Page 18 of The Hockey Stud

“I think I found who you’re looking for,” Ryland says, his voice low and confident. He presses a button, and the security footage flickers to life, and within seconds, a woman appears on the screen. She moves cautiously, her eyes darting from side to side as she scans the hallway, clearly making sure that no one is watching her. Satisfied that the coast is clear, she hurries toward the locker room, her pace quick and determined. In one hand, she clutches a large black trash bag, gripping it tightly as if it contains something important.

I frown as I watch her disappear through the locker room door. It strikes me as odd—there’s almost always someone in the locker room during games, whether it’s players, staff, or maintenance workers. The area is rarely empty, especially at this time. So why wasn’t she stopped or questioned? Why did no one notice her coming in with that bag?

“She’s only in there for three minutes and twenty-three seconds,” Ryland says, his eyes never leaving the screen. He fast-forwards the footage, the timestamp in the corner spinning rapidly. Suddenly, the woman reappears, stepping out of the locker room. This time, however, her hands are empty—there’s no sign of the black trash bag she brought in with her.

Ryland pauses the footage at just the right moment, freezing her image on the screen. He turns to me with a knowing smirk, clearly pleased with his discovery. I arch an eyebrow, silently prompting him to continue.

“Maria Cole,” he says, supplying the information I need. “She’s twenty-two years old and works here as a social media intern.”

I roll my eyes in exasperation, unable to hide my annoyance. “You could have led with that,” I say, my tone sharp as I cross my arms and stare pointedly at him. It would have saved us both a lot of confusion if he had just told me the most important detail from the start, instead of making me guess or wonder what was really going on.

He doesn’t seem fazed by my irritation. Instead, he meets my gaze calmly and replies, “It’s better that you see proof before we find her.” His voice is steady.

“I’m sorry. You’re right,” I admit, rising from my seat and straightening my posture. “I assume you’ve already made copies of the footage?” I ask, glancing over at him.

“Three,” he replies with a confident smile.

I can’t help but let out a short chuckle. “Do you happen to know where she is?” I inquire, hoping for a lead.

He shakes his head. “I figured I’d hang on and wait for you before calling up to the office. I didn’t want her to know we’re on her.”

I nod in understanding. “That makes sense. We’ll head up to the offices. Do you happen to have a clearer picture of her that we can use?”

“Yes, I actually meant to send it to you earlier,” he says. Within seconds, my phone vibrates, and I see the image pop up on my screen. At that moment, Weston enters the room.

“He’s in the locker room,” Weston announces, referring to Dover. “Nash and Madden are staying with him. Plus, Jimmy Cheswick volunteered to stand guard at the entrance to the locker room, just in case.”

“Alright then,” I respond, reassured by the arrangements. “Can you keep an eye on things here while we go look for Maria Cole?”

Ryland speaks up, “I’ve left a printed picture of her in front of the monitors for reference. If she shows up, can you track her movements and relay them to us in real time?”

Weston frowns, clearly concerned. “Is she the one who has been after Hilton? Why though? For some reason I expected a guy to be behind it.”

“Maybe she was paid for the roadkill found in the locker room,” I shrug. “We’ll have a clearer understanding once we have the chance to speak with her,” I add, my voice tinged with anticipation as I gather my things and make my way out of the office. The uncertainty of the situation weighs on my mind, and I find myself growing increasingly impatient to meet with Miss Cole. I hope that by talking to her directly, we can finally shed some light on things.

There has been noticeably more activity than usual for a game day, which immediately puts me on edge. The constant movement and heightened energy around me only add to my anxiety, especially since Levi isn’t answering his phone. His silence is out of character and makes me increasingly uneasy. The only reassurance I have is from Rosie, who has let me know that Levi is okay, but that’s the extent of the information I’ve received. It’s frustrating—surely, considering that my own safety is apparently the main concern right now, you’d expect someone would actually tell me what the hell is happening. Instead, I’m left completely in the dark.

Trying to focus and prepare for the game, I sit quietly in my cubby, slipping on my noise-canceling headphones in an attempt to block out the chaos around me. I play recordings of the Amazon rainforest, letting the sounds of distant birds and rushing water wash over me in hopes of calming my nerves. It’s not easy to relax, knowing that something is going on that no one will explain, but I do my best.

Tonight’s opponent, the Los Angeles Vengeance are one of the top teams in the league. Their reputation alone means we all have to be at the very top of our game if we want to stand a chance. In fact, we need to be better than our best—every single player has to push themselves beyond their limits. Fortunately, there’s no personal animosity or grudges between our team and theirs, which brings me a small measure of relief. That thought helps settle my nerves a little, allowing me to focus on what I can control—my moves on the ice.

