Page 12 of Dice & Dekes

“Could be.” Tristan shrugs. “I let my dog sleep in my gear bag. Builds character.”

“You don’t have a dog.”

“Then it’s someone’s mom.”

Coach blows the whistle before anyone can top that.

As we skate to the line, something tugs at the back of my neck—like a sixth sense. I glance up at the viewing deck just in time to spot Dante, Sergio, and Briggs Sawyer leaning against the glass.

Watching.

Evaluating.

Judging.

Of course, they’re here. Lenyx’s debut week. God forbid the golden boy doesn’t get his own welcome committee of living legends.

Dante spots me looking and raises two fingers in a casual salute. I look away fast, jaw tight.

I tell myself it’s not personal. That it’s not about me.

But I feel fourteen again. Like I disappointed Knova and ruined everything. Like I’m skating in Noah Abbott’s shadow, hoping someone—anyone—sees me and not just the name on the jersey.

We dive into skating drills. Sprints. Stops. Transitions. Cam crashes into Knight. I nearly trip over my own stick. Tristan laughs at me not with me. Fuck you, tequila and bad decisions. Len holds his own like he’s been here for years. Not bad, even if his flow looks like he walked into a Supercuts and said, “Make me look like a boy band backup dancer.”

“Move your feet, Lenyx!” Coach yells. “Don’t skate like you’re waiting for your prom date to text back!”

I cough to cover a laugh. “Coach, I think he’s more of a slow-burn guy.”

“No,” Knight shouts mid-drill. “He’s definitely a ghost-you-once-he-climaxes guy. I can see it.”

“You guys realize I’m right here,” Lenyx calls back.

“Yeah,” Cam grunts. “That’s why it’s fun.”

We circle up after the second whistle. My lungs are burning, and I’m drenched in sweat, but a calm hits once I’m in this zone. No cameras. No chaos. Just blades carving ice and chirps flying like snowballs.

That’s when Violet Sawyer, the team’s head injury specialist, walks in, clipboard in hand, her long auburn hair tied back, brows already furrowed like she knows we’ve been screwing around.

“Keep it moving,” Coach shouts. “Sawyer’s watching, and if anyone collapses, she’s got syringes. Maybe a paddle. I can’t be sure.”

Cam fakes a faint. “Catch me, Len!”

“Nope,” Lenyx says, already skating away.

“Traitor!”

Coach herds us into power play drills next, pairing us up for some light contact and decision-making.

“Abbott, you’re with Hale. Beck, you’re with Sawyer Junior. Try not to cry when he shows you up.”

Knight groans. “Why do I always get stuck with you?”

“Because I’m a calming presence,” I say, flipping my stick in my hands. “People find me centering. And we’re linemates, moron.”

“You’re a tumor on the soul.”

“Love you too, honey.”

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