13. She Skates

A/N: THANK YOU FOR 4.79k READERS IM SO HAPPY, LOVE YALL SM!!

The refs finally managed to pull us apart, but not before some idiot from the Titans came barreling in at the last second. He lost his balance mid-charge, his skate flying up as he crashed backward, nearly slicing Vince open.

Shit was getting out of hand.

Guys were getting shoved toward the penalty box left and right, but my focus snapped to Luke. He was leaned against the boards, his blocker and one of his leg pads discarded on the ice. Something was wrong.

"This is you fucking fault!" I yelled towards the guy who had basically thrown him as I skated towards Luke.

"What's going on?" I asked, crouching down next to him. His face was twisted in pain, sweat dampening his hair despite the cold.

I leaned towards his lead trying to see what was happening, "what's wrong Luke?" I asked.

"What do you think dipshit, my legs fucked up. I can't play." Luke hissed through what was clear to be pain, this idiot should learn by now, theres always one bastard who goes for the goalie, on any team.

It's even happened with Jax he went for some goalie for whatever fucked reason he thought was good enough.

His voice was sharp, but I could hear the panic under it. I wanted to tell him he was fine, that he just needed a breather, but the way he was gripping his knee told me otherwise.

My stomach turned.

This wasn't just a rough hit. This wasn't him shaking it off and getting back in the net.

Luke was out.

"Fuck," I muttered under my breath.

Paramedics rushed onto the ice, pushing me back as they surrounded him. Luke let out a low groan when they moved his leg, and I had to force myself to stand still, even though every instinct told me to help him.

I watched as they lifted him onto a stretcher. His face was pale now, drawn tight in pain. My best fucking friend, our goddamn goalie, was done for the season.

And just when things couldn't get worse—

"YOU'RE GONNA HAVE TO FORFEIT!"

That same Titan asshole—the one who'd thrown Luke like a ragdoll—stood near center ice, his helmet slightly askew, a cocky smirk plastered across his face. His teammates howled in laughter, slapping each other on the back like this was some joke.

Every muscle in my body tensed. I was two seconds away from charging at him, ref interference be damned.

"Stay focused," Coach barked, pulling us into a tight huddle near the bench.

"Coach, we don't have another goalie," Riley said, tapping his stick against the ice. "What the hell are we supposed to do?"

Silence settled over us.

This was it.

The downfall of the Sirens.

No goalie meant no shot at playoffs. No scouts for Luke. No championship.

I clenched my jaw, trying to drown out the sound of the Titans' laughter. My hands tightened around my stick, frustration burning in my chest—until my eyes landed on someone in the crowd.

Callie.

She wasn't pressed against the glass like everyone else. She was sitting back in the stands, her friend gripping her hand as if to keep her from jumping up. But it was her eyes that caught me—sharp, calculating.

I could practically see the gears in her head turning, replaying everything that had just happened, analyzing it the same way I was.

And then, it clicked.

Holy. Shit.

Calliope fucking Brooks.

I turned back to the team, the words spilling out of my mouth before I could second-guess them.

"Coach's daughter can skate."

The entire team froze.

"What?" they said in unison, heads snapping toward me.

"You've all seen her," I pressed, urgency creeping into my voice. "She's precise, she's fast, and she only has to block shots. She can do this."

Silence. Then—

"You want us to put a figure skater in net?" Gabe scoffed, like I'd lost my mind.

"She's not just a figure skater," I snapped. "You saw her last week—she knows the game. She reads plays before they happen. She might not have experience in net, but she's got better reflexes than half the guys out here."

The team was still processing it when Vince let out a low whistle.

"She does have insane footwork," he admitted.

Max crossed his arms. "But she's never played a real game in her life."

"She's a Brooks," I shot back. "She grew up around this shit. You saw her on the ice—she's not just skating for show. She gets the game."

The guys murmured to each other, some nodding, some still hesitant.

Then, finally, Coach spoke.

"She doesn't even know the rules," he said, his voice rough, edged with doubt.

"She does," I insisted. "I don't know how, but she does. You saw the way she played the other day. She reads the game better than some of us. She knows every rule in the damn book."

Coach's lips pressed into a thin line. I could tell he was torn. Callie was his daughter. His kid. Throwing her in net in the middle of a brutal game against the Titans? It went against every fatherly instinct he had.

But he also knew we were out of options.

I stared him down, my heart hammering. "Coach, we can't afford to lose this game. We don't have another choice."

The seconds stretched.

Then—

"If you're so sure, Mav," Coach sighed, rubbing a hand down his face, "go get my daughter some gear."

I had no idea how the hell I ended up here.

One minute, I was in the stands, watching Luke get taken off the ice. The next, I was in the locker room, standing in front of a pile of goalie gear I had no idea how to put on.

And of course, Grayson Maverick was the one helping me.

"This is insane," I muttered as he crouched down, securing the straps on my leg pads. The padding felt wrong—heavy, stiff, like I was being weighed down with every piece of gear he added.

"No, what's insane is that you actually agreed to this," Grayson shot back, yanking one of the straps a little too tight. I hissed and tried to kick at him, but with all this gear, my leg barely moved.

"I didn't agree, Vince kidnapped me, took me here and then I got a text from Luke telling me to play because he physically can't."

