Page 276 of Well Played

GAME ON

BY KATHERINE ISAAC AND CRYSTAL NORTH

A solid wall of power and muscle with a soft interior.

A dainty and delicate figure skater with a core of steel.

Blades clash,

On and off the ice.

Will it be Game Over, or will it be Game On?

Please note: Game On is set in the UK and written in British English. There are slight variations in the language between the US and British English.

1

Tarak

This is it.Everything I’ve ever wanted—the chance to play for real—is within touching distance. All I have to do is reach out and open the door.

Then walk through it, go meet your new team, kick ass, win the league, and get scouted to play professionally.

Easy. Right?

Coach Felder promised it would be worth uprooting my life and moving across the globe, and I believed him.

So why is walking inside proving so damn tough?

Transferring my kit bag from my hand to the opposite shoulder, I take that final step, open the door, and it hits me.

Home.

Ice is ice, and the rink is where I belong. Doesn’t matter what town, country, or continent I’m in. Skating is what I do best, and I can be the best wherever I am.

It’s why I got scouted with an all-expenses paid scholarship, even though I’m in my final year at uni. Chances like thisdon’t come around every day, and they don’t get offered to just anyone, either.

Time to go meet my new teammates. They better be as good as Coach made them out to be. I don’t want to be carrying them the whole season.

Not that I couldn’t. I just don’t want to have to. It would be nice to play alongside peers who can actually keep up.

The arena is impressive; I’ll give them that. At home I skated semi-professionally in the Australian Ice Hockey League—the AIHL— and our local stadium only held fifteen hundred. Judging from the size of the building alone, this has to be double that. Easy. I can already imagine this place packed on game day, the crowds cheering me on.

Coach Felder raved about this team when I met him last year, said the whole city is obsessed with ice hockey. That playing a season here would almost guarantee me a spot on any professional team of my choice.

He asked me to meet him at the rink today, even though it’s been nearly forty-eight hours since I left home, thanks to a shitty layover. I swear I’m running on pure adrenaline and these weird chalky little lollies that are oddly fizzy and taste like sherbet. I don’t know what they’re called, but I ate like fifty packs of them so I’m kind of buzzing. Or should that be fizzing?

I’m excited to get on the ice, too. When I arrived, I grabbed my kit bag right out of the car that was sent to collect me and left everything else in the boot. I probably should prioritise finding campus, settling into my room, sleeping…but it can all wait. The ice calling to me can’t.

“Ah, Tarak, you’re here already. Welcome.” Coach Felder grins warmly at me as he walks through the arena doors.

I’m not precisely sure of his accent—I think all Brits sound the same: either like Michael Caine inThe Italian Jobor like the royal family. And Coach is definitely in the latter category. Buthe swears a lot more than I bet the royal family does. Would have loved to hear the late queen dropping the f-bomb, though. Bet she was a badass, rest her soul.

Can’t believe I asked Coach if he knew Prince Harry when I met him. He thought I was joking and called me a twat. Apparently, the Brits don’t really like the ‘ginger tosser’ anymore, so that was a bit of a sore subject.

“S’up, Rhys.”

“It’s ‘Coach’ in the arena, mister.” He chuckles. “Decent flight?”

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