Breaking The Ice

CHAPTER 10

Jaxon POV

Monday mornings were the worst. Not because of practice. Not because of classes. Because everyone suddenly remembered they were students. The locker room, usually filled with arguments over hockey and Gray's latest questionable life choices, had somehow turned into a group therapy session about assignments.

"I've got a biology quiz.” Lucas sounded genuinely devastated. Connor looked up while tying his skates. "You've known about that quiz for two weeks.” "I was hoping it'd get cancelled.” Gray nodded in agreement. "A solid strategy.” He said. "It's a terrible strategy," Connor replied. "It almost never works.” He added. “Almost?" Lucas asked. "There was that one snowstorm.” Conner sai and Gray threw both hands into the air. "See? Miracles happen."

Coach Reynolds walked through the locker room door. "The only miracle happening today is if Walker passes English.” Gray looked offended. "I passed.” Coach stopped beside him. "What did you get?” Gray hesitated. "...A pass.” Connor laughed. "He got fifty-one.” Coach nodded. "I stand corrected.” The room erupted into laughter.

Gray pointed accusingly around the locker room. "I am surrounded by bullies.” “No…” Easton called from across the room. "You're surrounded by witnesses.” He said and more laughter surrounded them.

Practice was shorter than usual. Coach focused on special teams before sending everyone to the gym for conditioning. By the time we finished, most of the team looked ready to collapse. Gray lay flat on the floor. "I've seen the light.” Tyler stepped over him. "That's the ceiling.” He said. "It was beautiful.” Gray retorted before Connor tossed him a towel.

"Get up.” Connor said. "I no longer possess legs.” Gray complained. "You'll need them tomorrow.” Connor told him. "I'll grow new ones.” I shook my head. "You're unbelievable.” I said. "I've been called worse.” Gray said without mossing a beat. "I don't doubt it."

By late afternoon, campus had settled into its usual rhythm. Students hurried between lectures with coffees in hand. The autumn air carried the scent of damp leaves and rain. I cut across the central quad toward the library, hoping to finish an economics paper before evening practice the next day.

The library was quieter than usual. Perfect. I climbed the stairs to the second floor. Halfway down one of the aisles, I stopped. Riley. She sat alone at a corner table surrounded by textbooks. A laptop. Colour-coded notes and flashcards. Three empty coffee cups.

Her hockey bag rested against the chair beside her. She was so focused she hadn't noticed me. I glanced at my watch. Six-thirty. Practice had ended nearly three hours ago. How long had she been here? Curiosity got the better of me. I walked closer.

She was highlighting something in a thick anatomy textbook while muttering quietly to herself. "...Scapula... clavicle... acromion…" She sighed heavily. "You're going to be the death of me.” She muttered. "I hope you're talking about the textbook.” I said and her head shot up. “Oh." She blinked. "Captain."

I looked at the mountain of books spread across the table. “Studying?" She looked down at the notes as if she'd forgotten they were there. “I- i've got two labs tomorrow.” She answered. Clearly thrown off her studying by me there. "And an assignment due Wednesday.” She said. ”And a psychology paper.” She added.

I raised an eyebrow. "Busy week.” I observed. "You have no idea.” She said on a short laugh. For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then I noticed something. She was rubbing her shoulder. The same shoulder she'd slammed into the boards during practice a few days earlier.

"It still hurts?” She looked surprised I'd noticed. "It's fine.” She said immediately. "That wasn't my question.” She smiled faintly. “No." She said simply. “No?" I asked. "It hurts.” She finally admitted. "Then why are you here?” She stared at me like I'd asked something obvious. "Because deadlines don't care if I'm sore.” I couldn't argue with that. Mostly because… It sounded exactly like something I would've said. “How long have you been here?” She glanced at the clock. "Since after lunch.” I frowned.

"You've been studying for five hours?” I asked, shocked. ”With breaks.” She lifted one of the empty coffee cups. "This was one of them.” Despite myself, I smiled. "You know those things eventually stop working.” I informed her. "So I've heard.”She said and smiled back. For a brief second, the conversation felt… Easy. Almost comfortable.

"I didn't take you for an anatomy person," I admitted. She laughed quietly. "I'm not.” She said tiredly. "So why anatomy?” I asked. "I'm studying sports medicine.” That surprised me. “Really?" She nodded. "If hockey doesn't work out…" She shrugged. "I still want to stay around sports.” I leaned against the table. "You've already got a backup plan.” I said but it was more of a statement than a question.

"My dad always said hockey careers don't last forever.” There was no bitterness in her voice. Just practicality. "Smart man.” I said and she smiled. "He is.” Silence settled between us again. Not awkward. Just quiet. The kind of silence that didn't need filling. Finally, I picked up one of her flashcards. "You've got this one wrong.” She frowned. "I do?” I turned it around. "You switched the supraspinatus and infraspinatus.” She stared at the card. “...Seriously?" I nodded. “Huh." She grabbed a pen to correct it.

"You know anatomy?” She asked while she scribbled. "My mom's a physiotherapist.” She looked genuinely impressed. “Useful." She said approvingly. "It has its moments.” She smiled. “Thanks." I handed the card back. "No problem.” As I turned to leave, her voice stopped me.

“Jaxon?" I looked back. “Yeah?" She hesitated. "Thanks... for the other night.” I already knew she meant after the game. "You already thanked me.” I told her. "I know.” She looked down at the Wolf Ridge logo stitched onto her hoodie. "But I don't think you realize what it meant.” I didn't know what to say. So I said the only thing that felt honest. "I wasn't doing you a favour.” She looked back up. "I know.” She said. "You'd have done the same for any teammate.” I thought about it. She was right. "I would.” A small smile spread across her face. "I know.” For some reason… That answer stayed with me long after I'd left the library.

Later that night, I unlocked the front door of the house I shared with Connor and Gray. Gray looked up from the couch. "There he is.” Connor glanced away from the television. "You finish your paper?” “Almost." Gray narrowed his eyes. "Why do you look thoughtful?” He asked suspiciously. "I always look thoughtful.” Connor smirked. “No." He said. "You usually look annoyed."

Gray pointed triumphantly. “Exactly." I tossed my backpack onto the chair. "Ran into Bennett.” Gray and Connor exchanged a look. One I didn't like. “What now?” Connor shrugged. “Nothing." Gray grinned. "Nothing at all.” I sighed. "You two are exhausting.” Gray leaned back on the couch. “So..." Gray started and I groaned internally. I already knew where this was going. "How's our favorite defenseman?” I rolled my eyes. "She's studying.” Connor nodded. "Sounds like her.” Gray looked disappointed. "That's it?” He asked and I raised an eyebrow at him.

"What were you expecting?” I asked. "I don't know.” He smiled mischievously. "A secret romance.” I grabbed one of the couch cushions and threw it at him but he caught it. "Denying it with violence.” Connor laughed. "I think that's enough television for you.” Gray hugged the cushion. “Not fair.” He pouted. "I hate this house.” I grumbled. Connor smiled. “No." He looked at Gray. "You hate him.” Connor corrected me. "That's true.” Gray looked offended. "And yet…" He popped a chip into his mouth. "...you'd miss me if I disappeared.” Connor and I answered at exactly the same time. “No." Gray sighed dramatically. "One day you'll appreciate me."

As I headed upstairs, I found myself smiling. Not because of Gray. That was impossible. Because somewhere between practices, road trips, and late-night studying… Wolf Ridge had started feeling like home. And whether I'd planned it or not… Riley Bennett had become part of it.