Page 1 of Devil on Skates
Chapter 1
XAVIER
I PUSH MY WAY THROUGHthe crowd, brushing past unfamiliar faces. Out here, I’m just some random guy with a drink at a college party who’s trying to forget his name. I’m definitely not Xavier Gallagher, the hockey golden boy, and that’s exactly what I need.
I take another sip from my red cup. It burns its way down my throat, but whatever. My teammate Ronan, who brought me here, disappeared I don’t know how long ago, which is classic him. He’s probably halfway through his fourth drink and making out with someone by now.
I’m fine on my own. Actually, I prefer it.
“Want a top-up?” someone asks.
I look at a girl with bubblegum-pink hair and a bottle already tilted toward me as she gives me a big smile.
I hold out my cup. “Sure.”
She pours a generous splash, and our hands touch for, like, half a second. “You from around here?”
“Just passing through.”
I say it like I’ve said it a billion times before, because I kind of have. It’s my go-to answer that’s vague enough that no one asks follow-ups.
She stares at me a beat too long, then shrugs and moves on. Perfect. I’m still anonymous.
I let out a breath. This is why I like these parties. They’re just far enough away from my campus that nobody from there shows up, but not so far that Ronan complains about the drive. And tonight? Yeah, I needed to go out.
My phone buzzes for like the sixth time in my pocket. I don’t even have to look because I already know who it is.
My dad.
He’s probably ready with another lecture about footwork or nutrition or howthe scouts are watching. I silence the phone without checking. I’ll deal with it tomorrow.
I down half my drink, and the edge in my brain softens a little. It’s not gone, but it’s easier to ignore. There’s no pressure here, and no one waiting to call me a disappointment.
The living room’s been turned into a dance floor. People are grinding, jumping, and yelling, so it’s just total chaos. I lean against the wall and watch. It’s kind of nice being relatively invisible in a room full of people.
After a few minutes, I head for the back door because I need air and some space to breathe.
Outside, there’s a bonfire going, and smaller groups are hanging around it. The night air is cool, and I find an empty chair near the edge of the yard. My legs are still sore from yesterday’s practice. Coach had us doing drills like we were being punished, and maybe we were.
I drop into the chair and stretch out.
“You look familiar,” someone says next to me.
Shit.
“I doubt it,” I mutter.
“No, seriously—”
“You’re wrong,” I cut him off.
I don’t have the energy to deal with someone recognizing me. If Coach knew I was here, drinking the night before practice? I’d be benched. And if my dad knew? Game over.
The guy holds up his hands. “Okay, dude. Chill.”
I chug the rest of my drink and stand. “Time for a refill.”
Back inside, it’s even more packed. I push through the crowd to the kitchen. Everything’s sticky, including the counters,floors, and probably my shoes now too. There’s a game of quarters going on, and people are yelling like it’s the most important thing in the world.