Nash nudges into me, a subtle but unmistakable signal that it’s time for me to finish getting ready. I take a deep breath, feeling the familiar rush of anticipation, and reach for my helmet, sliding it on first. The cool plastic settles over my head, grounding me in the moment. Next, I grab my gloves, pulling them on one by one, making sure each finger is snug and secure. My stick is the last thing I pick up, the taped handle rough and reassuring in my grip. With everything in place, I fall into step behind Nash, following him down the long, echoing tunnel that leads to the rink.

As we walk, the sounds of the crowd and the sharp scent of ice grow stronger, filling me with a mix of nerves and excitement. We come to a stop just before the entrance to the arena, waiting for our names to be announced over the loudspeaker. My teammates gather around me, their presence a comforting wall of support. In this moment, surrounded by the people who know me best, I feel myself settle. The usual noise in my head fades away, replaced by a rare sense of calm and clarity. I know I’m about to step onto the ice, and for once, my thoughts are quiet, my focus sharp.

It doesn’t matter to me anymore that the whole fucking world knows I’m gay. Let them talk, let them speculate—it’s none of their business. My life is mine to live, and I refuse to let anyone else’s opinion weigh me down. I roll my neck from side to side, working out the last of the tension, and glance over at Nash. He’s watching me with a raised eyebrow, suspicion and amusement mingling on his face. I grin at him, the tension breaking, and give him a playful shove. He laughs and shoves me back, the easy friendship between us making the moment feel lighter.

Then, the announcer calls our names, and we step out onto the ice. The cold air hits my face, and the bright lights make everything shimmer. We launch into our warm-up routine, skating laps and passing the puck back and forth. I glide over the smooth surface, feeling the power in my legs and the freedom in my movement. Each stride reminds me why I love this game, and for a little while, nothing else matters. I am exactly where I’m supposed to be, enjoying every second of it.

Once the game gets underway, the first period does not go as we had hoped or planned. The Vengeance comes out with incredible energy and intensity, immediately putting us on our heels. From the very first shift, they play an aggressive, physical style that makes it clear this is going to be a grueling battle. They relentlessly pressure us, forechecking hard and forcing us deep into our own zone. For three painfully long minutes, we are trapped, unable to clear the puck or even get a line change. My lungs are absolutely burning from the effort, and the fatigue threatens to slide in as we scramble to keep up with their pace.

During one particularly chaotic sequence, Nikoli tries to make a smart play by reversing the puck behind our net, hoping to relieve some of the pressure. Unfortunately, one of their forwards anticipates the move perfectly, intercepting the pass without hesitation. He wastes no time, quickly firing a sharp, accurate pass right into the slot area in front of our net. Bradford, our goaltender, is completely screened by one of our own defensemen, making it impossible for him to see the puck coming. In the confusion, the puck takes an unlucky bounce, deflecting off a stray skate and slipping right past Bradford’s outstretched glove. Just like that, the Vengeance scored the first goal of the game. Damn it!

In the second period, we finally manage to find our legs, thank goodness! The entire team seems to come alive, and we push back against our opponents with pure, unrelenting speed. The momentum shifts in our favor as Rhodes steps up and makes an absolutely massive, fearless block on a heavy slap shot right at the blue line. The puck ricochets off his pads, but without missing a beat, Rhodes immediately regains control and flips a beautiful breakout pass directly to Dario, who is waiting at center ice.

From my spot on the bench, I watch the play unfold before me, my excitement growing with every passing second. The intensity on the ice is palpable, and my heart thunders as our team moves the puck up the rink. Suddenly, Dario receives a crisp pass right in stride, barely breaking his momentum as he glides past the blue line. Without hesitation, he launches into an absolutely electrifying maneuver that leaves the opposing defense scrambling. With a dazzling display of stickhandling, Dario weaves the puck effortlessly back and forth, his hands moving so quickly that the two Vengeance defensemen are left completely bewildered. He executes a sickening deke, feinting one way before slicing through the narrow gap between them, leaving both defenders utterly flat-footed and out of position.

Now, with nothing but open ice ahead, Dario finds himself skating in all alone on a partial breakaway. The tension is almost unbearable as he accelerates toward the net, every eye in the arena locked on him. The opposing goalie squares up, desperate to cut down the angle and deny the scoring chance. But Dario remains calm and focused, his body language exuding confidence. In one fluid, practiced motion, he pulls the puck from his backhand to his forehand, completely freezing the goaltender. Then, with incredible precision, he snaps a shot that sails up and over the goalie’s shoulder, tucking perfectly into the top corner of the net. The goaltender has no chance to react—the puck is in before he can even move.