Beyond the Blue Line

Friends Who Stab Your Back

The sharp scent of ice pierced his nose, mingling with the roar of the crowd beginning to fill the stands. The rhythmic scraping of metal skates carving the surface of the arena sounded like a melody, punctuated by the occasional thud of wooden sticks hitting the boards.

On the university team’s bench, Alex was adjusting his shoulder pads. He looked remarkably calm, even though he knew his team was incomplete.

"Captain."

A broad-shouldered man approached. Mattheo Brutley—the type of player who didn't say much but held significant influence as the team's most stable defenseman. Unlike Alex, who craved the spotlight, Mattheo cared more about on-ice tactics.

"What?"

"Where's Daniel? He’s usually the first one here for warm-ups."

"Probably cooling off somewhere. You know Stewart, he’s too soft, especially for a game this big."

Mattheo narrowed his eyes. He knew Alex’s dirty tricks all too well—often intentionally giving wrong practice schedules or assigning nonsensical extra tasks just to make Daniel look undisciplined in front of the coach.

"Don't tell me you messed with him again."

"There are plenty of other players, relax."

"We need him! This strategy depends on the team's speed on the left wing."

"This team needs people like you and me, Mattheo. Besides, if he’s being unprofessional just because of some personal issues, that’s not my problem."

"So you did pick a fight with him?"

Alex was about to retort when the referee’s whistle pierced the noise, signaling the end of warm-ups. The starting lineup began to be announced over the loudspeakers. The coach paced back and forth, his face turning a bright shade of red.

"Where is Stewart?! If he doesn't show up in two minutes, scratch his name off the roster!"

"Let’s get out there unless you want to be scratched too, Brutley," Alex said, gliding onto the ice with the air of a hero.

However, just as the arena entrance was about to close, a loud thud from the hallway startled everyone. The doors burst open.

Daniel Stewart appeared, gasping for air. His blue jersey was slightly disheveled, and the scratches on his forehead from the car incident last night were still a raw, angry red.

Ignoring the strange looks from his teammates and the jeers from the opposing stands, the man—whose hockey bag was patched together with black duct tape—snatched up his helmet. His eyes, bloodshot from lack of sleep, flickered with suppressed rage.

He skated toward the bench, cutting across the ice with a speed that made the wind whistle. As he passed Alex, he intentionally slammed his shoulder into the captain with enough force to make his rival stumble.

"Sorry, Captain. I won't let trash like you lose by playing alone today."

"Bastard, I thought you didn’t come," Alex muttered with a smirk.

Mattheo, watching the scene from a distance, just took a long breath. He knew this game was no longer just about scoring points; it was a battlefield between two men who, for some reason, could never get along.

The stadium lights dimmed for a moment before the main spotlights shone brightly in the center of the rink. Daniel took his position, gripping his hockey stick so hard his knuckles turned white.

The referee’s whistle shrieked, breaking the tension hanging in the air. The black puck was dropped. In an instant, the stadium’s calm turned into calculated chaos.

Alex won the first face-off with a lightning-fast move, driving the rubber disc toward the opponent's zone. Daniel didn't stay idle. He streaked down the left side of the ice, moving far too fast for someone who had just been in an accident. The cold wind whipped against his face repeatedly, but the heat in his chest burned much hotter.

"Pass it here, Alex!" Daniel shouted, wide open in front of the net.

Alex glanced over briefly. But with characteristic arrogance, he tried to maneuver through two opposing defensemen alone. It was a fatal mistake. One of the defensemen checked him hard, sending him sprawling, and the puck came loose.

"i***t!" Daniel cursed.

He immediately pivoted, chasing down the opposing player attempting a counter-attack. With a clean stick-check, he regained control.

Mattheo, back on the blue line, yelled, "Daniel, watch your spacing! They're trapping you!"

Suddenly, three opponents converged on Daniel, trying to pin him against the boards. Daniel could feel the vibration of the ice beneath his skates. Instead of slowing down, he accelerated. With a sharp shoulder deke, he slipped the puck through an opponent's skates, hopped slightly to avoid the collision, and reclaimed control in the open zone.

The stadium erupted.

Daniel saw Alex back on his feet, skating right behind him. "Give it to me, Stewart! It's my job to score!"

Daniel let out a short laugh. He could have taken the shot himself, but his eyes caught Mattheo moving up to join the rush from an unexpected angle. Daniel flicked his wrists, sending a crisp pass—not to Alex, but to Mattheo.

"Nice!" Mattheo greeted it with a powerful strike.

THWACK!

The puck streaked like a bullet, buried right in the top corner of the net. The red light behind the goal flashed brilliantly. First goal for the team.

The players cheered, but Daniel stood still, staring at Alex, whose face was flushed with embarrassment and rage. Mattheo approached Daniel, giving his shoulder pads a heavy pat.

"Great pass, Dan. You seem fired up today."

"I’m always fired up, Mat."

"Haha, true."

Pain began to gnaw at Daniel's shoulder. The lingering effects of the car crash became increasingly unbearable every time he sat on the bench. In hockey, the shifts are fast, but for Daniel, every two minutes on the ice felt like hours of torture.

"Stewart, change! Get in!" the coach barked.

Daniel stood up with a suppressed wince behind his visor. He skated in to replace the winger, but his strides were no longer stable.

"Just quit if you want to die," Alex sneered as they crossed paths during the shift change.

Daniel didn't respond. He focused on managing the throbbing pain in his ribs that flared every time he accelerated. Mattheo leaned in during a whistle.

"You injured, Dan?"

"I’m fine, Mat," Daniel lied. He didn't want to be benched.

"Then hang in there."

Entering the third period, Alex became increasingly reckless. Envious of the attention Daniel was receiving despite his condition, the captain began to sabotage him. He intentionally left opposing players unmarked, allowing Daniel to be slammed into the boards repeatedly without protection.

"Pass!" Alex screamed.

Daniel made his choice. He didn't pass. He tucked his head, focused the last of his strength into his wrists, and unleashed a thunderous slapshot.

THWACK!

The puck buried itself in the net just as the final whistle blew. 2–1. Daniel collapsed immediately after letting the shot fly. He lay on the cold ice, watching the stadium lights spin above him.

"You're selfish, Stewart! You ruined our strategy!"

"Was it our strategy that was ruined … or your ego, Captain?"

Medics arrived quickly with a stretcher. As he was being lifted, Daniel caught a glimpse of the stands. There, amidst the cheering crowd, he spotted Lisandra. She stood frozen with a look of pure guilt, thinking that he should have been celebrating with his team if she hadn't hit him.