Hockey Hearttrob

Chapter 2- Pre-season Is over

Anneliese Lang’s POV

Yesterday’s sting of practice hadn’t left my muscles yet. It clung to my thighs, my shoulders, the back of my neck, like the ice had decided to stay with me a little longer than necessary.

Locker room noise bled around me, metal lockers slamming, tape tearing, someone laughing too loudly at something that wasn’t actually funny.

I rolled my wrists slowly, the ache settling deeper instead of fading. Not from Leo’s… caveman behavior, but an old injury from before making the team—previous league, still healing, slowly but steadily.

Across the room, Leo stood like he always did when the world was still deciding whether it belonged to him or not.

FYI, it usually decides yes.

Near his locker, already half out of his gear, movements controlled, efficient. He didn’t rush, didn’t linger either. Just… existed in that steady way that made everything around him feel slightly off-balance.

Jax’s voice cut clean through the noise. “Coach is definitely planning our funerals.

Our winger is already talking. Of course, he is because Jax has no filter, ripping tape off his stick with unnecessary violence, shoving his blond hair back.

We’d played off rhythm a while back.

A few laughs bounced around, loose and easy, but Leo didn’t join in.

He never did when noise felt pointless. And right now, his phone was occupying his time. He had not even sent a gaze my way, and I must admit that bothered me a little. It must be his girlfriend. They were always posting pictures on Snapchat and i********:.

Ethan stood a few lockers down, adjusting his gloves again, slow and repetitive, like his hands needed something to do while his mind worked through something else entirely. Second-in-command. Defenseman. The only one on the team with curls and that quiet, disarming kind of focus.

My gaze dropped before it lingered too long. It's so hard sometimes because all the guys are gorgeous and everywhere I look, there are bare torsos or bodies covered with T-shirts whose torsos I know. Sometimes it’s hard to concentrate.

Just then, Coach Bart Reynolds filled it without effort, and the chatter didn’t go silent. It tightened.

He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t need to. His presence carried enough weight on its own, broad shoulders squared, graying hair catching under the harsh locker room lights. His brown eyes moved across us, steady, unreadable.

“Dinner. One hour. Be there.” He turned and walked off, leaving the name of the restaurant.

Nodding, I look up, and Leo is now removing his gear, and they all make as if they were going to remove their last remaining garments to expose themselves to me. They always did this to me, and it became my cue to move faster and get out before I ended up seeing more than I ever signed up for.

And every time, something in my chest tightened with a mix of annoyance and disbelief, that familiar, exhausting thought scraping across my mind again- what made them think that was something I wanted to see in the first place, like I didn’t already spend enough time trying to exist in a space that never fully accounted for me?

__

The restaurant was already busy when we got there, the kind of place that sat somewhere between casual and just expensive enough to make people think twice about what they ordered. The air was cool and filled with overlapping conversations, the clatter of dishes, the low hum of music threading through it all.

It should’ve felt like a break.

Instead, it felt like stepping into a different kind of arena.

We didn’t arrive all at once. Groups filtered in, still carrying pieces of practice with us- damp hair, tired movements, that restless energy that never fully settled after being on the ice. But I am last to arrive, and I hovered near the back without really meaning to, taking it in before stepping fully into it.

Jax was the first to claim space, sliding into a seat as if he owned it, already grinning at something before anyone else had even sat down. “I’m ordering first,” he announced, grabbing a menu. “If Coach is paying, I’m not holding back.”

“You don’t hold back anyway,” someone shot back. Tyler. Winger. Golden retriever in human form. Tall, athletic, easy smile. The kind of guy who keeps morale up without trying. Celebrates everything- goals, good passes, dumb jokes. Made me feel normal and was usually the first to include me in conversations. Which made everyone else follow. Without Tyler, things would feel a lot colder.

“Exactly,” Jax replied, pleased with himself.

Tyler dropped into a seat nearby, already talking, already laughing, his energy spilling outward like it always did. It made things easier, the way he acted like everything was normal, like nothing about this situation needed adjusting.

Ethan sat more quietly, his gaze moving across the room first before settling, taking in exits, people, everything. Then he finally relaxed just enough to reach for a menu.

Leo didn’t hesitate. He took a seat and grabbed a menu. The others who were already there left their table and rushed over to us, occupying the table and gesturing to the wait staff to join a few other tables with us.

