(Max’s POV)
The team came through the side door in a loud, uneven wave, bags dropping against the boards, skate guards clacking on the rubber mats, half of them still mid-conversation from whatever had happened in the parking lot.
Coach Reyes met them near the bench with his clipboard already out, and it took about thirty seconds for someone to notice me still standing on the ice, wobbling slightly, next to Knox.
"That the new guy?" One of the defensemen from yesterday’s scrimmage, the one who’d taken the hit into the boards, nodded toward me while he laced up.
"That’s him." Coach Reyes barely looked up from the clipboard. "Cross’s brother. Ashford’s been running him through basics."
A few heads turned my way — curious, mostly, one or two openly skeptical — and Coach clapped his hands once, calling the group into a loose half-circle at center ice.
"Listen up. I’ve got a meeting downtown I can’t push, so Cross has the ice today." He nodded toward Lucian, who was still lacing his skates on the bench, not looking up. "Run the drills we did Tuesday, keep it clean, and somebody make sure the new kid doesn’t break his neck." His eyes landed on me. "You’re with the team today. Cross’ll get you started."
"He’s the captain," someone said, half a question, half just filling the silence. "Figured he’d want to handle his own brother."
Lucian didn’t answer. He finished tying his skate, stood, and reached for his stick without a word, like the comment hadn’t reached him at all.
"I’ve got him," Knox said easily, stepping in before the silence stretched too long. "No offense, Cap, but you’d probably just yell at him until he cried."
A couple of the guys laughed. Lucian’s jaw tightened, but he still didn’t answer, already skating toward center ice like the whole conversation was beneath responding to.
Coach Reyes gathered his clipboard and headed for the exit, tossing a last "Play smart, don’t kill each other" over his shoulder before the door banged shut behind him.
The team started breaking into their usual drill lines, sticks tapping the ice in that easy rhythm I’d started to recognize from watching. I was halfway to following Knox toward the boards when a hand closed around my wrist.
Lucian.
He’d doubled back without me noticing, and up close his expression wasn’t flat anymore — there was something sharper underneath it, something that had been building since the second he walked through that door and found me upright on skates with Knox’s hand on my arm.
"Why the hell did you agree to this." His voice was low, pitched just for me, but there was an edge in it hard enough to cut. "You don’t know how to play. You barely know how to stand."
"I’m learning."
"You could break something." His grip tightened slightly, not painful, just certain, like he needed me to actually feel the weight of what he was saying. "This isn’t some club you signed up for because it looked fun. People get hurt out here. Real hurt."
"I know that."
"Do you." He leaned in slightly, and for a second the noise of the rink seemed to drop away, the shouting and the sticks and the blades all fading into something distant. "You didn’t ask me. You didn’t think, for one second, that maybe—"
"Cross! You coming or should I just run this myself?" Knox’s voice cut across the ice, easy and loud, entirely unbothered by whatever he was interrupting. "Coach left you in charge, remember? Kind of your job now."
Lucian’s jaw worked once, and his grip on my wrist loosened, then released entirely, like he’d only just registered he was still holding on. He didn’t finish the sentence.
He didn’t say anything else at all — just held my gaze for one more second, something unreadable and frustrated still sitting behind his eyes, before he turned and skated off toward the group without a backward glance.
I stood there for a second longer, wrist still faintly warm where his hand had been, watching him go.
"You good?" Knox had skated back over, glancing between me and Lucian’s retreating back with open curiosity.
"Fine." I rubbed my wrist once, more out of habit than anything. "He’s just worried I’ll embarrass him."
"Sure." Knox didn’t sound like he believed that, but he let it go, jerking his chin toward the group instead. "C’mon. Watch this part — you’ll actually learn something useful."
I skated over, slow and careful, and found a spot near the boards where I could see clearly without being in anyone’s way.
Lucian had already taken over at center ice, stick tapping the surface once, sharp, the sound cutting through the last of the chatter until the whole team went quiet and turned toward him.
"Two lines," he said, voice flat and carrying, already sliding back into the captain’s rhythm like the conversation at the boards had never happened. "Passing drill first, tight gaps, no lazy stretch passes. Anyone who skips a rep runs it twice."
Nobody argued. They split into lines without a word, and Lucian skated to the head of the first one, positioning himself with the same total certainty he brought to everything, like his body had simply decided this was where it belonged and hadn’t bothered consulting the rest of him.
He glanced toward the boards once — quick, almost involuntary — before the first puck came sliding down the line toward him.
I watched him catch it clean.
I watched him not look at me again for the rest of the drill.