1. ARAN

CHAPTER 1

ARAN

I f only I could get to the ice ASAP, it would transform this crappy day into a halfway decent one.

I run my badge by the scanner at the front doors of St. Cloud's training facility, home to the Thunder Bolts and the Thunder Strikes. The sign above the entrance saying all that jazz still looks brand spanking new, courtesy of boosters who have really been enjoying the hockey program since my older sister's generation put it on the map. I couldn't give two flying turds about the prestige of the program or the school, though.

All I want to do is play hockey. And maybe have a few casual dates.

A-freaking-las, I have to go to school, where I get a failing grade on my essay for the useless business class I never wanted to take in the first place, if not thanks to my sisters.

When they said that I'm such an unfeeling robot that I couldn't pass a Captcha to save my life—even though I showed them on my phone that I damn well could—they challenged me to take a class that had more words than numbers. Apparently, the fact that I can stand still while disks made of vulcanized rubber are being shot at me makes me less human. And so is the fact that I'm studying Accounting. Also, that I can't commit to a single relationship.

Now here I am, with my first big F. Coach Green will no doubt have words about it.

On top of that, my phone hasn't stopped buzzing all day, and unfortunately, the messages aren't offers from the pros. Because guess what? The casual date is now upset she's still casual. Even though I told her from the beginning that I don't do serious.

"Watch out, you guys," a familiar voice says as I walk into the locker room. "Our captain looks like a solid five on his bad mood scale."

I throw my duffel bag on the bench by my locker. I set my stick down with more care. It's my favorite.

"When is he not in a bad mood?" asks another clown.

"Hence the scale." The original jokester chuckles. Unfortunately, his locker is next to mine. And he's my assistant captain. And also my roommate. "What's got your panties in a twist this time, Rodriguez?"

I unzip my coat with a grunt. That's all he's getting from me. I'm minutes away from the ice rink, and until then, my mood could easily tip closer to a ten on my bad mood scale. Especially if they catch wind of why I'm so annoyed.

But Archie Bracken doesn't give up. It's why he makes a stellar left winger and assistant captain, and why he tolerates me off the rink. He and Ryan are the only ones.

"Let me guess," he says with a hum. "Did someone corner you in the bathroom and ask for your autograph again?"

I hang my coat and unwind my scarf from around my neck, balling it up and stuffing it in the pocket of my coat. As I peel off my hoodie, some of the other guys join in on the ribbing.

"My turn," Jamal Amadi, my other assistant captain, chimes in with laughter in his voice. "A pretentious professor implied you're yet another stereotypical jock? Because that literally happened to me this morning."

Several murmurs of "me too" erupt. Half of the student body, most of them female, may have become big fans of the team over the years. But the majority of the school staff still think we're a waste of space. And I may have just helped their case with my flunked paper.

"No, no," says the drawling voice of Harrison Edwards, the backup goalie. "This has something to do with a girl. What are you at, girl number fifteen this year alone?"

"Why are you keeping track?" I ask while taking off my jeans and socks. "Waiting for your turn in line or something?"

"Oh, burn!" Archie hollers.

"You wish." Edwards scoffs and turns his back again. He's a classic can-dish-it-but-can't-take-it kind of guy.

I toss my street clothes into the bottom of my locker and kick my boots under the bench. I manage to change into my compression underwear and hockey shorts just as a commotion starts. A yelp from a manly voice is weird enough that I glance over my shoulder and… promptly wish I hadn't.

Because in the middle of the men's locker room is none other than my casual date.

Kelsey, in her pink coat and high-heeled boots, stands out in the locker room decorated in St. Cloud's blues and grays. More pairs of eyes than I need for whatever this is are trained on her. And she doesn't care about the various stages of undress all around her, or my own.

I draw in a deep breath and turn to face her. "What are you doing here?"

Kelsey's eyes get their fill of my bare torso, and the guys start whistling. I'm not sure if it's at her or at me. With these stooges, you never know.

"I had to make all this effort since you're not picking up your phone."

"See? It was a girl all along. Pay up." Edwards offers his upraised palm to Archie.

"No one made a bet. Get that paw away from my face so I can watch the show."

I run a hand over my buzz cut and down the back of my head, trying to massage the tension in my neck. There's some pleading in her eyes, as if she expects that by doing this, she'll convince me to change my mind.

"I responded to you last night," I say, leaving out the part where last night was the third time I said we should part ways.

She takes a deep breath and blurts out, "Breaking up with me by text is such a dick move!"

"Really, Rodriguez?"

"I'm disappointed, Cap."

"That's too harsh, even for me."

"Dude, shut up. You can't even get one date." A round of snickers.

I breathe even deeper. I could tell them that the first time I tried to break up with her was definitely in person, but what does it matter? The people want a show, and I'm not happy to oblige.

Back to rummaging through my duffel bag I go. I find my socks and drop them onto the bench. Next is the performance shirt. I pull it on first. Then I make the mistake of checking to see if she's still there. She is. Guess I should be thankful she didn't show up a few minutes earlier, or she'd have found me buck naked.

Still, I ask, "Why are you still here?"

My tone must've come out harsher than I meant, because even Archie hisses and looks away. I'll get a scolding at home tonight, no doubt.

