The Boy Who Checked Me First

Chapter 14: The Private Skate That Wasn't Private

Seattle wanted Cole alone at 8 a.m., but by 8:03 the entire Whitmore team was in the stands.

I wasn't supposed to be there.

"Be alone," Richard Maddox had said. "No distractions."

I was the distraction. So I stayed in bed after Cole left at 6:45 a.m., his hair still damp from his nervous shower, his jaw tight, wearing his practice sweats and carrying two sticks — one his, one lucky.

"I'll text you after," he said at the door, not kissing me, not touching me, because his dad was probably downstairs timing how long he spent saying goodbye to his roommate.

At 7:30, my phone buzzed.

PARK: where r u

PARK: east rink. now.

PARK: coach told everyone to stay away so seattle can evaluate maddox alone

PARK: so naturally everyone is going. jensen is pretending he doesn't know. he told us "if you happen to be doing voluntary cardio at east rink at 8 a.m. i cannot stop you"

PARK: aria. cole looks like he's gonna throw up. get here.

I pulled on leggings, my Whitmore hoodie, and ran. As Shahamah to Whitmore is not a short run in August, but the East Rink was only ten minutes if you cut through the field hockey turf and didn't care about looking like a stalker.

By 7:58, I was outside East Rink, peeking through the cracked door. It was supposed to be empty. Private skate means one scout, one player, one sheet of ice.

Instead, the bleachers were full.

The entire men's team, in hoodies and hats, trying to look casual and failing miserably. Park had brought popcorn. Our trainer Maria had brought a coffee the size of her head. Lena and three girls from the women's club team were there in the front row with a sign that said WE SKATE WITH HER TOO.

And in the luxury box, Richard Maddox in his suit, Derek Lavoie from Seattle in his Kraken polo, and Coach Jensen with his arms crossed so tight his biceps might pop.

Cole was alone on the ice, doing slow laps, stickhandling, trying to pretend he didn't see us. His shoulders were up to his ears.

I slid into the row behind Park. "You guys are terrible at 'alone.'"

"We're support," Park whispered. "Alone is stupid. Seattle needs to know he's not alone. He's got a team. He's got -" He looked at me. "He's got you."

On the ice, Lavoie blew a whistle and skated out. No preamble.

"Maddox! Let's see it. No contact, no systems, just you. Skate, shoot, handle. Show me why I should keep your dad from talking me out of you."

Richard didn't flinch. Cole did. Just a tiny flinch.

Lavoie ran him. And I mean ran him. For 30 minutes straight, it was the most brutal private workout I've ever seen. Full-ice sprints with puck, tight turns around cones, rapid release shooting from bad angles, backward skating transitions, conditioning skate that would have killed most of us. Cole didn't complain. He just did it, his breath clouding, sweat darkening his shirt, his bloody lip from Saturday splitting open again.

He was beautiful. Not heartthrob beautiful. Hockey beautiful. The way his edges bit, the way he could stop on a dime and go the other way, the way he never looked down at the puck.

Lavoie was writing. Constantly writing.

At 8:47, Lavoie finally said, "Alright. One more. Show me a power-play entry with a trailer. You need a trailer."

Cole stopped, hands on knees, panting. "I don't have a trailer. You said alone."

Lavoie looked up at the stands. At me. He smiled, slow, like he'd planned this.

"I said you should be alone," he said, loud enough for the whole rink. "Your dad said you should be alone. But I watch film, Maddox. I watch who you look for when you're in trouble on the ice."

He pointed his stick at me. "Chen. Get down here."

My heart stopped. Twenty heads swiveled to stare at me.

"What?" I squeaked.

"You're his left wing. You scored off his feed Saturday. You want to show me he's a leader, show me with your best chemistry. Skates are in the box. Jensen told me you keep an extra pair here."

I looked at Jensen. Jensen shrugged, trying to look innocent and failing. "What? I cannot stop voluntary cardio, Lavoie."

Richard Maddox stood up in the box. "Derek, this is not what we discussed."

"d**k, we discussed evaluating your son. I'm evaluating." Lavoie didn't even look at him. "Chen! Ice! Now! Or I'm cutting this short and going to breakfast."

Park shoved my skates at me. "Go. Be wholesome. Be historic."

I was on the ice in 90 seconds, lacing while my hands shook. Cole skated over, breathing hard, sweat dripping off his chin onto the ice.

"What are you doing here?" he hissed, but he was smiling for the first time all morning.

"Voluntary cardio," I hissed back. "You look terrible."

"You look late. Trailer position. You know the entry we ran Saturday?"

"The one where I almost died? Yes, I remember."

Lavoie blew the whistle. "Go on my whistle. Maddox, carry, Chen trail high. I want to see you two think."

We did. God, we did. Cole carried in wide, I trailed high like we'd done a hundred times in practice, he drew both imaginary defenders, feathered a backhand saucer that landed flat on my tape, I one-timed it top shelf where no goalie was even standing.

It was clean. Silent rink clean. The puck pinged the post and in.

The team in the stands went nuts, forgetting they were supposed to be quiet.

