Page 4 of Ice-Cold Truth

Sam claps me on the back, his hand landing squarely on my good shoulder. He gives me a sympathetic look as his gaze darts to my bad shoulder before he skates away.

Coach Mathews stalks the boards, his scowl etched deep into craggy features. His piercing gaze sweeps over the players, daring anyone to falter. Reginald Mathews is a taskmaster, demanding commitment no matter the cost.

The whistle shrieks, signaling the next drill. We snap to attention, bodies thrumming with adrenaline. Pain is temporary. Just an obstacle to overcome. The game is everything.

I dig my blades into the ice, propelling myself forward with powerful strides. The burn in my shoulder intensifies, but I push through, gritting my teeth against the agony. Quitting is not an option with the season opener looming and a championship to defend.

Coach’s voice booms across the rink, barking orders and critiques. He’s an expert at exploiting weaknesses, using fear and intimidation to extract every ounce of effort. I’ve seen him break men, crushing their spirits until they’re hollow husks, discarded like worn-out equipment.

But I won’t be one of them. I can’t afford to show vulnerability, not with so much riding on my performance. The Firebirds are more than just a team. We’re a brotherhood and I’m the captain. The drill ends, and I peel off, coasting toward the bench. Sam falls into stride beside me, his brow furrowed with concern. He knows the extent of my injury.

“You need to get that looked at by a specialist, man,” he says, keeping his voice low. “This isn’t sustainable.”

I shake my head, jaw clenched. “Not an option. You know how Reginald operates.”

Sam’s expression darkens, his eyes narrowing. We’ve both seen the consequences of defying the coach’s iron-fisted rule. Players cast aside, careers derailed on a whim, and lives ruined. Vince Halstrom comes immediately to mind. Reginald wields power like a blunt instrument, crushing anyone who dares to challenge him.

“This is different,” Sam insists. “You’re the captain. The face of the franchise. They can’t afford to lose you.”

His words ring hollow, and we both know it. In Reginald’s world, no one is indispensable. Loyalty is a one-way street, and dissent is met with swift retribution.

The whistle pierces the air again, summoning us back to the grind. Sam gives me a look that says this conversation isn’t over, but for now, we have no choice but to fall in line and sacrifice our bodies on the altar of victory.

As I rejoin the fray, my mind drifts to the woman who’s unexpectedly entered my life. Elyse, with her disarming smile and those captivating eyes that seem to see straight through my defenses. She represents a world beyond the rink, a tantalizing glimpse of something more, but such distractions are a dangerous luxury I can’t afford when the game demands everything, body and soul.

I force her from my thoughts, refocusing on the task at hand. The ice is my domain, and the only thing that matters.

The pain in my shoulder is a constant companion, a searing reminder of the price I’ve paid for glory, but I’ll endure it, as I always have, because that’s what champions do. We fight through the agony, pushing past limits that would break lesser men.

As the practice grinds on, I lose myself in the rhythm of the game, The roar of my teammates fades into the background, replaced by my pounding heart and labored breaths.

This is my life, my purpose, and I’ll cling to it with every ounce of strength I possess.

***

The locker room echoes with the clamor of men stripping off sweat-drenched gear. The air is thick with the mingled scents of exertion, liniment, and stale sweat. I peel off my jersey, grimacing as the fabric peels away from my skin, the fibers sticking to the drying perspiration.

Sam ambles over, his broad shoulders glistening with moisture. He claps me on the back, the impact jarring my tender shoulder. I bite back a wince, refusing to show weakness.

“Hell of a practice, Cap.” His voice is a low rumble, the gruff timbre tinged with admiration. “That snipe in the third period was pure filth.”

I give him a wry smile. “Just doing my job.”

Sam shakes his head, a wry grin spreading across his face. “Always the humble one, eh? You can drop the act, bro. We both know you’re the stud keeping this team afloat.”

I shrug, deflecting the praise. Compliments have always made me uneasy, a remnant of the emotional scars left by my parents’tumultuous relationship. Affection was a rare commodity in that household, replaced by bitter accusations and fakeness.

Sam seems to sense my discomfort, his expression softening. He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “So, what’s the deal with you and my sister?”

My breath catches as a surge of heat floods my face. I avert my gaze, suddenly fascinated by the scuffed toes of my skates. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I mutter, the words thick and unconvincing.

Sam arches an eyebrow, his green eyes glinting with amusement. “Come on, man. I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. Like a couple of lovestruck teenagers.”

I open my mouth to protest, but the words die on my tongue. There’s no use denying the undeniable. Elyse has burrowed her way under my skin. But voicing those feelings, even to Sam, feels wrong. Some things are better left unspoken, especially when it comes to matters of the heart. “She’s…special.”

His expression softens. “Just be careful, yeah?” His tone is gentle, but the undercurrent of warning is unmistakable. “My sister has a good heart, and I don’t want to see it get trampled on.”

I nod, the weight of his words settling like a lead weight in my gut. He’s right, of course. Elyse deserves better than the emotional wreckage I have to offer, but the thought of letting her go, of surrendering the fragile connection we’ve barely started to forge, is like a physical ache.

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