22. Practice

Callie didn't answer me right away. She just sat there, arms crossed, glaring at the pile of goalie gear like it had personally ruined her life.

She was pissed.

Not in the usual way, where she'd snap back with some sarcastic remark and throw herself headfirst into the fight. No—this was something else. This was frustration simmering just beneath the surface, her hands clenched into fists like she was holding something back.

I sighed and stepped forward. "Alright, Angel, sit down."

She didn't move.

I smirked. "Unless you wanna go out there looking like a complete idiot, I'd suggest listening to me."

Her glare sharpened, but after a long moment, she huffed and dropped onto the bench. "This is so stupid."

I knelt in front of her, grabbing the leg pads first. "Yeah? Well, get used to it."

She muttered something under her breath—something that definitely wasn't meant for me to hear—but I ignored it, tightening the straps around her legs.

"Lift your foot."

She did. Slowly.

I adjusted the pad, making sure it was snug before moving to the next one. My fingers brushed against her calf, and I felt her stiffen slightly.

Interesting.

"This is your fault, you know," she muttered.

I smirked. "Technically, your fault."

Her glare was immediate. "Excuse me?"

I finished securing the second pad, then leaned back on my heels. "You're the one who got in trouble."

She scoffed. "For something I didn't even do."

I raised a brow. "Oh?"

She went silent.

I grabbed the chest protector and held it out. "Arms up."

She hesitated, then reluctantly lifted her arms, letting me slide it over her head. It fit awkwardly at first, but I adjusted the straps, tightening them until it rested comfortably against her torso.

When I glanced back up at her, her expression had shifted. Less annoyed. More... tired.

I frowned. "What happened?"

She let out a slow breath, staring at the floor. For a second, I thought she wasn't going to answer.

Then, quietly, she said, "Samantha shoved me." She looked embarrassed as if it wasn't worthy enough to be upset or annoyed about.

She said it, like it was nothing, like it didn't even matter—it pissed me off.

"Tell me you shoved her back," I said, already knowing the answer.

She let out a bitter laugh. "Nope."

I clenched my jaw. "Why the hell not?"

She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "Because I knew if I did, it'd just make things worse. I figured if I didn't retaliate, people would finally see that she's the problem. That maybe, for once, I wouldn't be the bad guy."

I studied her. "But?"

Her lips pressed together. "But she made a whole damn scene. Right in the middle of science class. Screamed at me, knocked a chair over, started crying like I'd attacked her. The teacher freaked out and sent me straight to the principal's office before I could even explain."

My fists clenched.

Callie? Being the one sent to the principal without question? Without anyone even asking what happened?

Complete bullshit.

"No one checked the CCTV?" I asked.

She let out a dry laugh. "Nope. Just took Samantha's word for it."

I swore under my breath. "And your dad just went along with it?"

"He didn't take anyone's side," she muttered. "Just... did what he thought was fair. I got detention instead of suspension. I should be grateful, right?"

She sounded anything but grateful.

I stared at her, something burning in my chest. Callie Brooks—the girl who never let anyone walk over her—had let someone hit her, had held back, and still got blamed. And the worst part? She wasn't even surprised.

Like this kind of shit happened all the time.

I wanted to tell her it wasn't fair. That it was bullshit. That she shouldn't have to just accept it.

But I could already see the way her shoulders tensed, the way she was shutting down.

So I let it go.

For now.

Instead, I grabbed the blocker and glove. "Alright. Last part."

She slid her hands into them, flexing her fingers, testing the weight. I watched her closely, waiting for another reaction, another crack in the mask she always wore.

But Callie just let out a breath, rolling her shoulders. "Guess I'm really doing this, huh?"

I smirked. "Guess so."

She sighed dramatically. "I hate you."

I chuckled, standing up. "You say that a lot."

"Because I mean it."

Sure, Angel. Whatever you say.

I was still fuming when we stepped onto the ice. The weight of the pads felt wrong, and I stumbled slightly before catching myself.

I sneaked a glance at Gray, half expecting another cocky remark. But instead of looking entertained, he was staring at the floor, jaw tight.

Still mad too, huh?

I should've expected it. Grayson had a temper—not in the way I did, with my sharp words and quick fists, but in a quieter, steadier way. He didn't just explode; he burned, holding onto things long after most people would let them go.

And apparently, the thought of Samantha shoving me was one of those things.

I didn't know what to do with that.

A few of the guys noticed my stumble, and of course, they had to comment.

"Looking good, rookie!" Vince called from the other side of the rink.

"Don't fall, Brooks," Dylan added, grinning. "That'd be kinda embarrassing."

I flipped them off through my glove. The motion was awkward, but they got the message.

The guys laughed.

Grayson sighed. "Alright, shut up, idiots. We're running shooting drills. Callie, get in the net."

