Page 1 of Heartless Game

1

Isaac

“You might want to get on your knees, Jones, because you’re about to blow a good game,” my opponent, Colson U’s center, chirped at me as we faced off on the ice.

I snorted through my cage. The guy was deluding himself if he thought some uninspired shit-talking would throw me off my game. I ignored him, my eyes trained on the ref—and the puck in his hand. There were only four minutes left in the third period, and the Reina University Kings, my team, was tied with Colson, 4:4. Colson was known to win all their games that went into overtime, and I was determined not to give them the chance.

It had been an exhausting but exhilarating match so far, and I was determined to win. Not only because I wanted to give the victory to my team and my school, but because hearing the horns go in our favor would drown out my father’s voice in my head and erase his recent voicemail from my memory.

Enjoy the rest of the season and your senior year, Isaac. Because the second you graduate, your life belongs to this family. It’s time for you to become who you were always meant to be: Ruthless. Violent. Cruel. Everything you claim to abhor. That was our deal, remember?

No.Fuck that. There was no goddamn way I was going to become the man my father wanted me to be. I was the only member of my family who’d never killed anyone, and I was keeping it that way. More importantly, I was the Reina Kings’ first line center on the ice and their moral center off it. I kept these assholes in line.

I certainly didn’t respond to dumb chirps.

“Hey, Jones…” Colson’s center started again.

“Don’t bother,” his teammate said nearby. “Isaac Jones is unflappable. No one’s ever been able to get him to throw his gloves. Asshole’s a saint.”

The ref blew his whistle in warning.

“Can it!” he said.

Colson’s center stared me in the eyes.

“Maybe you aren’t the one who should get on your knees,” he started. “Your mom, on the other hand…”

Heat pooled on my neck, my mother’s face flashing in my mind, but I forced myself to take deep breaths and stay calm. It didn’t matter that he’d hit his target. Or that losing my mom had been the lowest point in my life. Although there was a well-hidden monster inside me that wanted to punch his teeth out, Good Guy Isaac prevailed. The jackass would eat his words when we won the puck drop—and then the game.

Judah Wasserson, the Kings’ left defenseman and one of my best friends, was not so calm.

“His mother’s dead, you goddamn asshole. But you’re welcome to blow my blade—” he started as he began to strip off his gloves.

The ref blew his whistle again.

I put my hand up.

“Judah, don’t,” I said calmly, stopping him before he threw the game into chaos.

Anyone else, Judah would’ve ignored. But for me, he lowered his hands reluctantly, leaving on his gloves.

“Fuck, man, I’m sorry,” Colson’s center said. “I didn’t know.”

“That’s okay,” I said, grinning at him through my cage. “You’re just used to your own mother being on her knees, aren’t you? Easy mistake.”

“You motherfucker—” he roared…

…just as the ref dropped the puck between us. Grinning harder, I caught it with my stick before passing it to Jack Feldman, our left wing and my other best friend.

“I don’t know why they ever bother,” Jack said as he skated away with the puck.

I turned my attention back to the game, aware of the pissed-off offenseman who had me in his sights. As he headed down the ice toward Jack, I skated beside him, putting out my elbow and—accidentally—knocking him into the boards.

“Whoops, my bad,” I called behind me, gliding quickly across the ice toward his team’s goal. As I did, I passed the penalty box—andher.

Tovah Kaufman. The currently pink-haired distraction sitting one row behind the penalty box. The girl I hated so fucking much, I followed her home every night, sitting outside her apartment in my car with the lights off, daring some slick motherfucker to buzz her door.

If anything was going to distract me from winning, itwouldbe Tovah.

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