Page 3 of Puck You
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Grace
The promise left my lips before I even knew what it meant.In my anger, I would have threatened just about anything for the chance to wipe the smug expression from his face.So long, douchebag.I refused to waste another second of my life speaking to this guy, even if he was outrageously attractive.No one with eyes that green and hair so perfectly disheveled should be allowed to exist.Without another word (and there wereseveralchoice words I would have loved to use), I stepped around his annoyingly tall frame and made for the exit.Hockey was a relatively small world.I’d met guys like him before, players who thought that good looks and talent on the ice meant they were superior to everyone else.Therewas no shortage of arrogance within college athletics, but this guy really took the cake.I wouldn’t have been shocked to learn he was nothing more than a cherry-picking bender.
With my morning now thoroughly ruined, I made the short trek back to my on-campus housing.The sun was peeking over the buildings as I stepped outside DuLane Arena.Burning light bathed the grounds in yellow-orange hues and cast tree-shaped shadows across the grass.Several students shot me strange looks as I struggled down the path with my equipment bag in tow, muttering vague threats under my breath.When I caught a glimpse of the ivy-veiled stone structure at the end of the road, I let out a sigh of relief.After three flights of killer stairs, I slipped inside the apartment, dumped my bag on the floor, and let out a huff of frustration.
“Did you bring your hockey gear with you for a morning stroll?”My roommate’s voice carried from the kitchen.
Caroline Hart stood over the stove, her long hair piled into a messy bun as she stirred the contents of her pan over the burner.In the three days since we’d met, I’d learned a lot about the tall blond, the most important being she was the captain of the women’s hockey team and our first-line right defense.Her socials were public, and I’d spent my first night in the apartment lying in bed, digging through her online profile.Alongside her captain duties, she also served as treasurer of the student pre-law organization, volunteered at the local animal shelter, and posted weekly vlogs about fashion.I didn’t know how the girl had time to sleep, let alone pursue a degree.
“I really needed to clear my head this morning, so I stopped by DuLane to get a little ice time,” I explained, taking a seat at the counter.Her brows rose in surprise.“Yes, I know,that’s where the men play.But, in my defense, I didn’t think anyone would be there so early this morning.”
Caroline chuckled.“I take it someone else had the same idea.Let me guess—tall, extremely handsome, probably a little bit rude?Hard to narrow it down because that’s literally the entire team.”
“A little bit rude?He was a complete dickhead!I couldn’t believe how offended he was that I deigned to skate on themen’sice.”
“The players are protective over that rink.Five years ago, it was completely renovated with funds that were donated by a wealthy alumnus.The guys think they’re hot shit because they have access to one of the best hockey facilities in the country.Plus, the entire school panders to them.You would think they were famous by the way they’re treated around here.”She pressed her lips together, as if stopping herself from revealing any more information.
“What aren’t you telling me?”I asked.
“She left out the part where we practice in a rink that should have been condemned years ago.Meanwhile, the men live in luxury at DuLane Arena,” a voice said behind me.
Our other roommate, Lydia West, was leaning against the arched entrance to the kitchen.She wiped at her sleep-bleary eyes with long, ring-covered fingers, the gold jewelry flashing against a beam of sunlight pouring in through the window.A yellow scarf tied around her head prevented a mass of dark curls from falling into her eyes, and she clutched a sketchbook against her hip, one I’d rarely seen her without since we’d met.The right winger was one of the highest-ranking female hockey players in the NCAA.Since her freshman year, Lydia had beenan unstoppable force on the ice.I was in awe at the opportunity to play on the same team as her.
“You can’t be serious,” I said, glancing between them in disbelief.
“She is,” Caroline replied.“Despite the fact that we have a better record than the men—two whole national titles better—they’re treated like freakin’ celebrities while we’re forgotten in the haunted rink on Third Street.”
“Haunted?We have to practice in a haunted rink?Please tell me no one died there.”
Both girls laughed.
“Not that I know of,” said Lydia, “but the building is really old and makes strange noises, so everyone says it’s inhabited by spirits.”
That was a relief to hear.The last thing I needed was to worry about a potential haunting.As a firm believer in the paranormal, one who spent her teen years chronically on creepypasta, I took that stuff seriously.It was always smart to be cautious of ghosts—some had the potential to be vengeful and nasty—just like it was smart to be cautious of dickhead hockey players.
“Is there nowhere better for us to train?”I asked.
“Yes and no,” Caroline said.“We used to practice at a facility in Big Creek, which is only ten minutes north, but they had an electrical fire this summer.There was too much damage to make repairs, so they tore the whole place down.The next closest rink is our home-game arena, but it’s forty-five miles south.The distance is doable for weekend games, but driving an hour there and back during the week messes with almost everyone’s class schedule.The administration reopened McKinley Rink, which was built in the fifties but closed a few years ago.It’s notgreat, but it’s somewhere for us to get ice time.”
Knowing this made my encounter at the arena even more frustrating.Having played hockey my whole life, I’d seen first-hand how different the boys’ programs were from the girls’, how underdeveloped our training was when compared to the male leagues.I’d even played on the boys’ team in high school because that was the only way I could reach the level of competitiveness I craved.And here I was, at one of the best hockey schools in the country, and it was more of the same.
“I need to figure out who that guy was so I can mail him a box of dog shit,” I muttered.
“What guy?”Lydia asked.
Caroline, who was finally happy with her scrambled eggs, dumped them into a bowl and took a seat beside me at the counter.“She decided to get a little skating in at DuLane Arena this morning.One of the guys ran her off.”
“It was probably Sebastian.No one else would be at the rink this early, don’t you think?”Lydia looked at Caroline to confirm her suspicion.
“Does he have intense green eyes and think that the world revolves around him?”I asked.
“That’s the one,” Caroline confirmed.“He’s the team captain.”
I filed that piece of information away for future reference.Now that I knew his name, it would be easier to track him down and accidentally spill my morning smoothie down the front of his shirt.
“I guess that means he’s officially back,” Lydia said.
