In The Cold

Chapter 5 Fraught Tactical Duels

“Fierce. Left-handed. Deadly in the zone. Give him a breakaway and he’s almost impossible to stop.”

Ryder leans against the locker-room table, eyes fixed on the tactics board as she works through her thoughts, one hand rubbing at her shoulder.

“Emotional.”

The contempt in her eyes is barely perceptible.

Emotion only matters when it can be used against someone. That is her philosophy.

Head coach Jivan Olemendi studies the board.

“That may simply be his tendency. It doesn’t mean he’ll always play that way.”

“He’s a male player. It’s not exactly surprising.”

She pauses.

“But why doesn’t he pass?”

“Maybe his teammates aren’t in a good position.”

“Look at this play. Emongard has already created a perfect opening in front of the net, and Brooks abandons the play completely. He’d rather drive into a dead angle and take a shot off the post. It doesn’t make sense.”

Jivan’s brow tightens.

“If he insists on playing alone, and there’s already a problem with coordination, then there’s a weakness in the defensive structure.”

“How is he with his teammates?”

“According to the sports papers? The team’s new star. The franchise is backing him.”

Ryder falls silent for a moment.

“Maybe he isn’t playing alone.”

Her eyes narrow.

“Maybe he’s afraid to pass.”

Jivan looks at her in disbelief.

“He’ll score ten goals in five minutes, but he’s afraid to pass?”

On the ice, Iris’s blue figure moves through her mind. Her eyes—inhumanly quick—turn, expand, slow, replay. Something strange hides beneath the ice. Something blurry. Something she cannot put into words.

“One turn is all it takes.”

Jivan nods as though she understands. She picks up her notes, then asks casually,

“You’ve talked to Laura?”

Ryder turns slightly toward him, but her thoughts remain on the tactics board.

“Yeah…”

She hesitates.

“I will.”

“Soon. She doesn’t have much time.”

Jivan pats her arm and leaves.

Ryder remains where she is. After a moment, she looks toward Laura’s locker.

Toronto — Scotiabank Arena

“Goal! Chris Emongard finds Iris Brooks, and Brooks puts it away!”

Iris stands in front of the Maple Leafs crowd.

Even with the glass between them, when she presses her index finger to her lips, the fans mirror the gesture.

Not yet.

She sees the chant that belongs only to her. Number 7 jerseys rise above the crowd. Their hope. Their longing. Their shared heartbeat, pulled along by a single gesture.

They love her.

How could anyone not?

This private language belongs only to her. And one day, fate will let ten thousand hands read it. Twenty thousand eyes will witness her brilliance, her glory. When a star at the height of her power begins to tremble above Toronto, her light becomes impossible to refuse.

But—

is any of this real?

The metallic taste of her helmet makes her thirsty. Her breathing is fast.

She closes her eyes. The world becomes dark. So quiet.

Iris raises both hands and opens her eyes without hesitation. The arena erupts——everything she has won with those hands— how could it not be real?

Pelivar stands in the middle of the locker room, his face dark. The other players sit in silence or pack their gear away.

When Iris walks in, every gaze turns toward her in perfect, wordless unison.

She feels the suffocating atmosphere and sits. Looks at Pelivar.

“How do you think you played today? Chris?”

Chris chooses his words carefully.

“I think we could’ve been better with our coordination—”

“We never even got a chance to play, did we?”

Gavin cuts him off.

The words are edged with venom. His eyes remain fixed on Iris.

Oh.

This is about me.

Iris meets his gaze. Her answer is flat.

“What? You didn’t play?”

“What did you say?”

Gavin throws his helmet aside and rises, stepping toward her.

Iris only looks at Pelivar, their head coach.

“I’m here to score, aren’t I?”

Pelivar presses a hand to his forehead. Only now does he intervene.

“That’s enough! You want to take this attitude into tomorrow’s game against Edmonton?”

Chris listens and pushes Gavin back into his seat. Iris watches him. Suddenly, she wonders what Ryder would do.

“We’ve lost to Edmonton for three straight seasons. You all know what that means. It means this is a hard fight. It means they look at us like we’re amateurs. But at least this season, we’ve finally broken through.”

He looks at Iris and sighs.

“Iris, listen. Around here, we say what we mean. There can’t be walls between us.”

He pauses.

“On the ice, you need to see your teammates.”

Like Ryder does?

“Defense tightens up. Chris moves forward. Iris, you work with Gavin. Everyone clear?”

No one answers.

But every player looks at Iris. Chris looks at her too. His expression is heavy.

Iris tilts her head back against the locker door. Her voice is indifferent.

“Understood.”

Pelivar gives her a meaningful look. Then leaves.

She still hasn’t replied to Ryder’s message. Or perhaps Ryder never expected a reply. Iris exits the conversation. Then opens it again. Then closes it.

