Tension Flares on the Ice

The whistle blows and I squeeze my hockey stick like it’s the only thing holding me together. My gloves squeak as I skate to center ice. George is already there, waiting like he owns the place. His helmet’s tilted and he’s got that annoying smirk again, like he knows I want to slap it right off.

He taps his stick on the ice twice. “Ready, Lane?”

I act like I didn’t hear him. “Let’s just do this.”

Coach yells from the bench. “One-on-one. Go all in.”

Great. No mercy. Just how George likes it.

The second we start, he’s on me. Fast and pushy. The puck’s between us, but it feels like the game isn’t about that anymore. It’s about proving something. His stick smacks mine. His shoulder bumps mine. He’s way too close.

“Don’t hold back,” I snap.

He grins like a cat. “Wouldn’t dare.”

Everything gets wild fast. We’re skating hard, bumping, spinning, twisting like it’s a wrestling match on ice. I dodge around him, grab the puck, and race toward the net. But he spins and cuts me off. His body brushes mine just enough to throw me off balance. No whistle.

“Nice try,” he says with a smug look.

“You’re so full of yourself.”

He shrugs. “You mean full of talent?”

I shove forward and swing for the puck. I’m too aggressive. My blade catches his skate. We both crash down, sliding across the ice in a heap. Somehow he lands half on top of me. His chest is heavy on mine, and the ice is freezing against my back.

We’re both breathing hard. I can feel every breath he takes.

“You good?” he asks, voice low and weirdly calm.

“Get off,” I mutter, my face burning.

He doesn’t move right away. He’s staring. Then his eyes flick to my lips.

I push him off before he can say anything else. He stands and offers me his hand, but I ignore it and get up on my own.

“Suit yourself,” he says like it’s no big deal.

From the boards, I hear a loud whistle and Theo’s voice rings out. “Y’all wanna kiss or finish the drill?”

Everyone laughs. My face feels like it’s on fire.

George laughs too. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he tells me.

“I wasn’t,” I snap. “Your breath smells like trash.”

He laughs even harder. “You’d know. You were pretty close.”

The next drill starts. Now we’re on different teams. I skate faster, trying to forget the way his body felt on mine. But it’s like he’s everywhere. Every time I get near the puck, I hear his voice behind me.

“Thought you hated hockey,” he says during a faceoff.

“I hate you more.”

He leans in close. “Are you sure?”

I win the puck. He chases me all the way down the ice. We’re side by side, sticks clashing, skates flying. I almost forget this is supposed to be practice.

Coach blows the whistle. We head to the bench for water.

Theo bumps my shoulder. “You and Hale need to cool off. It’s getting hot out there.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s called rage.”

He smirks. “Sure. Looked a lot like foreplay to me.”

I cough on my water.

George comes up behind me like he didn’t just hear that. “Everything good, Lane?”

I take a step away. “Totally.”

He looks at Theo, then back at me. His smile is... annoying. Way too confident.

“Coach wants us to run it again,” he says. “Just me and you.”

“Of course he does,” I mutter. “Probably enjoys watching people suffer.”

George grins. “Good thing you like pain.”

We take the ice. No team. No distractions. Just us. I can already feel my heart pounding.

He makes the first move. I dodge. I juke left and break right. He reads it and blocks me. He’s fast, too fast. His arms stretch wide, cutting me off.

“You gonna dance around me all day or actually shoot?” he teases.

“You gonna yap all day or actually defend?”

He charges. I spin away and cut back, but he’s right there. Way too close. I feel him press me lightly against the boards. Not hard enough to get called. But just enough to make my brain short-circuit.

“Scared?” he whispers.

“No,” I say, even though I kinda am. But not of him. Of how he makes me feel.

“Good. Me neither.”

We freeze like that. Too long. Then I shove off, spin away, and shoot. The puck flies past him and smacks into the net.

Coach blows the whistle. “Nice one, Lane.”

I skate away, ignoring George. My cheeks are burning again, and not because I’m tired.

Theo catches my eye and mouths the word “foreplay.”

I flip him off.

Practice ends twenty minutes later, but I stay behind. I skate laps, trying to cool down and clear my head. George is still out there, way across the rink, talking to Coach.

I finally head toward the locker room, but something stops me. Their voices carry just far enough.

“I told you to push her,” Coach says. “But this is getting messy.”

“I’m doing what you asked,” George says. “She’s getting stronger.”

“That’s not all you’re doing, is it?”

Silence.

“She deserves the truth,” George says. “About her brother. About what really happened.”

My whole body tenses.

Coach’s voice sharpens. “That’s not your story to tell.”

“She thinks he was a hero,” George says. “She doesn’t know the whole truth.”

There’s another long pause.

Then Coach lets out a breath. “You were never supposed to get involved.”

I don’t hear anything else. I back up, my skates too loud on the floor. My heart’s racing, my hands shaking a little.

The truth? What truth?

What does George know about my brother?

What’s he hiding?

I hurry down the hall, my thoughts spinning faster than my skates ever could.

Something just changed.

And now I need answers.