For the Love of Skating Read online

  With my head bowed, I take deep breaths and try my damndest to not cry. I wish I could be this free off the ice. Mom used to make life worth living with just her smile. My chest aches, and I place my hand over my heart as if the pain would disappear by rubbing the spot. I start skating over to the boards to exit the ice before the hockey players start showing up. With my head down, I don’t notice the massive shadow in the doorway until I’m halfway there, and I almost slip from being startled. No one is supposed to be here.

  Six foot two with shoulders wider than the door opening, I have the most random thought of myself being draped over those broad shoulders. His feet are spread apart in a stance of male dominance, and his muscled arms are crossed over a barrel chest. It’s a stance for intimidation with a back off vibe that speaks for itself. I realize as I’m checking him out that he can see I’m doing just that, but he’s returning the favor, because I can feel his gaze burning onto my skin until I’m overheated even after skating. By the time I meet his stare, his eyes are furious and a menacing scowl sits on his rugged, handsome face. I tip my head to the side, trying to figure out if I should be screaming for help or slapping myself for ogling the arrogant ass. He’s blocking the door, and he doesn’t look too happy that I’m here. Well, two can play that game.

  I spread my feet apart, mimicking him with my arms crossed over my chest. That draws his gaze down to my pushed-up boobs. I mean, they aren’t half bad if I do say so myself. He scowls even harder, like it’s my fault he was staring at my impressive assets. A five o'clock shadow covers his angry face, and his set jaw draws my gaze to his sinfully delicious bowed lips. My stomach goes crazy with flutters, and a shot of desire bursts through my core, causing a shiver up and down my spine. When his lips form into a half-smirk of pure cockiness, I glare at him. His sharp pale green eyes narrow at me as he runs a hand through black hair that’s slicked back to perfection and yet a tad messy, like he can’t seem to stop running his fingers through it. We continue our stare down until I feel like pulling my hair out, and finally, I break.

  “Are you going to stand there all day or let me through?” I grit out, finding it hard to hold our stare down. I usually avoid these types of things, but he’s bringing out a side of me I never let out.

  A single dark eyebrow raises at my angry tone and that cocky smirk is more pronounced, giving me a sudden urge to smack his handsome face. I step into his personal space, making my intent clear—if he doesn’t move, I will bulldoze him over. When he steps on the ice in his tennis shoes without falling, almost like he was made for the ice, I’m a bit impressed, but I won’t admit that. His tall frame towers over my five foot eight, blocking out the dim lighting. Green eyes pierce my blue gaze in the shadows, and the urge to flinch is strong because he’s standing too close. I keep my cool and lift my chin, glaring at him and showing I’m not backing down without a fight. He slowly starts his perusal from my feet to the top of my head, and I’m a bit offended when he looks displeased with my appearance. I may not be stunningly beautiful, but I at least know I’m pretty. I have my mom’s ice-blue eyes, a heart-shaped face, and a slim body that’s curvy in all the right places. I inherited my father’s dirty blonde hair, but I’ve covered that part of myself with pink hair dye. I don’t want to look anything like that monster, and my hair is the only resemblance I have with him, thank God.

  Having had enough of the silence and this prick crowding my space, I try again.

  “Well? Are you going to move out of my way or keep acting like you own this ice?” I mutter, clearly annoyed at this jerkface.

  He flashes a cocky gleam of white teeth and points his thick, long index finger to the ceiling without looking up. I gaze up and blink slowly. Hanging from the rafter in the middle of the rink is a banner. He’s posed on the ice in our school jersey with full gear on and the stick striking to hit the puck. I can see his hypnotizing green eyes from here, just as intense and hypnotizing, and he looks way too serious. Under his picture, it has a number eight, his last name, and the team captain “C” in bold letters. I lower my gaze and try not to laugh. I cover my mouth with my hand to hide my twitching lips, my face burning from containing my laughter. His face contorts in a scowl of annoyance as he steps closer, and I try not to flinch and show my wariness of people standing too close. I grimace, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by him. Suddenly, his expression completely blanks, and he doesn’t come any closer. I don’t like how he’s staring at me, as he seems to see inside my soul to the loss and pain there. He breaks his gaze from me, and I feel like I can breathe again. What an odd and very unusual reaction. I tend to stay away from men—well, if I’m being honest with myself, I stay away from everyone. His deep grumbling voice knocks me out of my thoughts.