"Because I'm trying to make an effort here." She stomps her foot. "We have great chemistry, and I can't be the only one who thinks it's a waste to end things here."

"Yeah, you are. Chemistry isn't enough for a relationship, and I don't want one of those anyway." I sigh and jerk my chin at the door. "Do you mind? This is a men's changing room."

"Bro…" someone whispers. I'm not sure if it's a warning or a reprimand. I'm not in the mood for either.

"Then change, because I'm not leaving! We're having this conversation right here, right now."

"Fine."

So I say, but this conversation is over for me. I don't acknowledge Kelsey anymore, even as she starts tossing out lies about how bad I supposedly am in bed. Which contradicts her argument that we have chemistry, anyway. Besides, we didn't even sleep together. I'd look pathetic if I start trying to defend myself, though, or if I attack her instead. I don't care if Edwards and his buddies want to use this to give me crap. I'd rather wait until she runs out of fumes than engage and make it all worse.

I finally sit down to put on compression socks, and she screeches. "Are you really not going to say anything?"

I wince a little but move on to lacing up my skates.

"Word of advice," Archie whispers in a very loud voice. "They don't call him Aran ‘the Iceberg' Rodriguez for no reason. And you don't want to end up like the Titanic, do you?"

"Why don't you date me instead, babe? I promise you I'm much hotter," one of the younger guys says while flexing his arms like a peacock.

"Shove that babe up your ass." Kelsey turns to me. "And you?—"

I know exactly what she's going to do before a single one of her muscles moves. It's in the fury in her eyes, how her nostrils flare. But I let her, because I know this is the closure she needs to move on and leave me the hell alone.

I let her slap me.

The room hisses. Every Bolt felt the blow as if they'd gotten it instead.

Turning my head back around, I test my jaw with my hand. It doesn't hurt too much, like this was just a show for her too.

"You done?" I ask in a gruff tone.

"Now I am. Don't come crawling back to me when you regret this." She turns around, and I notice her heeled boots don't click-clack against the thick carpet. No wonder I didn't hear her come in.

But just as I start feeling some relief, Kelsey walks by Coach Green. He's leaning against the door, chewing gum and glaring daggers at me. It probably means he witnessed most of this little episode.

"Captain, a word." He motions with his finger at me to follow.

Mierda, this will hurt much more than the slap.

"Yes, Coach."

"Oh, now you're in trouble." Edwards laughs.

The urge to tell him to piss off is strong, but I ignore him.

I'm missing my top pads and jersey, but when the Coach says to walk, I walk. We don't make it far from the locker room, just enough that eavesdroppers won't find satisfaction.

"What the hell was that?" is the opener of the conversation.

"I'm still wondering so myself," I mumble.

"Rodriguez, you're the captain of the Thunder Bolts. I've never seen a guy who can command a room without a word the way you do. And I've never met a more talented goalie in my life." His eyebrows are as pinched as they get during bad games. "But what kind of example are you setting by bringing your girlfriends into the locker room?"

"First of all," I say, shifting my weight to one leg. "I didn't bring her in. She sneaked in all on her own." And now I wonder if it was when I badged in, but that's irrelevant. "And second, she's not my girlfriend."

"Well, obviously not after that slap."

"Or before."

He gives me a pointed stare. "The point is that this isn't the first time one of your girl- space -friends has pulled some kind of stunt that disrespects this institution."

He's referring to the time during my sophomore year when some freshman girl I didn't even know wrote my name across her chest and flashed everyone during a game.

I scowl. "That wasn't my fault either."

"It's never your fault, but somehow it keeps happening to you, huh?" Coach sighs so hard he blows a raspberry. "I'm going to give you a warning, and this time, if you don't follow it, I will suspend you for three games and put Edwards in."

I grow as stiff as a plank.

"His save percentage is one point four below mine. You'd hurt the team to teach me a lesson?"

"Yes, I would if it means you'll finally keep it in your pants and focus only on school and hockey. I'm doing this for your own sake. Women, alcohol, drugs, or whatever can completely derail your career now and in the future." He points at me and lowers his voice. "One more scene that messes up this team or your studies, and you're suspended for three games. Even if it's in the playoffs. And even if there are scouts watching. You understand?"

"Crystal clear," I say through gritted teeth.

"Hockey. School." He punctuates each word with a slash of his hand. "Nothing else."

"What about family?"

"Don't be cheeky with me, boy."

I press my lips into a tight line. It was a legit question. "Hockey and school, got it."

"Good." Coach Green nods. "Now go get ready for practice."

"Yes, sir."

Now my bad mood is set at a firm seven on the scale. About to turn seven point five the second I step into the locker room and face the hyenas. But I'm not that worried about that part.

If Coach finds out I got an F on a paper—in a class that is graded entirely on essays—he's going to bench my ass and put in our subpar goalie who hates my guts and got drafted thanks to his daddy's connections. I can't let that happen. I have scouts to wow because I didn't get drafted.

In the quiet of my mind, I make up a plan. Step one, swear off girls for the rest of the season. Step two, do some overtime schoolwork with the help of a tutor to salvage the useless elective. Step three, tell no one about steps one or two so people keep their noses in their own business.

Should be easy.