Page 5 of Second Shot

“No pressure, right?” Ryan grins, and I hate how genuine it looks. How easy everything still seems for him. “But seriously, I’ve been watching tape on the team. You’re one of the best two-way players in the league. If I’m going to measure up to you, I have my work cut out for me.”

Before I can respond, more players come over to meet Ryan.

“Is that the trade everyone’s been talking about?” Jamie “Jinx” Foster’s voice carries across the rink as he skates over, his notorious energy already dialed up to eleven despite the early hour. Behind him, D’Angelo follows with the wide-eyed eagerness of a guy still getting used to being called up from the minors.

“Ryan fucking Caldwell,” Foster continues, apparently immune to Coach’s glare at the language. “Dude, I saw your overtime winner against Boston last month. Absolute beauty.”

Ryan laughs, and I hate how warm and sincere it sounds. “Thanks, man. Got a lucky bounce off the goalie’s pad.”

“Bullshit,” Antonelli chimes in as he joins our growing circle, his scrappy energy evident even in his casual skating. “That was pure skill.”

The introductions flow easily. D’Angelo steps forward with that rookie respect, shakingRyan’s hand and mumbling something about watching his highlights. Knox nods his approval from across the ice where he’s already working on his physical warm-up routine. Even Niko Soderstrom, our eccentric goalie, glides over to tap gloves with a deadpan “Welcome to the madness” that somehow manages to sound both welcoming and ominous.

I watch it all happen while seething inwardly, but unable to stop it. Ryan slides seamlessly into the group dynamic, cracking jokes with Foster, asking D’Angelo about his call-up experience, fitting in like he’s always been here. Just like middle school all over again. He’s effortlessly popular, naturally charming, the kind of person everyone wants to be around.

Everyone except the kid he used to torment.

“Alright, ladies, enough socializing.” Coach’s whistle cuts through the chatter. “We’ve got work to do. First line, center ice. Let’s see how our new addition fits.”

As the group disperses, Ryan skates over to me, spinning his stick in his hands with the kind of casual skill that speaks to thousands of hours of practice. He’s so disgustingly charismatic, even my pulse speeds up when he puts his full attention on me. “Ready to do this, partner?”

Partner.

The word sits strangely between us, making me want to scream. But if I don’t respond, I’ll be the weird one. The rude one. He has no idea who I am. No one on the team understands what he put me through or why I hate him. There’s no conceivable way for me to tell them either. I’d look insane trying to explain what he did to me and how long I’ve held onto my hatred.

I clear my throat and croak, “Always.” My voice sounds hollow even to my own ears. But at least I managed to get a word out. I’m still in shock at the situation I find myself in. He needs to pay for what he did to me, but I don’t know how to make that happen just yet. I need time to strategize. All the years I imagined us running into each other, not once did it occur to me he wouldn’trememberme.

We line up for the first drill. It’s a simple passing sequences designed to test chemistry and timing. Andrej wins the draw and slides the puck to Ryan, who immediately looks for me in the corner. The pass is perfect, tape-to-tape, and I fire it back to him without thinking. He dishes to Andrej, who centers it back to me for a quick snap shot.

It should feel routine. Professional. Instead, every pass between Ryan and me feels loaded with history he doesn’t remember and weight he doesn’t understand.

“Nice,” he says after we complete the sequence. “You’ve got great hands.”

I nod but don’t respond. But at least I don’t glare, which is what I’m tempted to do. Across the ice, I catch Andrej watching us with that calculating look he gets when he’s reading the game. He knows something’s off between me and Ryan, but he probably won’t ask. Not yet. He’ll most likely chalk it up to nerves and us being strangers. It won’t occur to him Ryan is my mortal enemy.

We run the drill a dozen more times, each repetition smoother than the last. Whatever else I can say about Ryan Caldwell, and I have plenty to say, he’s a hell of a hockey player. His passes find me even when I’m not where I’m supposed to be. His positioning opens up space I didn’t know existed. His hockey sense is as sharp as it seemed on TV.

By the time Coach calls for a water break, we’re moving like we’ve been linemates for months instead of minutes. That’s all physical skill because I am not in the least bit bonded to that bastard. I hate him as much as I did in school. I know what a phony he is. I know only too well how he can treat you like shit and then smile in your face. He’s a sociopath, and he’s not going to get away with what he did to me.

“Damn,” Ryan says, skating over to the boards where I’m catching my breath. “That felt...easy. Good easy, you know? Like we’re already in sync.”

I was trying to avoid him, so I have to stomp down my irritation when he joins me. I take a long drink from my water bottle, using the time to control my anger. I study his face but there’s still no recognition. Still no moment of realization. Just professional appreciation and what looks like genuine enthusiasm about our on-ice chemistry. He wants my approval. He wants me to tell him how great we are together.

Well, he can go fuck himself.

“Yeah,” I finally say. “It felt okay, I guess.”

His eyes flicker at my grudging comment. “You didn’t think we worked well together?”

“No, it was fine.”

I purposely use the F word. There isn’t a professional player in the world who enjoys being told that their amazing skills are justfine. I almost laugh at the expression that flutters over his handsome features. He can’t believe his ears. Fine.Fine?He’s probably shocked that I’m not falling all over him like the rest of the team.

“Yeah, I guess maybe I’m trying too hard,” he mutters, frowning. “I can do better.”

I almost swallow my tongue at his statement. I’m shocked by the insecurity in his voice. The great Ryan Caldwell is capable ofdoubtinghimself? I’d never have believed that to be true. He was always so cocky and arrogant when he was younger. The other students thought he walked on water. He’d always acted like he walked on water.

I study him, feeling a weird sense of power humming inside of me. It stems from the fact that he wants my approval. He has no idea I’m the kid he bullied, or he’d probably start sneering and mocking me. But because he has no idea of who I am, hecravesmy approval. He thinks I’m his equal and he needs me to stroke his ego.

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