by Devon Monk
Coach Clay and Assistant Coach Beauchamp might look like a surfer and an old leather daddy biker, but they were pretty much legends.
And that’s why the open tryout was insane.
I put my head down and did the work, lost myself to the burn of excitement and determination and competition. I knew Duncan was going to make the team. They’d specifically invited him, which meant they’d seen him play. He’d been scouted, and that almost certainly meant he’d get picked.
If I had anything to say about it, I was going to make it too.
I didn’t know how long Graves had been on the ice, but when we broke up into smaller teams, he was in front of me at the face-off.
I grinned. “Don’t break a hip, old man.”
“Blow me, Harry Potter.”
What?
He was fast. And strong.
My stupid shock at his insult gave him the edge and he won the face-off. It should have made me angry, but he laughed, and I swore, grinning the entire time.
I loved this game. Even when I lost it.
Later, when Graves winged by, whistling that same haunting tune from the other day, I found myself humming it. Duncan was humming it too. I’d catch a few bars of it from other players, heard it whistled briefly by a goalie, caught it started and finished as it was passed between people, cut sharp by shortened breath, panted out in stuttered notes.
Those of us who caught that song seemed to fall into a smoother rhythm with the puck, with each other, as if there was something tying us together: a rhythm, a beat that pushed us, pulled us.
It wasn’t magic.
There were half a dozen sensitives on the ice to keep an eye on the players. If someone was too fatigued or stressed, if they were on the brink of losing control and shifting, a sensitive would take them aside, give them a minute or two to compose themselves. Feed them, make them hydrate.
I assumed they were looking for magic used by wizards too, even though everyone knew wizards were too frail to play contact sports.
Most wizards.
If the song were magic, it would have been shut down pretty quickly by the sensitives. There were now rules for how magic could be used in a hockey game. Shifters were allowed to tap into their primal abilities, up to eye-change, which was the first part of a shifter that changed. If it went as far as step two: fangs and claws, the player was warned. If it happened twice in a game, the player got a two-minute stay in the penalty box. A full shift could take the player out for that game.
Of course, a full shift usually meant a fight too. And penalties for fights were the same as the NHL. Two-minutes for minor, bloodless skirmishes, more if refs thought things were getting out of hand.
Sensitives were easier to deal with since their main claim to magic was they could tell when it was going down and how hard.
So there wasn’t much the refs could do to someone pointing a finger on the ice and saying another player was slipping hold on their animal self.
Wizards…well, that was virgin ground. I didn’t think there were any rules in place. If Clay and Beauchamp brought me on, they would be setting new standards, which meant they’d have to come up with new rules.
My gut twisted. That was a lot of trouble to go through for a rookie center. Especially since the rules would have to be written and agreed upon by the entire HHL before start of the season which was only three months away.
Worry swamped me, pushing even that catchy tune out of my head. My rhythm faltered and I whiffed a couple easy shots.
Graves swung past me, eight low notes swinging upward to carry over the scrape and hiss of skates on the ice. Damn, for a big guy, he could handle the puck. That was the kind of defenseman I wanted to play with.
And if that hope was ever going to become a reality, I had to put in some sweat to make it happen.
Today was hockey. Today was proving I was good enough for this team. Today was standing out and fitting in. And I’d be damned if I was going to let this chance fall through my fingers.
Six
The weekend went by in a blur. Duncan and I were at the arena each day of tryouts, hitting every drill Coach Clay and Assistant Coach Beauchamp threw at us.
Of course there were about thirty other players out there working hard too. Some impressive talent.
“I would kill for a pizza,” Duncan said as we hauled our exhausted bodies out of Sean’s hybrid SUV.
“Already ordered.” Sean remained behind the wheel, engine idling. “I’ll go pick it up. You boys shower and pull out the plates.”
“Mom going to be home for dinner?” Duncan asked.
“Not until late. She’ll call on her break.”
Duncan nodded and he and I dragged our gear into the house.
“Dibs,” I said as I headed to the shower.
“Don’t care.” Duncan flopped on the couch face first and didn’t move. “Even my brain is sore.”
“That’s ’cause it’s so tiny and had to work so hard.”
He raised a hand and flipped me off without looking at me.
I chuckled.
The hot water felt so good I groaned and stood there for a solid five minutes before I even reached for the soap.
I didn’t know if I was going to make the team. There were a lot of amazing players on the ice. Men and women, marked and unmarked. The coach would call each of us over the next few days to let us know if it was a yes or no. Rumors said they were looking for talent in both defense and offense, and weren’t looking for goalies.
That meant I had a chance. Duncan had a chance too.
I’d tried to read Clay’s sky-blue eyes as he calmly weighed and measured each player while he issued orders that sounded like suggestions but certainly were not. It was weird to have a coach who seemed so pleasant all the time.
Not like he was constantly all-out smiling, but like nothing really got under his skin. He seemed to be the kind of guy who would pat you on the back and buy you a beer if you were having a bad day.