  “Are you going to get the fuck off my ice, Princess?”

  Oh, hell no. His fucking ice? I think not! This place is the one escape I have to myself, and if he thinks he’s giving me the boot, he has another thing coming. I start to circle around him with my body facing him the whole time and my feet pointing out on either side of me, so I’m constantly moving around him at a lazy pace. He doesn’t budge, but watches me out of the corner of his eyes, tracking my every move.

  “I don’t see your name anywhere saying you own the place. Did I miss it somewhere?” I pause for dramatic effect before continuing on. “Didn’t think so. How about you stop being a douche canoe, and I’ll do whatever the hell I want. Glad we can agree on that.” The sass and irritation is clear in my voice before I’m turning my back to him to get off the ice.

  I may have gone a bit overboard in the sass department, but in my defense, he deserved it. I’m so sick of people telling me how to live my life. I step through the boards doorway and walk in steady movements back to the bleachers where my backpack is. His stare is drilling holes into the back of my head, and I just know he’s following me on surprisingly quiet feet for such a tall guy.

  Huffing, I plant my butt on the edge of the bleachers, not bothering to look up as I pull my skates off and tug my winter boots back on in angry, rushed movements. Heaving a sigh, I stand back up with my things and turn to him with a questioning brow. He opens his mouth, just like I expected him to.

  “Don’t come back here, Princess. I would hate to tell anyone how you’re sneaking into my turf and messing up my ice after it’s already been clean,” he grumps out, and it almost makes me laugh. He has a load of cockiness in his tone.

  I guess it’s time to pull out the big guns. My smile is dazzling as I shout out loud enough for my friend to hear me, “Bob, I’m leaving! See you tomorrow! Same place, same time.”

  We can hear Bob yelling from the maintenance room, “Have a good one, Kat! I’ll leave the doors open for you in the morning.”

  I know without a doubt my smile is smug as hell, and he doesn’t seem to like that. His eyes narrow onto my mouth with pure hate burning in their depths. I lick my suddenly dry lips and wait for him to return his gaze back to my eyes.

  “Look, let’s make a compromise. You stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours. Our skating schedules don’t even line up. You were obviously early today. Since that’s settled, I would say it’s been nice meeting you, Captain, but that would be a lie.” I salute him as I grab my coat, then throw it over my shoulders and practically run to the exit. I can hear him grumble in that deep husky voice just before the metal double doors slam shut.

  “Jesus H. Christ.”

  2

  Granger

  Hockey practice was more brutal than usual, today. Sweat, blood, and my useless team skating around like chickens with their heads cut off. I keep my gaze on the ground, my teeth grinding. The locker room is so completely silent, you could probably hear a penny drop. My fucked-up teammates decide to keep their mouths shut, which is for the best. We used to skate like we were one, linked together through the sole purpose of winning and being the best goddamned team in the league. That was months ago, and everything has changed since then. It sucks to get yelled at b
y the coach for hogging the puck the whole time today,which wasn’t right on my part, but for the life of me, I can’t trust these assholes.

  “She’s cheating on you. Apparently has been for some time now. I don’t play into the gossip shit, so that’s why I just heard about it. She’s been playing you, man, right from the beginning,” Beast tells me, while passing me a beer as I sit frozen on my couch, feeling like I just got hit by a freight train.

  “I was going to break up with her a month ago, but the news of the baby stopped me from ending it with her… Who the fuck is she cheating on me with?” I almost snap the neck of my beer bottle when he tells me.

  Fucking Jeff. Fuck my teammate.

  It’s been almost two months, and I’m still playing like shit on the ice, letting rage and hurt rule my life.