Finally, she tosses the blank phone screen into the back of her locker and reaches for a towel.

Gavin comes up behind her.

“Listen.”

He is almost pressed against her back. He slams her locker door shut with one fist.

“If you’re going to play with me, you do what I tell you. Got it?”

His voice drops.

“And if you pull that s**t again, I swear to God.”

Everyone else in the locker room watches. Including Chris.

Iris acts as though Gavin is nothing more than empty air. She calmly wipes her neck and shoulders.

Time stretches strangely in the silence following his threat. She wipes the tip of her nose. Tosses the towel onto the chair. Just as everyone assumes she is going to let it go—

Iris spins.

She grabs Gavin by the collar and hurls him into the lockers.

Bang——

His ears ring.

“You listen to me good.”

She grips his collar and drives him against the metal again.

“You—I don’t care. Your worthless pride? I don’t care about that either.

I’m here because I want to win. You’re here because you come from Michigan.”

A flash of surprise crosses Gavin’s face. His complexion turns livid.

“Anyone who gets in my way…”

Her voice is low. Emotionless. And somehow more oppressive because of it.

“I bury them.”

“Do you f*****g understand?”

She watches the anger in Gavin’s eyes flare— then shrink. His fury collapses into something smaller. Something that can no longer burn.

The pressure inside Iris eases.

“Answer.”

“…Got it.”

Only then does she let him go.

She turns away and continues wiping the sweat from her skin as though nothing has happened. The locker room falls into an uneasy silence. Everyone looks at everyone else.

Gavin scans the room. Chris and the others avoid his eyes. Humiliated, furious, he kicks the locker-room door open and leaves.

No message.

Iris lies on the living-room carpet.

The enormous television plays Ryder’s game footage on repeat. Ryder moving through traffic. Ryder embracing her teammates. Ryder encouraging them after a missed play. Ryder stepping in when one of her teammates gets into a fight.

Iris lies in the darkness. The entire world is Ryder.

She waits in the zone. Drops back on defense.Steals. Passes. Scores. She.

Nothing exists but she.

Proud. Chin lifted. Makes people anxious. Makes them question their own existence.

Iris’s tired gaze hangs on the television.

God, she’s annoying.

Ryder’s home is decorated in warm wood and gray tones. She deliberately chooses black, high-legged furniture, the industrial design balanced by an unexpected sense of comfort.

She pulls away from a girl’s lingering kiss. The girl hooks an arm around her neck, her legs wrapped around Ryder’s waist from where she sits on the kitchen island.

“Are you like this with every girl?”

“Other girls don’t come running over during the season.”

“I’m leaving tomorrow.”

Ryder turns to the refrigerator, takes out a beer, and tosses it to Leah, who is sprawled across the island.

Leah catches it and grins.

“Go find myself some fun.”

Ryder takes a drink of water and leans against the refrigerator. Her blue eyes lower as she smiles at her.

“Oh. That’s devastating.”

Leah freezes. The beer nearly slips from her hand. In the dim light, Ryder looks almost devoted. Almost sincere.

“Jesus… How does anyone ever escape you?”

Leah raises an eyebrow.

“Tell me honestly. How many people have you fooled with that face?”

Ryder laughs. Her answer is effortless.

“Everyone.”

Edmonton — Home Game

7:00 P.M.

“Tonight is our chance to erase three seasons of humiliation. I want every one of you focused. I want to see that hunger to win. Now take that determination onto the ice and bring the victory home!”

“Good evening, hockey fans. Coming up is a cross-league clash between two formidable opponents. Will TML finally settle the score on the road, or will Edmonton continue its dominance at home? All eyes are on Edmonton tonight.”

The camera sweeps over TML captain Chris. Cold light catches his face, then the lens drifts. It settles on the number 7 forward everyone is watching.

Iris has her eyes closed. She rolls her head slowly. The game plays through her mind before it even begins. Just one rehearsal among countless others.

She opens her eyes. The world rushes back in.

On the other side of the screen, Ryder holds her breath.

Fate turns its fingertips. Tens of thousands of pulses converge inside a three-inch square—

until the puck hits the net.

Ryder watches Iris closely. Unexpectedly, Brooks is not the main attacking force tonight. And yet Edmonton guards him relentlessly. Ryder notices it immediately—— whenever Iris stops driving forward alone, his weakness in passing begins to surface. Just as she predicted. Without Iris’s individual attack, Chris struggles to generate anything meaningful. The wings cannot connect with him.

But why?

Iris’s expression is hidden behind her helmet. She looks like someone sinking into a swamp, searching for a way out.

Powerless. But those hazel eyes never stop watching.

Suddenly— something feels familiar.

Another attack. The whistle blows. The first half ends.