And then there was space followed by a brief, subtle pause in movement that no one acknowledged directly, but it was there all the same. I felt it before I even fully processed it.

Tyler glanced up, catching it too. “Anne, sit here,” he said easily, shifting slightly to make room as it had never been a question.

The tension eased just enough for me to move, and I sat.

Across from Leo- obliquely. And my pulse picked up before I could stop it, a quick, sharp beat that made no sense. I focused on pulling my chair in, on placing my hands on the table, on anything that wasn’t the awareness of him sitting directly opposite me.

“Listen up.” It was Coach. He took the head of the table, signaling to the staff to bring us drinks.

His gaze swept across us once, slow and calculating, as if he was measuring something beneath what we were showing him. “We’re done playing around,” he said evenly. “Pre-season’s over.”

A ripple moved through the room, small but immediate, shoulders shifting, attention sharpening. I felt it too, though I didn’t yet fully understand the weight of it. Not until he continued.

“First official match. One week.”

That ripple changed shape. And I think some of us would have preferred the funeral bit Jax had mentioned. Like Stefan, another newbie like me. He’s the other goalie.

And me. My head spins.

Because pre-season had been everything up until now- training cycles, controlled scrimmages, conditioning tests, line rotations that meant nothing outside of evaluation. None of it counted in the standings. None of it affected survival on the roster.

But this did.

Official matches weren’t practiced with consequences. They were the system. Every game was tracked, analysed, and used to decide who stayed in starting positions and who dropped when pressure built later in the season. It wasn’t about one good performance anymore. It was about consistency under pressure, about whether you could hold your place when it started to matter.

“Blackridge Titans,” Coach continued.

Blackridge Titans wasn’t just another team inside that structure. They were the first real test of it.

Jax leaned back slightly, letting out a low whistle. “Well, that’s… great.”

Ethan’s furrow betrayed something sharper underneath his usual quiet control. Even the room’s noise didn’t quite return properly after that, like everyone was recalculating what that name meant.

I didn’t fully understand it yet, not in the way they did, but I felt the shift anyway. To me, I just knew the team as a great team, but now I am on the opposing side.

Leo’s shoulders squared slightly, posture tightening into something more focused, like a switch had been flipped behind his control instead of in front of it. The irritation from earlier vanished completely, replaced by something colder and more precise, like the world had just narrowed down to one point.

“They took Eastford apart last week,” Reynolds went on, thanking the staff who were now pouring juice into glasses, and we snickered at that. Toddlers are what we looked like.

“They don’t play sloppily, and they don’t hesitate. And they don’t forgive mistakes.” No admiration in the coach’s tone, but just a fact. His gaze moved across the room again, slower this time, letting the words settle properly before adding the final weight.

“They will test every weakness on this roster.”

Silence followed as he eyed us all, but seemingly lingered on me. Why, because I am female? I am the weakest link?

Replacing his glass on the table, Leo’s voice cut through it without hesitation. “Lineups?” Straight to the point, like he was already thinking beyond the announcement.

Coach’s eyes shifted to him. “Not final.”

That landed harder than anything else so far because it meant nothing was yet secured. No position, no guarantee, no comfort. The team wasn’t locked; it was still being shaped.

Jax leaned forward slightly, his expression shifting from humor to something more focused. “So we’re still fighting for spots.”

“Yes,” Coach said simply. One word, final in its simplicity.

I felt it settle then. This wasn’t just about being on the team. It was about staying on it.

Coach paused briefly, as if something crossed his mind, then added, quieter but heavier than before, “Be ready to prove why you’re here.” His eyes flicked to me again, and Tyler patted my leg lightly under the table.

He was like the brother I wish I had. You know, normal and actually liking you?

Grabbing my glass, I swallowed half its contents in one go, the cool burn grounding me for a second too brief. One week for an actual match. My eyes drifted back to Leo without meaning to.

There’s a crease carved between his brows now, nostrils flaring slightly like something in him has tightened too fast. His gaze shifts, and his sharp jawline muscles work as he pins Tyler with his glare.

And then it clicks in my mind, stomach dipping.

From where he’s sitting, it must look different. Tyler’s shoulder angled in close, his hand resting easily on my leg.