  I did have an unpleasant distraction during practice—I kept thinking about her, the girl with the wild pink hair and piercing blue eyes. I’ve never seen someone move so gracefully and with passion. She moved with the music, but it was like she owned the ice, and time slowed down as I watched her glide across the ice like an angel. She was captivating and radiated elegance with just her body language. I couldn’t look away, even when I tried.

  I have no idea where the hell those thoughts came from. Am I turning into a fucking poet? A snort escapes my mouth before I can cover it.

  Unwrapping his ankle bindings next to me on the bench, Joey throws a questionable look at me. I curl my lip at him, basically telling him to piss off in one single glance. He raises his hands up and backs away.

  “Sorry, bro,” he says in a rush, glancing around nervously like I’m about to sock him in the face or something.

  I’m mad at everyone who basically screwed me over, but I can control my fucking anger.

  He eventually turns his back to me and pretends to find something that holds his interest in his locker next to mine. I don’t bother responding, I never do anymore. I play the part of team captain by showing my face and charming smile at the parties we throw every Saturday, but when no one is looking, I isolate myself. ‘Trust no one’ is my new motto.

  My teammates knew about Jeff’s betrayal and decided to keep it a secret from me. I became the campus laughing stock—a fool who didn’t even know his girlfriend at the time was sleeping with one of his own teammates. That lazy piece of shit has always been jealous of me, wanting everything I have and doing whatever it takes to get it, even if it means sleeping with my girlfriend behind my back.

  I shake that shit off my shoulders. I have more pressing matters to attend to. First, I need to be the best on the ice to get my ass off this team and on to bigger and better things. Second, the new semester starts today. I’m determined to get drafted by the end of the season, but just in case, I need to focus on my studies if plan A fails.

  I climb to my feet, stretching with a grunt, and pull my hoodie on while hightailing it out of here before our coach decides to pull me into his office to talk about nonsense, like how I’m supposed to set an example for my team. Fuck that shit. I stomp my way to the door. Everyone’s either avoiding eye contact or running into the steaming showers to get away from my wrath. Just as my hand grips the door handle, the coach’s booming voice comes from his office.

  “Granger! Get your ass in my office, now!”

  I slump my head against the door, giving it one solid bang before turning around. Striding to the coach’s office, I notice Jeff smirk as he comes out of the shower from the corner of my eye. Inside his domain, Coach Miller is reclining in his desk chair with his feet crossed on his desk and fingers interlaced over his pudgy belly. Coach's receding hairline, glasses, stunted height, and loud mouth seem stereotypical for a head coach, but he has a good heart, even when he makes us repeat drills on and off the ice for hours until I feel like my legs might fall off.

  “Have a seat, son,” he says, gesturing to the chair across from him.

  Planting my ass on the excessively expensive leather seat, I school my expression and make sure I bury any emotions tumbling through my head. We wait in silence for him to start his lecture about teamwork once again. He sighs as he looks up at the dimly lit ceiling, shaking his head and muttering under his breath. It sounds like he says ‘bullheaded,’ but I could be wrong.

  “I’m not going to downplay this with you. Your game has been shit for weeks. My grandma could score more goals than you, at this point. You’re slipping, son. You’re supposed to lead this team to glory at the nationals. As team captain, your job is to make sure your players are flocking to you, not trying to find an exit when you charge at them. Either you find a way to make this work and build your way back to the team, or you’re out. No scout will look twice at you when you're playing like this,” he says, shaking his head in disappointment.

  I clench my jaw so tight that it makes a cracking noise as I rub my hands on my jeans to release the tension spreading through me. Fuck me. I need this more than anything—to be handpicked by a scout and to make my own living by myself. To not live off my rich parents’ money, I need to prove to everyone that I can do this.

  I see no remorse on the coach's face. He’s here to build this university the best damned hockey team anyone has ever seen, so I don’t blame him for giving me this ultimatum. Blowing out a gust of air through my puffed-up cheeks, I give him a single nod before observing the trophies gleaming in the display case behind him, mainly to avoid his ever so watchful gaze.

