Page 32 of On Ice

I must not be hiding my displeasure well because Marco says, “You want me to find out who that guy is?”

While I’m embarrassed Marco can see I’m jealous, I really do want to know who that person is. The intimacy between them makes my blood boil. Still, to save my pride, I should tell Marco not to bother. But the memory of the way Evan smiled and hugged that guy eats at me.

“Yeah,” I rasp. “Find out who he is. In fact, find out more about Evan’s background too. I don’t know enough about him.”

“Sure.” He hesitates. “You mean like personal stuff about who he dated or what?”

I shrug. “Whatever you can find. It’s better to have too much information rather than too little.”

“Okay, I’ll look into Evan and that guy.” Marco’s voice is emotionless. He knows I’m irrationally attached to Evan, but he’s not saying anything. I’m sure he’s surprised and confused by my interest in the team captain, but he won’t say anything unless he thinks it might hurt me somehow.

Meanwhile, I’ll keep praying my attraction to Evan magically evaporates.

Chapter Nine

Evan

Three hours before puck drop, and I want to crawl under a rock.

The locker room already pulses with its own heartbeat. The familiar scent of athletic tape and stick wax mingles with fresh coffee from the trainer’s room. Background noise builds like a sonata: skates being sharpened down the hall, music from someone’s pregame playlist, the steady thump of soccer balls as guys warm up in the corridor.

I feel like a zombie, but I start my routine the same way I have since juniors. Right shin pad, then left. Right sock, left sock. Each piece of equipment in its precise order, muscle memory built over thousands of repetitions. Around me, my teammates move through their own ceremonies.

“You okay, Cap?” Noah asks. He’s already in his base layers, methodically wrapping his stick with fresh white tape. Starting from the heel, each quarter-inch overlap is precise and deliberate, never rushed. The goalie position is notorious for making players crazy. It demands focus, endurance, and nerves of steel. But Noah? He’s the steadiest person I know, unshakable even under the most crushing pressure.

I avoid his gaze because I’m too ashamed about what I’m going to do tonight. I focus on adjusting my shoulder pads so I have a reason not to look him in the eye. “I’m fine. Just in my head a bit about the game.” It’s not a complete lie.

“Sure. We all are.” He pauses his wrapping. “I know Chicago is ranked better than us, but we can definitely take them.”

My gut churns at how confident he sounds. “Of course we can.”

If Luca wasn’t a fucking prick, or if I had any balls.

I guess I didn’t sound convincing enough because Noah sighs. “Look, Cap, Chicago’s solid, no doubt, but their second defensive pair struggles with speed. We exploit that, and we’ve got a real shot. We cycle deep, tire them out, and force turnovers. They’re a great team, yeah, but they’re not invincible. And their goalie’s glove side? Not as quick as it used to be. We just have to stay out of the box and keep our heads in the game.”

I force myself to meet his gaze. “You’re right. They’re not unbeatable. Not by a longshot.” I mean every word. That’s what makes the situation so fucked up. Iknowwe can beat Chicago if we play our hearts out. Obviously, Luca has no faith in us, but I know what we’re capable of.

“First time we’ve sold out in months.” Torres bounces past, already half-dressed and vibrating with energy. Kid can’t sit still before games. “My parents drove up from Miami. Dad’s never seen me play an NHL game before.”

Fucking hell. Really Torres? You gotta say that now?

“Tell him to watch me play if he wants to actually see a skilled hockey player.” Deck taunts from his stall. Our veteran enforcer loves ragging on cocky players like Torres.

Torres takes the ribbing good-naturedly. “I’ll pass it along.” He starts re-taping his shin guards for the third time today. Some guys chirp him for his superstitions, but we all have them.

Mills stretches nearby, earbuds in, completely in his zone. He’s been studying Chicago footage all week, looking for any advantage. His new stick leans carefully against his stall, the exact model he scored with last game. Hockey players don’t mess with what works.

I pull my new jersey on over my pads. Down the row, Noah starts his visualization routine, eyes closed behind his mask. He’s mentally rehearsing every save he might need to make.

Jackson pauses by my stall, soccer ball tucked under his arm. “You look really fixated, Cap. Save some of that intensity for my passes, yeah?” He grins, then jogs out to rejoin the warmup game in the hall, and the steady thump of the soccer ball resumes.

Coach Baker makes his first pass through the room, checking in with players individually. He stops at Torres’ stall, discussing defensive positioning. Moves on to talk power play strategy with me. His presence adds another layer of guilt to the already suffocating pile.

I feel Noah watching me. He knows all my tells, knows something’s off. But he doesn’t push, just offers a fist bump as he heads out for his pre-game stretching routine. I feel like Judas. My skin crawls at the very idea of doing what Luca’s commanded me to do. But If I don’t, Noah might die. That’s even more unthinkable than me throwing a game.

The final hour approaches. Music gets louder, conversations drop off. Each player settles into their mental space. The tension is thick in the room, but everyone is trying to pretend they’re not worried. Of course they’re worried. You can be the best player in the world, but sometimes things just don’t go your way.

I feel sick to my stomach watching my teammates. They want this win so badly. I want it too, so much I can taste it. But if I do what Luca wants tonight, I’ll be the reason these guys come back here after the game broken. Demoralized. If I follow his orders, I’ll be the one who pushes my team one step further from the playoffs. This game could throw them off so badly they might not be able to bounce back next time.

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