Page 2 of Beneath the Surface

“My phone,” Micah murmured as he turned on the flashlight.

At that moment, I realized my phone was in my back pocket. I pulled it out and turned the flashlight on. I was feeling a lot more sober now, and I took a few unsteady steps closer to where Grayson and Micah were standing.

The three of us went to the edge of the boat, and Micah and I pointed our lights toward the lake, trying to figure out what was the thing that we had collided with. One of my hands came to my chest as I pointed the other one to the water, my body tense, waiting for what might jump out at us.

”There’s nothing,” Micah said. “Must have been a rock.”

Both Grayson and I gave him a dubious look. A rock sounded like a hard stretch, but then again, everything seemed scarier in the pitch black.

“Yeah, a rock,” I whispered.

“Let’s go b?—”

I opened my mouth to scream, but nothing came out.

“Shit,” Grayson hissed.

My heart, which had barely calmed down enough to function properly, was now beating a thousand beats per minute.

A hand.

A human hand coming out of the water next to the bottom of the boat.

The only reason I was able to look away was because of the sound of a Jet Ski driving away. They turned off their lights, but not before we saw their face.

“Fuck.”

I didn’t know who said it. The next thing I knew, the boat was moving, and I was in someone’s arms. They told me everything would be okay. Their words fell on deaf ears. They didn’t even believe what they were saying.

We were all fucked.

1

GRAYSON

FALL SEMESTER

“Again!” Coach called. I nodded to acknowledge I’d heard him, and focused on the net behind Smith, our hulking goalie, even more of an imposing figure than usual with the layers of protection covering his body. Being a first-line center as well as the newly elected team captain meant additional pressure to perfect my game, not to mention our hopes of winning the conference title after narrowly missing out last season, and so I’d dragged Smith down here before the rest of the team showed up to get in some extra ice time.

I lined up the puck, and on Coach’s whistle, skated down the rink in smooth, powerful movements, and when I was where I wanted to be, I wound up for a slap shot, aiming for the top shelf. The thud of my stick connecting with the puck was loud in this otherwise silent rink, absent of the roar of the spectators and the sound of our teammates on the ice. For now, it was just me, Smith, and the puck.

Everything else disappeared when I was on the ice. It was a relief. My only relief. When I wasn’t out here, I remembered.

That night.

Smith intercepted my shot, sending the puck flying across the ice on the rebound, and I executed a turn, lunging forward to change its trajectory, shooting it right back at the goal. This time, it went in. I allowed myself a small smile, because Smith didn’t have his reputation for nothing. That man was destined for the NHL. I knew it. As for me, my dreams didn’t involve the NHL. As much as I loved playing for the Blackwell Lake Barracudas, my interests skewed toward a more behind-the-scenes role. Team physio, if all went to plan.

Coming to a halt in front of Smith, I high-fived him. “Good work, man.”

He grinned from behind the cage of his mask. “Same.” Our teammates spilled onto the ice behind me, and we split, gliding into position to begin our morning drills. My eye was caught by the glint of a camera lens, and I rolled my eyes at the presence of our team’s constant shadow.

Micah Pierce. The coach’s quiet, kind-of-nerdy son, who seemed to hate crowds and yet made an appearance at every single one of our games. Okay, sure, he was the team photographer, but he didn’t have to attendallour games. There were other photographers in the school rota. Another thing he hated? Me. Maybe hate was too strong a word, but he definitely resented me. I’d catch a glimpse of wavy chestnut hair out of the corner of my eye, and I knew that if I allowed myself to look, I’d see brows pulled together, light brown eyes glittering in an angular face as he glowered at me. Always me. Never the others.

Something about it never failed to make my heart beat faster.

He was an enigma, that was all. I didn’t know how to act around people I didn’t understand. With my teammates, I was cocky and confident. It was easy. We all shared the same goal. In our free time—what little we had between practice, games, and school—we liked parties and women. I fit in with them, andthat was something I’d never really felt growing up in England. Moving to the US to live with my dad at sixteen, four years after he’d moved back here after he and my mum had divorced, had opened up a whole new world to me. A world of hockey. And I was very fucking good at it. So good, that I’d not only been given a full ride at Blackwell Lake U, but Coach believed in me and my leadership skills enough to make me captain of the entire team this year.

My gaze caught on Micah’s, and even from my position across the rink, I saw his lips curve into a tiny smirk as he lifted his camera, pointing it directly at me.

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