  “Yeah, Coach. I’ll get right on that. They may be my team, but they aren’t my brothers,” I grind out, feeling my face turn an angry red. Fucking hell, will I ever be able to move past this?

  “Then you’d better start winning your brothers back. I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you fail this team.” He points his index finger at me, leaning over his desk.

  “You’re absolutely fucking right, Coach. But they fucking betrayed me, failing me. How can I move on after how they’ve broken my trust? Earning trust goes both ways, but I can’t even pass them the puck because in my head, I’m thinking they can’t be trusted to end the game with us on the winning side. I’m their fucking captain, for God’s sakes, and yet my own team lied to my face.” I throw my hands in the air, then run my fingers through my hair in frustration.

  “It’s simple. You need to move on from it. If you’re going to survive this team, then you need to start from scratch. Have you talked to anyone about the baby? It’s not good to keep all that anger pent up, son. You need a new start,” he says as if it’s that simple, and I wish it was.

  I let out a deep sigh, and the seat cracks under my shifting weight.

  “Yeah, I’ve talked to Beast. I’m working through it, and no, I don’t want to fucking talk about it. Someone should have told me,” I grind out between clenched teeth, then take deep breaths to cool my anger before Coach really does kick me off the team.

  “What were they supposed to do? Write a fucking column in Cosmo? It’s none of their damn business. It was between you and another team player, so fix it,” he demands, wiping the sweat from his brow with his sleeve.

  “What the hell do you want me to do? What would you do? Want me to hold their hands on the ice or make them work for my trust again? I’ll try, Coach, because I want our team to win and have the best shot. That fucker though, he doesn’t deserve shit,” I grunt, crossing my arms as my leg jiggles from feeling cooped up.

  “You want a shot at the NHL, kid? The pros aren’t gonna tolerate a defeatist attitude. Keep trying, or you’ll end up at the bottom.” He sighs and waves for me to leave with his hand, as if he can’t even look at me.

  Rising, I head to his closed office door, wanting to get the hell out of here and hit the gym. I need to work off this pent-up energy, since practice sure as hell didn’t cut it. As I swing open the door, Coach has one more thing to say to me, and I’m sure the whole locker room hears.

  “You’re going places, so don’t let one beautiful, crazy woman stop you from moving forward after your dreams. There are st
ill good people out there who will have your back, Granger. Don’t forget that. Get your head out of your ass! We have games to win,” he grunts out, dismissing me.

  I don’t bother turning around, I keep my sights on the one person who was supposed to have my back, to be my brother on this team. Jeff holds my stare before quickly looking away, the coward. I turn my head to the left so only the coach can hear me.

  “It wasn’t the secret affair that affected me so much. It’s the lies that followed, Coach. I can’t forget that, but I’ll try to play nice for the sake of the team and myself,” I promise with my heart pounding at the thought.

  And with that, I stride back to the door that leads into the rink, where my exit awaits. The sound of the door slamming behind me is very satisfying—freedom at last.

  I spoke too soon as I hear heavy footsteps marching right behind me. Only one person can make that much noise while simply walking—Henry, also known as “Beast.” I turn my head towards him as I continue walking, I really just want to get out of this building. Seeing my duffle bag in his hand, which I clearly forgot on the bench in the locker room, I give him a subtle nod of thanks. He only grunts in acknowledgment of my gratitude, the ass. He walks by, dropping my bag on the ground, and his big feet keep stomping away.

  Suddenly turning around with amazing speed for his size, he blocks the exit with his hands on his waist and feet apart. I roll my eyes as I mentally chant ‘fuck shit.’ I'm not doing this right now. My blood is still heated from practice.

  Beast has been my friend, more like a brother, since freshman year. We made plans to get the hell out of here and go pro together one day, the fucking sooner, the better. Scouts are watching our every move right now, so we need to pick up our game and get this team together. This fucker has had my back from the very beginning, no questions asked, he just stands behind me like a surly giant. I haven’t talked to him since that night I spilled my guts about Victoria cheating, and I can’t even look him in the eye without feeling like a fool.