Grayson smirked, his fingers lingering on the strap at my knee. His touch was light, almost hesitant, but the moment felt too long. His eyes flicked up to mine, and—fuck.

My stomach flipped.

I swallowed hard and forced myself to look away, pretending the air between us wasn't thick with something I didn't have time to analyze.

Grayson seemed to shake it off too, clearing his throat as he grabbed my glove. "Alright. You look the part."

"Doesn't mean I am the part," I grumbled, flexing my fingers in the massive blocker.

"You'll be fine," he said, handing me the helmet. "Just react. Trust your instincts."

I took the helmet, my hands shaking.

"You nervous, Brooks?"

"No," I lied.

How could I not be, the first friend I made in this place was Lucian Dawson aka Luke, the guy who just got trampled and broke his fucking leg.

Grayson scoffed like he didn't believe me for a second. "Good. 'Cause we need you."

That was the problem. They needed me.

And for some fucked up reason I felt responsible for these idiots.

I'd just watched what happened to the last guy who stood in this net, and he was way taller and muscular than me.

Stepping onto the ice in all this gear was a disaster. My balance was off, my movements felt sluggish, and the moment I tried to push forward—

WHAM.

I went face-first into the ice, I swear this is either me jinxing myself by saying I'd fall face first if I ever wore gear or it was simple karma.

Laughter exploded from the boys.

"Shut up," I groaned, trying to push myself up with all this ridiculous padding.

A shadow loomed over me. "Told you to get used to it, Angel."

I glared up at Grayson, who was smirking down at me like this was the funniest shit he'd seen all night. Calling me something I've never been called, and something that's the furthest from the truth yet so naturally said by him.

"Go to hell, Maverick."

Still grinning, he extended a hand. I hesitated, then finally grabbed on, letting him pull me to my feet. His grip was warm, steady, and he didn't let go right away.

Before I could say anything, Vince called out, "Alright, boys, let's hype up our new goalie!"

The guys started shouting, slamming their sticks against the ice, their voices echoing through the rink.

"You got this, Brooks!"

"Show 'em what you got!"

My nerves spiked.

I hated this attention.

I wasn't a goalie. I wasn't one of them. I wasn't built for this, and every time I blinked, I saw Luke lying on the ice, his leg bent at a horrible angle.

Before they could start some dumb chant, I snapped, "I'm a figure skater, not a fucking goalie!"

Silence.

Then, of course, laughter.

Grayson chuckled beside me. "Don't let them get in your head."

"They already are," I muttered, gripping my stick tighter.

Grayson nudged my shoulder lightly. "Relax. Just play."

I exhaled, forcing my body to loosen up, but the moment the puck dropped, I realized—

This wasn't going to be easy. The Titans smelled blood.

They knew we had no goalie. They knew I was new. They came at me like sharks, slamming shots at the net every chance they got, and they where already teasing me.

They where like vultures, one circled the rink whispering, "the last guy played since he was a child, can't wait to see how a newbie plays."

I barely had time to react to the first puck before another came flying at my glove side. I dove for it—too slow. It hit the post and bounced away.

I gritted my teeth, frustration burning in my chest.

They wanted me to crack.

I wouldn't. I never did.

A Titan forward crashed toward me, winding up for a wrist shot. I dropped low, letting my instincts take over, and just as he fired—

I kicked my pad out and sent the puck flying.

The rebound shot right to Jax, who fired it up the ice. Vince caught the pass, deking around a defender, and sent it flying to Grayson.

Grayson handled the puck smoothly, weaving through the Titans like it was nothing. His eyes flicked up, tracking the net, and just as a defenseman lunged at him—

He ripped a shot, top shelf.

GOAL.

The sirens sounded. The arena erupted.

Grayson skated back past the net, smirking as he caught my eye.

"Nice save, Brooks."

I rolled my eyes, but my chest felt lighter.

Maybe I could do this.

The clock was winding down, and we were barely holding onto our lead.

The Titans were desperate. They threw everything they had at me—slapshots, rebounds, screens—but I held my ground.

Then, with thirty seconds left, they got a breakaway.

One of their forwards came flying down the ice, cutting past our defense. It was just me and him.

My heart pounded.

I squared up, tracking his movements, my breath shallow as he deked left—then right—

Then shot.

I lunged—

SNAP.

The puck hit my shoulder and deflected into my glove.

The ref's whistle blew.

The crowd exploded.

Game over.

We had won, I wasn't totally useless in this town.

The second the buzzer sounded, the guys rushed me.

Someone practically tackled me—Jax, I think. Vince ruffled my helmet, Max practically lifted me off the ice.

And then Grayson was in front of me, his smirk a little softer this time.

"Not bad, Brooks," he said, a little breathless. "Not bad at all."

I rolled my eyes, shoving my helmet up. "I fell on my face."

He grinned. "Yeah, but you got back up."

I held his gaze for a moment too long, my pulse still racing.

I wasn't a goalie.

But tonight, for the first time in a long time—

I felt like I belonged.

—————

A/N: DID CALLIE DO WELL??

And what was that in the changing rooms with Grayson...🫣😋

Please comment your thoughts and tysm for reading <3

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