Page 8 of Play Maker

And being around Axel was a constant reminder of that fact. I shook my head, needing to cut loose from the past and remain focused on the present.

“Stop poking the bear before every game,” a deep voice muttered behind me.

I came to a sharp stop and turned to face another giant on our team, Silas Moss. The guy was a mountain of a hockey player, with long, dirty blond hair, a full beard, and tons of tatts. Silas was a skilled, if somewhat inconsistent, defenseman. But unlike sunny Kayden, this d-man was quietly intense, often sarcastic when spoken to, and had a rebellious air, like he didn’t give a shit what anyone thought about him. Defensive, if you will. Maybe it had to do with the fact that Silas was the oldest guy on the team at twenty-two and after taking a year off from school and hockey, he was still trying to find his rhythm and prove his place on this team. As to the reason why he was gone for two semesters, no one knew. There was plenty of speculationbut since Silas barely spoke to anyone, he was a mystery. The only other bit of information I gleaned about him, courtesy of Kayden, was that Silas had a younger brother.

“I didn’t start it,” I replied automatically.

Fuck, even I could admit that I sounded like a petulant brat. With Axel around, that was no surprise.

Silas shook his head. “You don’t have to pour gasoline on the freaking fire.”

He had a point. I hated to admit it, but he was right. Maybe.

“Maybe my timing wasn’t good,” I bit out. “I just can’t help it. I’m not the type to let insults slide. It’s just not me.”

Not anymore. In the past, yes, because I wanted everyone to like me. But I learned a hard lesson about being too nice. A lesson that would stay with me forever.

Silas grunted in response and skated off. Okay, then.

“Good talking to you!” I called out and Silas raised his stick in acknowledgment.

At least, I think he was acknowledging me. One of these days I was going to have an actual conversation with that guy. I was a curious person and I made it a point to talk to everyone in my class and on my team. I was a lot like Kayden in that way, except louder and with more sass. The only person I didn’t have any urge to get near was Axel; sometimes, a bad apple just needs binning.

The shrill sound of a whistle pierced the air and Coach Banning waved us over to the boards for our pregame scrum.

“Rowland, Lund, St. Pierre, Barak, Melnyk, Rocher, you’re up. Like I’ve said time and again, I want to see you working cohesively. Remember our strategy. Mansfield is weaker when it comes to their offensive plays so keep your eyes out for any advantage and press hard. This season’s ramping up and there’s no time for bullshit,” Banning barked. “Get out there and get that win.”

Everyone tapped their sticks on the ice and shouted ‘cougars!’ before we skated off to take our positions.

Dane faced off against Mansfield’s captain.

Just before the puck dropped, I glanced to my right. Axel’s glare cut sharper than my blades. I looked down, surprised I wasn’t bleeding all over the ice.

Then I remembered Coach’s words. Out here, there was no time for bullshit.

The only thing that mattered was winning.

CHAPTER 4

AXEL

The first period was a tug of war, with neither side pulling ahead.

But the game pivoted in the second period. We were ahead by one goal, thanks to Dane scoring in the first five minutes of play. But given the number of shots on goal from Mansfield, there was no telling where this game might end up.

Now Jace was out there, blasting down the ice at full speed like he always did. Just like his smart mouth, his frenetic energy in this game couldn’t be contained. He wasn’t nearly as big as most of the players on our team, but I envied him his speed. Between that, and his ability to sink the puck, he was often a target for the opposing team, many of whom were ruthless. Not that college hockey is as aggressive as the professional league but still, players played to win, and hard hits happened. The potential to be drafted meant everything was on the line, so it was no wonder that competition was fierce.

It pained me to admit, but Jace Rowland was going to make it and make it big.

Some players had that ‘it’ factor, a combination of skill, drive, and kinetic grace. Jace was one of them. Unlike me, he was long and lean, almost too lean. Six feet of pure muscle. But youcould count his damn ribs, and it made me edgy. Now wasn’t the time for him to drop any weight. If he got smashed into the boards he’d be toast, and so would our chances of making it to the finals. Not that I paid much attention to his body, but in a locker room, you can’t help but notice other players. Other than his body weight, Jace was your typical hockey boy; his messy chocolate brown hair was curled at the ends and in bad need of a cut, and he sported a large cougar tattoo on his left pec. A bunch of my teammates got them last year, all on different parts of their bodies. No thanks, I hated needles.

And I hated the mouthy prick that was Jace Rowland.

But I couldn’t deny the guy was really fucking talented. Like right now. He snatched the puck away from Danny Daskell, Mansfield’s star forward, and deked around so many of their players it was dizzying to witness. Dizzying and frustrating. I hadn’t scored nearly as much as Jace in the past four months and this game was proving to be much the same.

Coach Banning expected more of me, and I’d already been warned. Even though my technical skills were strong, my scoring and teamwork wasn’t, and that had to change. Professional league scouts didn’t give a shit about mediocre; they wanted the best. I was also struggling with school. Honestly, I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life except play hockey. Signing up for a degree in economics was practical, but boring. My GPA wasn’t anything to brag about, but the longer I was at school the less I cared about my future outside of hockey. I’d spoken with one advisor when I was at Langston, and he’d suggested that I stick to my program. That didn’t sit well because I was bored. The lack of clarity only made me more frustrated with myself.

With every passing week, the pressure I felt on and off the ice kept building.

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