Lavoie didn't clap. He just nodded and said, "Again. Other side. Faster."

We ran it five more times. Each time faster, tighter, no words, just eye contact. The kind of chemistry you can't coach, you can't fake with a charity date auction. The kind you get from living in a tiny apartment and fighting over who left the ice bag in the hallway and icing each other's bruises at midnight.

On the sixth rep, Cole came in too hot, lost an edge, and slammed into me by accident. We both went down in a heap, tangled, his chest on my back, his arms around me to break my fall.

We stayed down for two seconds too long, breathing hard, his mouth by my ear.

"Thanks for not listening to my dad," he whispered.

"Thanks for falling for me literally," I whispered back.

We got up. Lavoie was staring at his stopwatch, then at us, then at Richard Maddox in the box, who had his head in his hands.

"Alright," Lavoie said. "Maddox, off. Chen, stay."

Cole looked confused. "What?"

"You heard me. Off. Chen, come here."

Cole skated off, slow, looking back at me like I was being led to execution. I skated to Lavoie, my legs jelly.

He pulled his cap down, lowered his voice so only I could hear, the team couldn't.

"Miss Chen, how many DMs have you gotten since Saturday offering you NIL deals?"

I blinked. "Uh... a lot? Like, maybe 30? I haven't opened most, they are... mostly weird."

"Yeah, they will be weird. You're the first girl to score in a Whitmore men's game in 50 years, you kissed your captain in the penalty box, and Seattle's socials got 4 million views on your clip. You know what we have in Seattle?"

"A lot of rain?"

"A PWHL expansion team affiliated with us. Seattle Torrent. They need a story. They need a player who can handle being a story. Jensen sent me your junior tape last night without you knowing. You have hands, Chen. You have worse skating than Maddox but better vision."

My mouth went dry.

Lavoie continued, "I'm not here to offer you a Kraken contract. I'm here to offer you a look. Development camp invite, Torrent, December. Three days. No promises. But you'd be the only college player there who is still playing men's D1 hockey. That's interesting to us."

It was everything I wanted before I met Cole. A women's pro look. A path that didn't require me to be a gimmick on a men's team.

It would mean leaving Whitmore. Leaving this team. Leaving him.

"Why are you telling me here? Why not in an office?" I whispered.

"Because," Lavoie said, looking up at the box where Richard was now arguing quietly with Jensen, "I wanted to see what your captain did when someone offered you something that takes you away from him."

He blew his whistle, loud. "Maddox! Back on! Both of you, one more shift, full speed, game situation, you two vs. no one, show me you can close."

Cole flew back on. "What did he say?" he asked instantly, searching my face.

"Later," I said. My voice cracked.

We skated the last drill like our lives depended on it. We scored again. We backchecked hard. We crashed into the boards together and laughed, high on adrenaline and terror.

When we finally stopped, Lavoie just said, "Good. Maddox, you keep your head like you did today when Volkov hits her, you have a shot. Chen, you keep playing like you belong here, you have more than a shot."

He looked up at the box. "d**k, breakfast? My treat. Let's let the kids go to their press conference. They have to be wholesome somewhere else."

Richard Maddox came down the stairs slowly. He looked at Cole, sweaty, bloody-lipped, happy. He looked at me, holding Cole's stick because he'd dropped it when we fell.

He stopped in front of us. For a second I thought he was going to yell. About the team being here. About me ruining the private skate.

Instead, he said to Cole, quiet, "You looked like me out there when I was 22. Before I learned to play scared. Don't learn to play scared."

He walked out without waiting for an answer.

Cole stared after him, his chest heaving.

The team poured onto the ice, all of them, shoes and all, because they don't know how to be normal. Park picked me up. Maria checked Cole's lip.

Coach Jensen yelled from the doorway, "If you two are done with your unauthorized romantic skate movie, Channel 5 is waiting at 10 and they want to ask you if you're dating! And Chen! I just got an email from someone named Lavoie about you! What did you do?"

Cole's head snapped to me. "What email?"

I swallowed. The invite was burning a hole in my brain. Seattle Torrent. December. A future that wasn't here, in this chipped youth rink with his team around us.

I looked at Cole — his captain who just bought me for $5000, kissed me in a penalty box, fought a guy for checking me, and showed up alone because his dad told him to.

"Nothing," I said. "Later. I promise."

But my phone buzzed in my bag on the bench. Lena, who had stayed to film for @WhitmoreGossip: GIRL SEATTLE JUST POSTED YOUR PRIVATE SKATE ON THEIR INSTA STORY. THEY TAGGED PWHL. WHAT DID YOU DO????

And Cole's phone buzzed at the same time. He looked at it, then at me, his smile fading.

Because Seattle had posted the clip of us falling. And captioned it: Chemistry is not taught. It's found. @WhitmoreHockey @Maddox77 @AriaChen10 — Seattle is watching both of you. 👀 #HockeyIsForEveryone #PWHLTorrent

We weren't a distraction anymore.

We were both prospects.

And we had a press conference in 45 minutes where we had to pretend we were just teammates who were totally, completely, wholesomely not dating.