39. Luke

Chapter 39

Luke

I slip into the arena before dawn. The place is still dark and silent, save for my own footsteps echoing down the halls. I’d been doing early practices, but nothing like this. I needed that privacy for what I had planned today. What I was doing wasn’t for the team, the fans, or even Coach.

It was for me. Just for me.

I head to the locker room, the fluorescent lights buzzing harshly overhead as I gear up in silence. Today, there’ll be no crowds, no rules. Because that’s the way it has to be.

I’d told myself that Lucas was in the past. That his cheap shot and his dismissal from the league was something I’d moved on from. But deep down, I knew there was a part of me that still wasn’t satisfied. I needed to close this chapter my way, with no lingering questions about who was the better player. I needed to prove who the real Luke was.

His elimination from the league couldn’t be the last word on the matter. I had to know.

As I tighten the laces on my skates, I hear footsteps approaching. A second later, the team trainer, Esai, appears at the doorway, raising an eyebrow as he takes in the sight of me suited up.

“Morning,” he says. He knew why I was here. He was the only one I’d talked to about my plan. “You sure you want to do this?”

It was a fair question. “I have to know, Esai.”

He gives a slow nod. He was a trainer. He’d been around enough athletes to know what this meant to me. “Alright. He’s out there, just like you asked.”

I give him a slight shoulder squeeze, the adrenaline already pulsing through me. This is my race to win. I have to settle things once and for all. And if Lucas is half the competitor he claims to be, he’ll want this, too. Which is why I knew he’d show up.

The kid had just as much pride on the line as I did.

I step out onto the ice, the cold air waking every nerve in my body. The rink is dark except for the single line of lights illuminating the path before me, a strip of ice that stretches out like a runway.

Esai had kindly set everything up for us.

I skate forward, feeling the smooth, familiar glide of the ice beneath me. This was my house, but if he won today, I’d know who it might have belonged to, if he hadn’t let his temper get the best of him. This race might ruin the arena for me, and I knew that, but I wasn’t going to think about that now. I had to know if I was better than this kid.

Out of the shadows, Lucas emerges. He skates at the far end of the rink, his gaze locked on me with the look of someone ready to prove a point. I haven’t seen him since he was kicked from the team.

Esai skates up to us, clipboard in hand, his expression neutral as he looks between us. “Alright, boys. Same rules as always. Clean race, and I don’t want to see any cheap moves, understood?”

I nod but Lucas asks, “Why were you looking at me when you said that?” Esai arches a brow and I’m inclined to join him, but Lucas’ smirk lets us know he was teasing. “Too soon?”

“Funny,” Esai says flatly. “To your marks.”

This is it. No team, no crowd, no distractions. Just the two of us. We skate to the cones on the ice and crouch into a starting position.

Esai raises his hand, the silence stretching out thick and heavy, the only sound the faint hum of the arena lights overhead.

He drops his hand.

I take off like a bullet, every muscle in my body pushing, propelling me forward with everything I have. The skates feel like an extension of myself, every stride smooth and powerful, a rhythm I’d honed over the years, through sweat, endless injuries, and a relentless drive to be the best. I knew Lucas was behind me, his presence like a phantom I could feel without seeing, but I didn’t look back. This was my race, my chance to leave everything on the ice, and I wasn’t holding back.

The finish line approaches, the end of the strip looming closer, and I push harder, faster. My legs and lungs burn, a sensation I’d come to associate with success. I cross the line with a triumphant surge, a full second ahead of him, my skates skidding as I come to a stop, my breath heavy but steady.

I won.

I turn to see Lucas slowing to a stop, his chest heaving as he comes up beside me, a resigned expression on his face as he takes in the distance between us. I can see it in his eyes—the acknowledgment, the acceptance. This was a race he couldn’t argue with, a victory he couldn’t contest. He bends down, his hands on his knees as he gasps for breath.

I wait until I think he can stand again and hold out a hand, ready to end this once and for all. I brace for another sucker punch as I say, “Good race.”

For a second, he hesitates, his gaze dropping to my hand, as though unsure if he wants to take it. But then he reaches out, gripping my hand in a firm shake. “Maybe you’re not such an asshole after all.”

I let out a tense laugh, shaking my head. “Between the two of us, I’m the asshole?”

He smiles, and it could be the first time I’ve ever seen a real smile on his face. “To be honest, I thought you were going to have the team jump out of the dark and beat the shit out of me.”

I glance sideways at him, raising an eyebrow. “So, why’d you come?”

“Assuming you were being straight with me and this wasn’t an ambush,” he lets out a sigh, looking away for a second before meeting my gaze again, “I had to know who was better.”

The honesty in his voice catches me off guard. This kid really was me, just a younger version with a worse temper. I can understand that—I would have done the same in his skates. Athletic pride had brought him here. We both had something to prove to ourselves and we both wanted to know where we stood, even if it meant risking a bruised ego or a bruised body.

“We have more in common than just our names,” I tell him. “That’s why I texted you.”

