CHAPTER 14: ICE AND FIRE
1100words
Sunday afternoon brought unexpected chaos to my carefully planned hiding strategy. I was halfway through a sandwich when Damon burst into our room, still wearing his hockey gear and looking unusually excited.
"Pack it up, Sock Boy," he announced, stripping off his jersey. "You're coming with me."
I nearly choked on my food. "What? Where?"
"Emergency team meeting. Coach Martinez just lost three players to the flu." Damon kicked off his skates. "He's desperate for bodies, and I may have mentioned you're fast."
"You what?" I squeaked, then quickly lowered my voice. "I mean, I don't play hockey."
"Neither did half our current roster when they started." He grinned. "Come on, it'll be fun. Plus, you've been cooped up in here all weekend. You need fresh air."
The irony wasn't lost on me. I'd been hiding from his brother, and now he was dragging me into the most public, physical activity possible.
"I'm still sick," I protested weakly.
"You just demolished a sandwich and two muffins. You're fine." Damon studied me with those piercing blue eyes. "Unless there's another reason you don't want to come?"
The question hung in the air. I could see the confusion in his expression—the same confusion that had been growing stronger each day. He was starting to notice things, to question inconsistencies, but he couldn't quite piece it together.
"No reason," I said finally. "Just... I've never played before."
"That's what practice is for." His smile was encouraging, but I caught the hint of challenge. "Besides, what's the worst that could happen?"
Famous last words.
Twenty minutes later, I stood outside the hockey rink beside Noah, both of us staring at the imposing structure like it might eat us alive.
"Remind me why this is a good idea?" I muttered.
"Because," Noah said quietly, "avoiding it would be more suspicious than participating. Trust me—I've navigated three years of mandatory sports."
"Any advice?"
"Change fast, keep your head down, and remember—you're just trying out. No one expects perfection." Noah checked their watch. "I scouted earlier. Locker room empties quickly after Coach's briefings. I'll create a distraction if needed."
Inside, Coach Martinez—a compact man with salt-and-pepper hair and the build of a former player—addressed the mixed group of current team members and hopefuls.
"Gentlemen, we need speed and heart, not necessarily skill," he announced. "Blackwood here vouched for a few of you. Don't make him look bad."
I felt Damon's eyes on me and fought the urge to hide behind Noah.
"Silver, right?" Coach Martinez consulted his clipboard. "Western territories? Any experience?"
"Recreational," I lied smoothly. "Mostly pond hockey."
"Good enough. Grab gear from the equipment room. We'll see what you've got."
The equipment room was a maze of padding, sticks, and skates in various sizes. I grabbed items that looked approximately right, trying not to think about how many sweaty teenage boys had worn them before me.
"Need help?" Damon appeared beside me, holding a helmet. "This should fit better."
His fingers brushed mine as he handed it over, and that familiar electric jolt shot through my system. From his sharp intake of breath, I knew he felt it too.
"Thanks," I managed, hoping my voice sounded normal.
In the locker room, I executed Noah's strategy perfectly. While the others gathered around Coach for final instructions, I found a corner spot and changed with practiced efficiency. The oversized gear helped disguise my frame, and the multiple layers of padding concealed what the binding couldn't.
"Looking good, Silver," called one of the older players. "Almost ready?"
"Just about," I replied, wrestling with unfamiliar buckles.
"Here." Damon appeared again, kneeling to help adjust my shin guards. "Tighten these or you'll lose them on the ice."
The proximity was torture. He was so close I could smell his soap, feel the warmth radiating from his skin. When he looked up, our faces were inches apart.
"Better?" he asked, voice slightly rough.
"Much," I whispered, lost in those blue eyes.
Someone cleared their throat nearby, breaking the moment. Damon stood quickly, the tips of his ears slightly red.
"Team meeting in two minutes!" Coach called.
On the ice, I discovered something unexpected—I was actually decent at this. Not strong enough for checking or power plays, but my speed and agility made me hard to catch. More importantly, when Damon and I skated together, something magical happened.
It was like we could read each other's minds. He'd glance left, and I'd already be moving. I'd start a play, and he'd complete it perfectly. The mate bond hummed between us, creating an almost supernatural awareness of each other's movements.
"Holy shit," breathed one of the senior players after we completed a particularly smooth passing sequence. "Where did you learn to read the ice like that?"
"Lucky guess?" I suggested, still slightly breathless from the rush of skating with Damon.
"Luck, my ass," the player grinned. "You two have serious chemistry."
I caught Damon's eye across the ice, and the intensity in his gaze made my heart skip. He looked confused again, like he was trying to solve a puzzle with missing pieces.
"Silver!" Coach Martinez called. "Nice work. You're quick, you listen, and you don't try to be a hero. That's exactly what we need."
"Does that mean...?"
"Welcome to the team. Championship's next weekend—hope you're a fast learner."
As we skated off the ice, Noah appeared at the rink's edge, having watched the entire practice.
"How do you feel?" they asked quietly.
"Like I just signed my own death warrant," I muttered, but I was smiling despite myself. The rush of playing, of moving in perfect synchronization with Damon, had been intoxicating.
"You looked good out there," Damon said, joining us. "Natural athlete."
"Thanks." I started toward the locker room, but he caught my arm.
"Ari," he said, voice serious. "Can I ask you something?"
My heart stopped. "Sure."
He studied my face for a long moment, and I could see the questions swirling in his mind. "There's something different about you. Something I can't quite figure out."
"Different how?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
"I don't know. Just... different." He shook his head, frustration clear. "Never mind. I'm probably just overthinking things."
As we headed to change, I caught Noah's concerned look. Damon was getting closer to the truth, and I was running out of time to figure out what to do about it.
The championship was in one week. Dominic would be there. And now I'd be on the ice, in front of everyone, with nowhere to hide.
What had I gotten myself into?
