Tryouts
1130 Words
I was going to die on this ice. Not metaphorically. Literally, face-down, lungs collapsed, in borrowed skates.
There were 40 guys in this rink. 40 guys who looked like they were built in a lab specifically to hit each other for a living. And then there was me.
5'6, 128 pounds, in leggings and an old practice jersey they'd given me that said PROPERTY OF FROST WOLVES in block letters and swallowed me whole.
Every single one of them was staring.
"Alright, listen up!" Coach yelled. He was a bald man with a whistle that had seen war. "This is Reyes. She's from Metro Sports. She's doing a piece on our run. League wants good PR. So she's trying out for practice squad today. That means you treat her like any other rookie. You hit her, she hits back. Understood?"
Forty heads nodded. One head didn't.
Jax stood at the center, helmet under his arm, looking like he wanted to murder his coach and me, in that order.
"This is stupid," he said flatly.
"It's marketing, Carter," Coach snapped. "Not your call."
Jax's eyes cut to mine. "She's going to get hurt."
"I can handle myself," I said, louder than I felt.
He gave me a look that said you handled yourself so well last night that you almost cried in my rink. I lifted my chin.
The whistle blew.
The first drill was suicide sprints. End to end, stop, back. My legs were jelly by the third lap. By the fifth, I was seeing spots. The guys were lapping me, their breath puffing in clouds. One of them — a huge defenseman with a missing front tooth — slowed just enough to whisper, "You good, Barbie?"
I flipped him off and skated faster.
Jax was in front of everyone, of course. He didn't even look tired. He just kept going, and every time he passed me, his shoulder brushed mine. Not an accident. A check-in. A are you still alive?
I hated that I liked it.
Second drill: puck control. I was actually good at this. My dad put me on ice at four. I could stick-handle. I could shoot. I just couldn't shoot while a 6'3 wall of muscle was trying to take my head off.
"Reyes! You're with Carter!" Coach yelled.
Great.
Jax skated over, tossed me a puck. "Keep your head up."
"I'm trying."
"Try harder." He was behind me now, close enough that his chest almost touched my back. "Bend your knees. Lower. Good girl."
My knees almost gave out for a completely different reason.
"Don't call me that," I hissed.
"Don't skate like a figure skater and I won't have to," he murmured, but his hand hovered at my waist, guiding me. His gloves were off, his fingers warm even through my jersey. "Now shoot."
I shot. It went wide.
"Again."
I shot again. This time it went in.
A few guys hooted. Jax didn't react. He just stayed there, his breath warm against my ear.
"Not bad for a journalist," he said.
Before I could answer, a voice cut across the ice, lazy and amused.
"Well, well. Is this what the captain does now? Gives private lessons on company time?"
The whole rink went quiet.
A guy leaned against the entrance to the ice, in a rival jersey. Black and red, not our navy. WOLVES — no, HAWKS. The Steel Hawks. Our biggest rivals. Tattoos crawled up his neck, both sleeves covered. Messy hair, split lip healing, and a smile that said he'd ruined a lot of girls and liked it.
Cole Maddox.
Every girl in the hockey world knew that name. The league's bad boy enforcer. Suspended three times last season for fighting. On the cover of Sports Illustrated with the headline: TOO DANGEROUS TO LOVE.
And he was looking right at me.
"Who let you in here, Maddox?" Jax snapped, instantly moving so his body was between me and Cole.
"Your GM. Cross-team PR, remember? League wants us to be friends." Cole skated onto our ice like he owned it. "And you must be the famous Ella Reyes. The girl brave enough to wear white leggings to a men's tryout."
I looked down. They were white. Oh my god, they were going to be see-through when I sweated.
Jax took a step forward. "Get off my ice."
"Relax, Cap. I'm just here to welcome the lady." Cole stopped in front of me, ignoring Jax completely. He was even bigger up close. He smelled like ice and leather and something dark.
He leaned in. "You were good out there. For someone who learned to skate from YouTube."
"I learned at four," I said, defensively.
"I know." He grinned, and his eyes flicked to Jax. "I know a lot about you, Ella."
My blood ran cold.
How?
Jax grabbed Cole's shoulder. "Don't."
Cole knocked his hand off. The air went electric. Two captains, face to face. The whole team circled.
"Don't what? Tell her the truth?" Cole said softly, but loud enough for me to hear. "That he still has your prom photo in his locker? Or that your little article is going to get buried unless you have a real angle?"
I stared at Jax. "You still —"
"No," Jax said, jaw tight. "He's lying."
"Am I?" Cole pulled out his phone, showed me a photo — me, on the ice today, white leggings, struggling. Taken from the stands ten minutes ago. "This is already on Barstool with 20k likes. Caption: 'Captain's ex tries to make team, fails cute.' You want that to be the story? Or do you want to be the story everyone can't stop talking about?"
"What do you want?" I whispered.
Cole's smile turned dangerous. "Be my fake girlfriend. For a month. You fix my image — I go from dangerous asshole to devoted boyfriend. I give you an angle so big no one can bury you. You get exclusive access to both teams. You get to make your ex jealous as hell."
Jax lunged. Coach had to blow the whistle to keep them apart.
I was breathing hard, ice stinging my cheeks.
One day. I had been here ONE day and already I was a meme and being offered a fake-dating deal by the most dangerous guy in the league.
"Ella, don't listen to him," Jax said, eyes locked on mine, pleading for the first time. "He'll use you."
Cole just looked at me, that tattooed smile promising trouble. "I'll make you famous, Goldilocks. All you have to do is hold my hand."
And in the back of my mind, Diane's voice: You need a story no one else has.
I looked at Jax. Then at Cole.
What the hell did I just get myself into?
- Writer
