The Chicago Icers landed it and struck first at the tough piece of rubber.
I swallowed as I felt the intensity of the game get to me and sat myself back on the bench. My right hand jerked to rub at the bridge of my nose as I typically did when something aggravated me at the office.
But I wasn’t at the office.
I wasn’t wearing one of my Armani suits.
I could have removed my helmet. Hell, I should have. I needed to breathe. But even though my brother and I were identical, I was almost afraid of being recognized as not being him.
I hadn’t played in two years. Not since the year of the draft. And even then, I’d been avoiding the ice for months at that point.
But when they called my name, my chest burned before my eyes shot to Ryan, who skated over to me, breathless from that last period. “Just avoid it and if it comes your way, do what you did Sunday.”
The rink seemed massive as my blade hit the ice. The college rinks weren’t that much smaller than this one, but it still seemed like an ocean comparatively.
It kicked off before I had a chance to settle in and flashbacks to when I ruled the ice stormed through me. I shook it off as though that wasn’t me. Another lifetime I didn’t want to allow myself to experience again. To fall in love with again.
I did as Ryan instructed and evaded, circling as if I was about to make a move that no one knew about but me.
By the third and final period, my team was missing left and right. Wake the fuck up, losers. I was clearly put in with the weaker bunch. I felt insulted—I was never the outcast. Everything I did, I gave my best or I moved on.
Shaking my head, I took position and waited. I’d had just about enough of being creamed by the opposing team. I moved across the ice, buying time as I assessed the scoreboard and the clock, my state of mind shifting aggressively. The math in my head following the execution plan. On average, it takes one point three minutes to get from one side to the other with intervenes. Another fifteen seconds, give or take to steal back if you lose it.
And given the declining clock—I just barely had time for both.
I banged my stick twice on the ice and glided past the team. The puck was sent my way by whoever number seventeen was and I shot—watching it fly into the net as the goalie hit the ice in a hard effort to block.
Huh, twelve seconds to spare—I hated being off. Even when it was to my benefit.
I avoided the cheers; it was all a blur anyway. My eyes, ears, my entire body was focused on getting that puck away from numbers eleven or twenty-three in the red and white suits.
I could tell I was getting too close when eleven pushed me against the board as he maneuvered.
It hurt.
But not enough to crumble and let him get away with it.
I leveled and pushed off, ignoring the teammates, didn’t matter which they were on, even the colors were a blur at this point. I stole the puck and had one goal and it was just a few feet away—with a quick glance at the board, I calculated my strides and distance. I was going to make it with seconds to spare. It was quite the skill to separate one part of my brain to count, while the other focused on dodging interventions.
Until I was slammed into again and my puck was gone.
Damnit.
My team ganged up on him and number forty-seven was sent to the penalty box with Ryan taking his place. Within seconds, he’d grabbed hold of the puck. I glided toward center, expecting him to pass it to anyone, perhaps someone closer to the goal, but his eyes leveled with mine and he shot it over.
I didn’t hesitate to capture it, and there was no time to glide. No time to get closer. Instead, an invisible beam lasered its way to the net and I pulled my stick back at a forty-degree angle to give it the precise hit it needed.
It was doubtful that it made the net at this distance and before the buzzer went off.
But then the roars began. The deafening, infinite roars. The crowd stood almost in unison and the Blades were surrounding me. I cheered with my team, letting them encircle me, feeling elated beyond self-recognition. I looked up and just like that, it was all gone.
My twin’s face was on the screen display for making the winning shot and I saw nothing but red again.
My brother—yet again taking something priceless away from me.
9
Troylookedlikehewanted the ice to melt and swallow him whole. But only him. Like no one else—especially those surrounding him at the moment—were welcome to said hole.
