wheezed, then gave up on breathing altogether. The elegant swing of his shoulders, hips, and finally feet, turned my new teammate to face me. In all the years that had gone by, and after all the firm decisions never to look him up and to always push him out of my mind, my first thought was that he had grown more beautiful than humans should have been allowed. The cowlick at the back of his head made him look tardy in that annoyingly cute way. His thin lips were as defined as they had ever been. The Cupid’s bow was so pronounced that I could almost feel it under my lips after three years.

“Cam,” I whispered through my strangled throat.

His expression was as flat as if he was facing a street sign. “It’s Cameron, actually.” He allowed for a beat of silence in which a surreal hypothesis took root in my heart. Did he not know me? But the corners of his lips quirked and he added, “Brooks.”

My heart split through the middle as my lips pulled back over my teeth. “No. Way.” The growl was so filled with hatred that it sounded unnatural even to my own ears. “No fucking way,” I said, louder.

Cameron Martinez swaggered lazily toward me. The sharpness of his features seemed deadly, like he could cut through me with a mere look.

“What’s up, Cap?” Beckett asked slyly. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “None of your goddamn business, Partridge.”

He winced and stepped away, leaving me alone with Cam — sorry, Cameron — on this side of the room. I was acutely aware of the deadly silence falling over the guys at the soccer table. “What are you doing here?” I hissed quietly, although I was sure they could all hear me. “You’re not… This can’t be happening.”

“I’m afraid it’s happening, Brooks,” Cameron said flatly, never blinking, never letting his gaze waver. He stood like a monolith against the most violent storms. He was unmoved and unchanged. If anything, he was only hardened by the time that had passed. “You better believe it because we have drills starting tomorrow.”

Anger spiked in me before I could truly recognize it and deal with it internally. “You’re not fucking telling me what we have tomorrow. I’m calling the shots around here.” Cold terror washed over me as I blinked and saw a glimpse of the remainder of my college hockey career. I was going to have Cameron Fucking Martinez on my team. The guy who had tossed me aside like I was a sock he jizzed in and didn’t wanna bother washing. The guy who had left me like our years of friendship had meant nothing.

And they hadn’t.

I had decided so on the day he walked out that door.

“Well, then,” Cameron said with a pointed nod in my direction. “I’ll put my trust in you since you’re so cool-headed and composed.”

I snorted. “Screw you, Cameron.”

“I stand corrected.” He shrugged, corners of his lips trembling in amusement that made me want to grab his face and squish it until smirking was the last thing he thought of.

What we should have gotten were freshmen with inflated egos who would do drills with us, but sit on the bench when we played against the Breakers next month. With Cameron here…

I didn’t want to imagine it.

My position had already been out of balance. I didn’t need Cameron Martinez tilting my axis further.

Taking a step forward, I inhaled and discovered a woody, smoky scent radiating off his tanned skin. Fuck. Him. “I’m the captain here,” I hissed, bringing my face up close to his.

That just made him stretch his lips and bare his teeth in a sinister smile. “Really? Because you seem to think you’re the head coach, but you’re acting like a child who dropped his lollipop.”

Fury I had never known was in me blazed as I grabbed Cameron’s T-shirt in my fists and yanked him up close, his torso bumping against mine. But all I did was provoke a deeper grin on his face.