Page 2 of On Ice

“Learned from the best, Cap.” Torres grins, then winces as it pulls at his sore lip.

The final buzzer sounds moments later. As we line up for handshakes, I catch sight of Deck Murphy, our veteran enforcer, having what looks like a very intense conversation with Davidson at center ice. Deck’s been in the league longer than anyone else on our team, and he takes his role as protector seriously. Whatever he’s saying has Davidson looking a shade paler.

Most of the Bay City players are professional about the handshake line, quick clasps and mumbled “good games.” Their captain, Alex Chen, even pulls me aside for a real handshake. “Hell of a game, Riley. That last goal was beautiful.”

“Thanks. You guys didn’t make it easy on us.” I’ve always respected Chen. He’s tried more than once to rein in Davidson’s worse impulses, but there’s only so much a captain can do with a player like that.

When Davidson comes over to “pretend congratulate” me, of course, he can’t just be normal. He grips my hand too tight, yanking me close. “This isn’t over,” he says through gritted teeth. “Tell your rookie I’ll be looking for him next time we play.”

I meet his eyes, not pulling away. “Threaten my team again, and you’ll have bigger problems than a four-game losing streak.”

He curls his lip. “You were in the same boat, Riley. You got lucky this game, that’s all.”

“Bullshit, pussy. Your team is getting dragged down by your crappy play.” I smile, even though it feels like my face is about to crack off.

“Oh, yeah?” Davidson snarls, moving toward me threateningly.

The hovering refs separate us before it can escalate further. I have no desire to get a post-game penalty, so I skate away. I’m not letting Davidson ruin my high. As I skate toward the tunnel, the roar of the crowd washing over me, something makes me glance up at the owner’s box. We haven’t had an owner present at games since Thompson sold the team two months ago. We have no idea who purchased the team. It’s been kept very hush-hush. The empty box has been a constant reminder of our uncertain future.

But tonight, there’s someone up there. A man in a dark suit stands at the glass, his presence commanding attention even from this distance. He’s watching me with an intensity that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. His gaze is almost predatory. He doesn’t wave or attempt any friendly gestures. He just stares.

“Yo, Cap.” Noah’s voice breaks through my thoughts. He’s waiting for me at the tunnel entrance, dark face split in a wide grin. “You coming to celebrate or what? First round’s on Deck.”

I shake off thoughts of the mystery man in the owner’s box. Right now, all I want is a shower and to celebrate this win with my team. We’re only three points out of a playoff spot, and with twenty games left in the season, anything can happen.

The locker room is electric when I walk in. Torres is already recounting the game-winning play to anyone who’ll listen, while Deck gives an extremely colorful play-by-play of whatever he said to Davidson. Noah’s singing a Taylor Swift song off-key as he strips off his gear, and our equipment manager, Jerry, is cursing under his breath as he collects broken sticks. Coach will come in later to give us a pep talk, I’m sure of it.

These guys are like family. We live and breathe hockey, and games like the one we just won are what we live for. These moments, the victory celebrations, the shared pain of losses, the inside jokes that only make sense after countless hours together on buses, planes, and in identical hotel rooms across the country. This is what it’s all about.

Feeling happy, I unlace my skates and go to take a quick shower. As the hot water washes the sweat from the game off of me, I’m already thinking about the film review we’ll do tomorrow. We’ve got the Chicago Wolves coming to town next Thursday, and there are definitely some defensive breakdowns from tonight’s game that we need to clean up before that game.

Once I’m done showering, I return to the buzzing locker room. Sure enough, Coach is there and he sits us down to talk about what we did right and what we can improve on. He’ll be more detailed and more critical during our meetup tomorrow. For now, he wants to keep the good vibes flowing along with the champagne.

I was so distracted celebrating with the guys, I’m only wearing my underwear when our PR manager, Sofia, pokes her head into the locker room. “Captain?” she calls out.

I grab my jeans and quickly tug them on as the guys do their obligatory whooping and hollering at the presence of a woman in the locker room. She rolls her eyes and ignores them, striding toward me.

“The new owner wants to meet with you, Cap,” she says. Her dark hair cascades over her shoulders, and her heels clack on the tile floor.

“He wants to meet with just me?” I wave toward the other guys. “Why not meet the whole team?”

She shrugs. “At the moment, he just wants to meet with you.”

My stomach drops as I remember that intense gaze from the man in the owner’s box. The idea of being alone with that guy is intimidating. I know nothing about him, yet instinctively know I don’t want to be alone with him.

“Aww, come on, man,” I grumble. Why the hell would he want that? That’ll be ten times more awkward than if the whole team were there.

She shrugs. “Not my call.”

“Is Coach or the GM gonna be there?” I ask hopefully.

“Nope. He wanted a one-on-one with you, Cap.” She smirks. “He was very clear about that.”

“Must be that amazing play you made at the end,” Noah heckles. “Who wouldn’t want to talk to the hero of the game?”

I grimace. “Hero? Hardly.” I return my gaze to Sofia. “Can’t I just meet the guy tomorrow? I want to celebrate with the guys.”

“Sorry.” Sofia’s expression is tense. “He was very… insistent that he meet you tonight. He doesn’t strike me as the type who likes to be kept waiting either, so hurry up and get dressed.” Something in her tone makes me take notice. Sofia’s been handling PR for the Ice Hawks for five years. I’ve seen her stare down angry reporters, manage social media disasters, and go toe-to-toe with league officials. I’ve never seen her look so uneasy.

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