He looks at me, his expression softening. “I respect that. I thought… well, I thought it was gonna go differently.”

“So did I, if I’m honest.”

He chuckles. “But you had to know.”

“I had to know.”

For a second, we just stand there, two men with too much in common. Remorse haunts his eyes, but I know he’ll never apologize. Words like that aren’t in his vocabulary. Maybe if he hadn’t gotten himself booted from the league, I might have been able to help him gain some maturity.

The look on his face is acknowledgment enough of the damage he’s done, and I know this is as close to an apology as I’ll get. I decide that’s enough to satisfy my need for one.

He takes a step back, his expression turning serious. “I didn’t mean to actually hurt you, Luke. I wasn’t trying to, that wasn’t why I did it. It wasn’t personal. I know it was personal for you…” He struggles with his words, like he wants to say a thousand things at once. I know the feeling. He goes on, “I see red sometimes when I’m angry, and I can’t control it. It’s like something else takes over. I can’t even think when it happens. There was nothing in my head in that moment, other than I knew you were my enemy. That ever happen to you?”

I study him, understanding the intensity behind those words. I know what it’s like to have anger boil over, to let it push you too far. But hockey isn’t the place for uncontrolled rage or the kind of recklessness that blurred the line between competition and violence for him.

“When I was younger, I got into some scraps. Nothing like what happened here but I’ve seen that kind of anger before. I know it’s hard to handle. And I’m sure you miss being on the ice, but maybe it’s a good thing you’re out of the game, because that’s not what hockey’s about.”

He nods, a slight frown creasing his brow as he looks down. “Yeah. Guess you’re right. I need fewer rules.”

“That’s not what I meant?—”

He smirks at me. “Yeah, I heard ya.”

“How are the Whitney-mandated anger management classes going?”

He throws his head back and laughs. “It’s a lot of touchy-feely bullshit, but it’s better than prison.”

“You’re lucky I was able to talk her down.”

“I fuckin’ know it. Thanks for that. And for not pressing charges.”

I shrug. “Everyone deserves a second chance.”

“Even me?”

“Of course. You’re out in the world using my nickname, so you have to be a good example for all the Lukes out there.”

He gives me a rueful smile. “At least things are working out. After that little televised fight we had, I got an offer from an MMA league. Guess I have my next career lined up.”

I feel a genuine laugh rise in my belly, surprised by the news. “Well, at least you’ll be in a place where swinging at people is encouraged.”

“Figured I’d play to my strengths.”

“Keep the punches in the octagon, and you’ll be fine.”

The tension between us finally dissipates, leaving behind a strange sense of understanding. He wasn’t my rival. He was just a kid trying to find his way, just like I had been once. And maybe, in some twisted way, we’d helped each other find our paths. He found MMA, and I found out how Keke truly feels about me.

As we turn to part ways, Lucas shoots me a smirk. “See you around, Luke.”

Maybe it isn’t so bad after all to share a name with someone as tenacious as he is. So, I reply with, “Yeah, you too, Luke.”

Surprise makes him drop the smirk. Maybe it was the respect I’d shown him or the fact he was beginning to understand who I was. But he adds, “I guess, in the interest of sportsmanship, I should be honest about something.”

“What’s that?”

“I let you win.”

I laugh once, a grin tugging at my lips. “Is that so?”

He shrugs, feigning nonchalance as if he hadn’t just thrown the gauntlet one more time. “Figured I’d give the old man a break. I gave him a boo-boo, thought he could use an easy win.”

I can’t help the laughter that escapes me, and I shake my head as I skate back into position. “Well in that case, we’re going again. This time, no mercy.”

He laughs, a genuine, unrestrained sound that echoes through the empty arena. In that moment, he’s just one of the guys, bullshitting his way into another race. If things were different, I might have proposed a friendship.

If Keke wouldn’t have rightfully killed me for it.

“Bring it, old man,” he shoots back, his eyes glinting. “Best two outta three.”

And as we line up at the starting point, side by side, I know this is a race I’ll remember—not because of the outcome, but because we’re just two athletes, connected by love for the game that goes beyond rivalry, beyond pride.

We were brothers on the ice.

That’s the magical thing about hockey. I’d tried other sports, but none of them fit me the way the ice does. No other major sport tells you to stick knives on your feet and glide over thirty miles an hour headlong into walls and people with meager pads and a helmet.

You had to be a little crazy to do that, and at our level, we were more than a little crazy.

“Ready?”

“Ready,” he replies, his voice steady, his gaze locked on the ice ahead.

As we take off, I realize something. This is what I’m going to show my kid. Not the fights that get the fans jumping out of their seats, and not the puck bunnies that so many guys are in it for.

I’m going to show them this. Athletes doing what they do best.

I beat him by three seconds in the second race. As I wait for him, gasping at the finish line, I ask, “Had enough yet?”

He shakes his head, panting. “Best three outta four.”

I grin. “Let’s go.”