Had he been watching me more than other players? Had he been disappointed in my speed? My hustle? My skills? Would I even know what disappointed looked like on his serene face?
Sometimes I caught him talking quietly to Beauchamp, both of them glancing at me.
That couldn’t be good.
But the ice was full of players—rookies and pros, human and shifters. And one lowly wizard. He could have been staring at twenty other people. He might not have even noticed me.
I groaned and thunked my forehead on the tiles. That would be worse.
I got out of the shower, dried, and with the towel around my waist, slid into my room. I dragged on sweat pants and a T-shirt, then barefooted it to the living room.
I thought I’d been in the shower for hours but Duncan was still face down on the couch and hadn’t moved.
I slapped the back of his head.
He grunted.
“Shower’s open.”
He grunted again.
I snorted and went into the kitchen to pull out plates and glasses.
My phone rang from somewhere in the gear I’d dumped in the living room.
“Your phone,” Duncan muttered into the pillow.
“I know, dork.” I finally found it and answered without looking at the number. “Hazard.”
“Hello, Mr. Hazard, this is coach Clay.”
I knew who it was from the first word out of his mouth. My heart started rattling like Duncan’s car, and the honey-sweet taste of magic exploded across my tongue.
I took a deep breath, trying to settle my nerves.
“Hello, Coach.”
This was it. This was where he’d tell me if I was good enough to be on the team. If I had a future or if my dreams had been for nothing.
“I wanted to catch you before you left the rink, but got detained. I know you might already be home, but I wonder if I can inconvenience you to return to the arena?”
That wasn’t what I’d hoped he’d say. I’d hoped for something more on
the lines of welcome to the team, or we’d love to have you be a part of our roster.
I didn’t know why he wanted me at the arena, but so far he hadn’t said I couldn’t be a part of the team. I held on to that with everything I had.
“Sure, Coach. Anytime. When?” The words came out a little fast and probably a little louder than I intended, because Duncan finally turned his head and blinked blurrily at me.
Coach? he mouthed.
“Would now be possible?” Coach asked.
“Yes. Of course, yes. Not a problem. I’ll be there in fifteen, twenty minutes.”
“Good. And Mr. Hazard? No need to bring your skates.”
Seven
Duncan relinquished the keys to the Vega only after I’d wasted five full minutes arguing with him that he couldn’t come with me.
“But why not?”
“Because Coach didn’t ask you to come.”
We’d repeated that refrain over a dozen times before I decided to change the tune.
“Look. If he’s telling me I’m off the team, I don’t want you to be there to see it. If he’s telling me I’m on the team, you’ll be the first person I call. But I don’t think that’s what this is about. I mean, he could have just said those things on the phone.”
“So what do you think it’s about?”
“Probably the magic thing at the Avalanche. Hiding…what I am? Lying.”
That was the wrong thing to say because all it did was put Duncan’s protective mode into overdrive.
“I’m going with you.”
“No, Duncan, you’re not.”
“Where are we not going?” Sean strolled through the door and the heavenly scent of pizza whooshed in with him.
I hungrily eyed the two large boxes he balanced in his hands.
“Coach called him back to the arena. I’m going with him.”
I shook my head and mouthed no behind Duncan’s back.
Sean considered us. Then he addressed Duncan. “You haven’t showered yet, have you son?”
“So?” Yeah, a little more wolf than necessary came out with that word. He was edgy, sharp. He needed to eat, pronto.
“You need a shower and you need food.” Mr. Spark didn’t sound upset but those words were brick walls that weren’t budging. “I’ll go with Random and make sure everything is okay.”
“I don’t need anyone to come with me.”
“Yes, you do,” Duncan said. He took a couple breaths then rubbed his hand over his hair making it stick up even worse. “Okay. Fine. Yes. Not going to save you pizza though.”
“Like I’m leaving it all behind.” I snagged one of the boxes out of Sean’s hands and started toward the door. I already had a piece in my mouth before I’d gotten more than three steps away from the house.
Sean, used to living with a couple of bottomless hockey players, simply strolled to his car and unlocked it with the fob. I clambered in, balancing the closed pizza box, the last of my slice, and the door.
“What did the coach say?” he asked.
I swallowed and popped the glove box. Two bottles of sport drinks and a few heavy meal bars were tucked in there, just like always. I took the drink, and held it up, offering the other one to him.
“No thanks.”
I cracked the lid, drank. “He wanted to talk to me before I left but we didn’t connect. So he wants me to come in to talk to him now.”
“Hmm.”
I didn’t say anything else. Neither did he. I took the opportunity of the short drive to polish off another slice of pizza and finish the drink.
Just like always, the food and drink made me feel better, more settled. That honey sweet taste of magic across my tongue was gone.
I could do this. I could face this music.
The front door of the arena was unlocked and we walked in. Coach met us in the lobby. “Mr. Hazard. And…Mr. Spark, I believe? Duncan’s father?” Coach Clay held out his hand and we both shook it.
“That’s right,” Sean said. “I hope you don’t mind me coming along.”
