Theo's pov
Hockey is war.
And I like war.
It's fast. Violent. Loud enough to drown out the noise in my own head. And it doesn't ask you to be nice—it asks you to win. Which is perfect. Because I've never been much good at nice.
The locker room reeked of victory and teenage sweat—both earned. Practice had just ended, and most of the guys were busy fighting over who actually scored the third goal during scrimmage, even though everyone knew it was Avinav.
"Mate, if you touch my stick again, I swear—"
"Relax, you kissed it goodbye like it's your girlfriend."
"Jealousy doesn't suit you."
Same noise. Same banter. Same dumb jokes.
I let it wash over me while I unstrapped my pads, pulling off my jersey and shaking the sweat from my hair. My bruised ribs ached from the hit I took last period. Good sign. Meant I played hard.
"You're in a mood," Avinav said, flopping onto the bench beside me. "That last check should've been illegal, by the way."
"Only if you play like a civilian," I muttered, taking a swig from my water bottle. "It's hockey, not ballet."
"You keep saying that like she's not a few metres down the rink spinning like a Disney princess with knives on her feet."
I didn't say anything.
Didn't even look toward the rink. I didn't have to.
"I'm not in a mood," I added. "I just hate mornings."
"And you just happen to hate them more when Val's on the schedule, yeah?"
I gave him a dry look. "She gets in the way. That's all."
He smirked but didn't push. He knew better. Everyone knew better than to poke the bear too hard.
---
I stepped back onto the ice before they did—the boys. Needed a few minutes alone to clear my head. Rink was split as usual. One side for drills. One side for her.
I didn't look. But I skated close enough to make sure she knew I was there.
"Nice jump," I called out, casually loud. "Bit wobbly on the landing though. Are you going for gold or just trying not to faceplant?"
She didn't answer. Her jaw tightened.
Good.
"You know," I added as I stopped at centre ice, spinning my stick between my gloves, "if you ever get tired of twirling, I could teach you how to body check someone properly."
She snapped her head toward me, eyes flashing.
Perfect.
"You wish, Dodge."
"Nah," I said, smirking. "I don't need to wish. I'm already better than you at half the things you think you're great at."
Truth? I had no idea why I poked her so much.
Maybe because it worked.
Maybe because when her eyes snapped like that, it made everything else quiet.
But I didn't care.
Not really.
Not about her.
Not about figure skating.
Not about anything that wasn't winning the winter cup and getting the scouts off my back.
She could twirl, glare, and hate me all she wanted.
And me?
I'd keep acting like I didn't notice the way she cut the ice like she owned it.
Like she wasn't already under my skin.