TML 0 — 3 EDM.

“I don’t need you standing there like statues! If you want to watch the puck, get off the bench! You’re players!”

Pelivar shouts at the tactics board. The first-half score is a slap across the face. Frustration. Resentment. Disappointment. All the old bitterness returns in a humiliating rush, forcing everyone to taste the same failure again.

Iris rests her hands on her knees. She rubs her canine.

“Iris. Tell me what you think.”

Pelivar points at her.

Iris pauses. Points to herself. Pelivar gives a heavy nod.

Iris walks to the tactics board. Around her are expressions of confusion and doubt. The intermission is almost over.

Fine.

Let’s do this.

“Chris stays up front. Gavin drops back to defense. Jett takes the wing. The forwards fall back first—we secure the defense.

Once Edmonton brings the puck toward the zone, the forwards release. Chris takes the puck and creates the attack.”

It is a high-risk adjustment. She has almost completely rearranged the positions of the key players.

Gavin is the first to object.

“Wing is my position.”

Iris looks him up and down.

“No. You’re better at cutting through than you are at speed. Hold the back line.”

“Kilian stays behind me. Everyone else stays where they are.”

“And you?” Chris asks.

Pelivar’s brow furrows.

“You should work with Chris.”

“No.”

Iris’s eyes remain steady.

“They’ll expect me to carry the puck in the second half. So I’ll draw their attention here.”

For the briefest moment, Pelivar looks at Iris strangely. His authority as a coach flickers. Whether her decision works or not— only the ice can answer that.

“You heard him. Move!”

What is this feeling?

Iris is exhilarated.

Under the overhead lights, her pupils are almost completely black.

The whistle blows. The second half begins.

“TML has changed their formation. Jett receives the puck, adjusts his angle—is he going to pass to Brooks?”

“Oh! There’s a gap in Edmonton’s back line! Chris receives the pass—he charges!”

“Goal!”

Iris regulates her breathing.

3–3. The game is level.

Another collision. The opposing players are growing visibly desperate. The second half is nearing its end. They want one more goal.

Iris settles into position. Her eyes lock onto the puck beneath the opponent’s stick.

Timing.

She launches forward like a bullet.

Bang.

Her canine throbs with pain.

“A brutal foul! EDM number 5 goes straight into Brooks’s knee as he steals the puck! His left leg twists while fully extended!”

The arena erupts.

Sharp pain tears through Iris for one instant— then disappears deep into her bones. Before the medical staff can even reach the ice, Iris is already on her feet.

Seven minutes remain. She still needs one goal.

Iris skates back into position. The pain bites into her canine again. She has to avoid further collisions as much as possible. And then—

that familiar feeling bursts through her like blood.

Edmonton gives them no time to react. They think they’ve found the opening. They think Iris’s side has become the weakness. A defensive gap. A chance to take the lead. Everything hangs on this.

An Edmonton player fires a fast shot-pass— as if fate itself has touched her forehead. Iris slips sideways.

And there, lurking behind her—

Kilian.

He steals the puck. Passes. The puck arrives beneath Iris’s stick. She looks toward Chris.

For one brief second—

she hesitates.

Then she does something no one expects.

Under the crushing pressure of a defenseman bearing down on her, with only one goal separating victory from defeat—

Iris moves the puck back and forth beneath her stick.

The camera cuts to Pelivar. He stares in confusion. He has no idea what she is doing.

The entire arena seems to sway with her.

Then—

Iris doesn’t pass. She drives into the zone herself.

Shoots.

Goal.

Ryder stands upright in front of the screen.

The puck hits the net.

TML 4 — 3 EDM. A game-winning goal. Two points.

Amid the cheers and embraces, Iris looks up at the camera.

And tonight—

at this exact moment—

two girls learn each other’s secrets.

He has never been afraid to pass—— he simply doesn’t want to. He can toy with everyone on the ice with a single touch of the puck. But Ryder cannot miss that hesitation.

Because there was a game once when she stood in exactly the same place. Trapped in exactly the same need to hide something.

The pain continues to gnaw through Iris’s flesh and bone. It claws at her skull. It tears through the thin paper separating instinct from understanding.

What is she hiding? The answer is simple. Ryder isn’t hiding herself, she is hiding the player behind her.

The ‘Kilian’.

——Create the focus. Draw the pressure. Expose the mouth behind the trap.

Then—

strike.

But Iris gets back to his feet as though he has no intention of letting the medical staff examine him.

Why?

By the time Ryder realizes what she is doing, she has already opened her conversation with Iris.

One lucky guess. One assumption. Neither of them predicts how tonight ends.

Ryder holds her phone against her lips. Then turns the screen off.

Her gaze twists through the room like a thread being pulled tighter and tighter— until the snow outside grows heavier.