Coach Clay slid me a look and whatever he saw on my face must have been permission. “Not at all. Come on back to the office.”
We followed him down a hall and past several doors until we came to one door that was open. He stepped inside, motioning us forward.
“I’m sorry you had to make the trip back tonight. You live in town now, right?”
I noticed the slight emphasis on the “now.” He knew about Colorado. Knew I’d left there fast and ran back to the only home I had.
“Yes, sir. I’m living with Mr. Spark and his family.”
Coach nodded, then waved at the chairs on one side of the desk. We sat and he did too, the desk between us littered with papers, notebooks, folders, and various little stone statues of a round faced guy wearing a red hat. The little guy reminded me of statues I’d seen in the huge Asian grocery and gift store out in Beaverton.
“I’ve been keeping an eye on you, Hazard, for a few years now.”
I wasn’t sure if I should be happy or worried about that. The serene smile on his face told me nothing.
“It came as no surprise to me that the NHL called you up right out of juniors. You are a skilled player who will only improve in the coming years. Any team would be happy to have you.”
“Th-thank you, sir.” My heart was pounding hard. I knew there was a “but” attached to this conversation. And I had a feeling it would change my life.
Probably not for the better.
“I want you to tell me why you’re trying out for the Thunderheads.”
I had prepared for this, honestly I had. I’d spent years rehearsing an earnest speech just in case I was asked this question. And I had been asked it just recently when I was at the Avalanche’s camp.
But instead of my carefully prepared speech, the truth came tumbling out of my mouth.
“My best friend made me do it because I’d lied to him all my life about being a wizard.”
The silence in the room was suffocating. I tried not to squirm.
“So you don’t want to be on the team?”
“No! I mean, yes. Yes, sir, I want to be on the team. So much.” All that came out too fast, and I suddenly felt like a little kid asking Mr. Spark if it was okay if I slept over another night because my mom hadn’t been home in three days.
In other words, I felt lame.
Blood washed hot beneath my skin as my embarrassment rose from my chest up to the tips of my ears.
“Talk to me about being a wizard, Random.”
I slumped back in the chair and swallowed a couple times, getting up my courage.
“I don’t know what I can tell you. I—I am a wizard. I’ve used magic three times.”
“Three?” Coach sounded surprised.
I met his curious gaze.
“Yes, sir.”
“Your entire life?”
I nodded.
“How have you…I know how difficult it is for wizards to resist the draw of magic. I know the…compulsion.”
I waited for him to say something else. I wasn’t sure where he was going with this. Out of all the marked, wizards were often seen as the most addicted to magic. It was why there was so much more magic training for them than the other marked.
“Three?” he asked again.
Was that a lot? Or maybe it wasn’t very much. And yeah, magic got pushy. But I’d been shoving it down, out of the way, under my mental thumb for my entire life.
When I was younger I was convinced my life—or at least the parts that mattered: my friendship with Duncan, my place on the hockey team, my home with the Sparks—depended on me remaining normal, human, non-magical.
So that’s what I’d done.
He glanced at Mr. Spark, who sighed. “Random just recently told us.”
“Have you known him long?”
“He’s been a close part of our family, our second son, really, since he was six.”
“And you never suspected?”
He chuckled and it was warmth and home and safety. I hated how much it put me at ease—I was an adult here—but I couldn’t deny how glad I was that Sean had come along.
“Not once,” he said fondly. “And while that might reflect on his ability to be honest, I feel it speaks to some of his other great strengths: discipline and determination.”
It felt weird to just sit there and let them discuss me like I was invisible. I was about to say something adult when Coach Clay spoke again.
“Why didn’t you tell your family?”
It was a personal question, one I could tell him was too personal to answer. But his sky blue eyes were soft and encouraging, like he was pulling for me to come up with the right answer on the test.
I didn’t know the right answer, so I went with the truth. “I wanted to play hockey. Real hockey.” The blush caught fire again, but I pushed onward. “I thought the NHL was my only chance at that. So I decided to be normal. That meant never using magic.”
I shrugged like it was no big deal not to use magic. But it had been hard. Not using magic had meant years of nightmares, headaches, and sleeplessness that had almost landed me in a cat scan once.
“When did you decide that?”
“I was seven?” Something about my tone was broken, childlike. I hated it.
Mr. Spark made a soft sound and then he cleared his throat. “Random. Ran. Look at me.”
I did so.
“You are normal. You have always been normal. You just also happen to be a wizard. Using magic wouldn’t have changed a single thing about how much we loved you when you were a child and it changes nothing now. Understand?”
I nodded, not trusting my voice, then glanced over at Coach. I suspected he didn’t want to watch this little Hallmark moment unfold in his office.
Coach’s eyes were still curious, still encouraging. I wasn’t sure if I’d given him the right answer but he didn’t look angry or disappointed.
“Why did you use magic at training camp?”
“I was pretty sure the guy was about to get his head knocked in. Even his helmet wouldn’t have saved him from that swing. Kowalski has a hell of a shot.”
