Page 24 of Wicked Serve

One of the other defensemen, Jean, leans over. “Dude. Did you really sleep with an entire women’s figure skating team?”

“I heard at the same time,” someone else adds.

“Hey,” Cooper says mildly. “Keep it respectful.”

“I think my dick would have fallen off if that was true.” The guys hoot at that, and one of the freshmen flushes beet-red. “Anyway, I don’t kiss and tell, gentlemen.”

“I hope you’re getting ready in there,” Ryder drawls from the hallway.

I get into my gear, and I’m grabbing my stick when someone’s voice cuts through the rest of the chatter.

“Why are you here?”

I look over my shoulder. Aaron Rembeau, the goaltender, stands with his pads half-on, glancing around at the rest of the guys. The side conversations fade out. “No offense, but it’s a little late for a transfer. Coop, do you know?”

I know what he’s really asking. He doesn’t have to say it aloud. He wants to know if he can trust me. If they—the team that already existed long before I showed up—can put their faith in me as a teammate. My stomach tightens. I glance at Cooper, who just raises an eyebrow. Letting me have the floor, like he promised.

“I know you know me as the captain of the Minutemen,” I say, looking around at the guys. My new teammates. “And I thought that’s what I’d be doing this season, too. But I fucked up, and I was lucky enough to get a second chance here. I’m excited to be a Royal.”

“Fucked up how?” Evan asks.

I relay the story quickly, and hopefully for the last time. It gets uncomfortable for a moment; drugs are the one thing you never want to fuck with during the season, but gradually, everyone relaxes. Mickey even claps me on the back when I finish talking. I miss my former teammates like hell, and I think everyone can hear that in my voice.

What matters is getting to the Frozen Four. Holding up the Stanley Cup isn’t in my future, but at least there’s a chance of ending my college career on a high note. Looking around the room, I can see why Coach is confident. Aside from the strength of the upperclassmen, there’s a hunger in the air, anticipating the start of the season, and that’s a language I will always understand.

I stride to the door. “Let’s go. We’re not going to win it all if we don’t get started.”

“Yeah,” Cooper says, a hard note in his voice. “What Nikolai said.”

Fuck. I didn’t mean to play captain in front of everyone; it just slipped out. A few of the guys titter, looking between us. I wait for a rebuff, but after a stifling pause, Cooper grabs his stick, too.

“Come on,” he says, shoulder knocking into mine as he passes. At the command, the team jolts into action.

During warm-ups, I stick to myself, so I don’t risk saying anything even more inane. I can’t stop putting my foot in my mouth when it comes to this guy. I was serious when I agreed with him that the team is his; I’m not trying to steal the position out from underneath him. He has the support of everyone in the locker room, and that didn’t happen accidentally.

Which is why I’m not at all surprised when, during our scrimmage, Cooper slams into me so hard, my stick goes flying.

I spin out, the world flashing purple and white as I collide with the boards. I stare at the ceiling for a moment, stars swimming in my eyes. My body protests, but not terribly. It was a good check. If it had happened during a game, he wouldn’t have ended up in the box.

I spit out my mouth guard, trying to catch my breath.

He stands over me, holding out his hand.

I’m sure everyone is waiting to see my reaction. If I’m going to take his hand and get up, or if I’m going to challenge him. I’m not an idiot; I know the guys won’t embrace me without proof I’m one of them. Hell, Cooper is waiting too, his bare hand still outstretched, glove tucked underneath his arm.

“Take it. That’s the last time I’ll ever hit you.”

I think of Isabelle and nearly laugh.

But I grip his hand, and he helps me to my feet. Our eyes meet. A beat passes in absolute silence.

I don’t sense trust yet, but I do sense respect. That’s going to have to be enough for now.

“Grab your stick,” he says, skating backward with a gracefulness that’s hard to match, even for me. “Your turn.”

Chapter 11

Izzy

---