I barely had time to process before my feet moved on instinct, carrying me to the crease. My heart hammered in my chest as I turned to face the team.

Shit.

The last time I did this, it was pure adrenaline—just reacting, just surviving. Now? They were actually expecting me to stop pucks.

Grayson skated up beside me. "Relax," he muttered. "You're too stiff."

"Gee, thanks, Captain," I shot back.

He ignored me, tapping my glove. "Watch the puck, keep your stance wide, and don't think too much."

I snorted. "Thinking isn't really my problem."

"No," he said, stepping away. "You're just scared."

I barely had time to glare at him before the first shot rocketed toward me.

I flinched.

The puck sailed past, slamming into the netting behind me.

The guys groaned dramatically. "C'mon, Callie!" Riley teased. "That was an easy one."

"Oh, shut up," I snapped.

I adjusted my stance, bracing myself as Dylan skated up to take another shot.

This time, I tracked the puck.

I lunged—

And somehow managed to catch it in my glove.

There was a pause. Then—

"Ohhh!" The team erupted in cheers, sticks banging against the ice.

I blinked. "Wait, what?"

"You caught it," Jax said, grinning. "Nice save, Brooks."

I looked down at my glove, heart racing. Holy shit.

I couldn't believe it. I actually caught the damn puck. My glove felt weirdly heavy, but when I opened it up to look, the puck was sitting there like it was meant to be there.

"Not bad for a newbie," Grayson called, skating by with a smirk.

I shot him a glare. "It was a fluke."

"Yeah, okay," he said, clearly amused. "Fluke or not, you stopped it. Now, don't get cocky."

I rolled my eyes. "Don't worry, Maverick. I'll try not to embarrass you too much."

The boys laughed, and for the first time since I stepped onto the ice, the weight of the situation didn't feel so heavy.

"Alright, Brooks!" Dylan called. "Let's see if you can do that again!"

I took a deep breath, shifting my weight and crouching lower. The pads felt like they were squeezing me from all sides, but I wasn't about to admit that.

Grayson had circled back, and he stood at the top of the faceoff circle, looking at me with that same annoying smirk. "No pressure, but we're gonna bring the heat now."

I swallowed hard but didn't say anything.

The next few shots came fast. It felt like they were trying to test my reflexes—low shots, high shots, quick wristers. The puck slammed off the crossbar twice, forcing me to leap for it. I wasn't sure what I was doing right, but I started to get a sense of the movement.

I dropped into my stance, reading the play as best I could. When Grayson wound up for another shot, I felt the familiar pulse of dread in my stomach.

This one was coming in hard.

I squatted lower, trying to get my body in position, but all I could think was—please don't let me get hit with it.

Grayson shot.

The puck rocketed toward me, and I threw my glove up just in time, catching it again.

The sound of the team's cheers was deafening.

"Okay, okay! That was actually impressive," Hunter called out, clapping his stick against the ice.

I blinked at the glove in my hand, my heart pounding. The adrenaline was coursing through me, and for the first time in a while, I wasn't thinking about anything except the next shot.

"Don't get too cocky," Jaxon teased, skating by. "You still got a lot of work to do."

"Shut up, Jax," I shot back, feeling the competitive fire kick in.

Grayson's voice cut through the noise. "Alright, enough with the cheerleading—let's keep moving." He tossed me the puck, and I caught it again, this time on the rebound.

For a second, everything felt... okay.

Grayson stayed in his position, eyes never leaving me. But instead of the usual teasing or sarcastic comments, there was something else in his eyes—something that almost looked like pride.

It was unsettling.

I dropped the puck behind me, squaring up for another round of shots. The practice session continued with the team pushing me harder and harder, but now, I felt a strange sense of accomplishment every time I blocked a shot.

After a few more minutes of the madness, Grayson skated back over to me.

"Alright, you're doing better than I expected," he said, his voice quieter than usual. "You're not terrible."

"Thanks for the glowing review, Maverick," I said, feeling a little breathless but still managing a smile.

"You're welcome, Angel," he said with a half-smile.

Before I could respond, Coach blew his whistle, calling the team to the center of the ice. "Alright, break time!"

The team skated to the middle, but Grayson stuck by me for a moment longer. He didn't say anything, just gave me a nod like some kind of silent approval.

I shifted uncomfortably under his gaze but didn't look away. "Thanks for the help," I muttered.

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Just don't get used to it."

"I won't," I replied quickly. "I'm never doing this again."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "Sure, Callie. Keep telling yourself that."

Before I could argue, he was gone, skating back to join the rest of the team, leaving me standing in the crease, staring at the ice beneath my feet.

For the first time that night, I felt... okay. Even if I hated the pads, hated the helmet, hated every second of being in this situation—maybe, just maybe, I wasn't completely terrible at it.

And maybe, just maybe, I could survive another round of this. Or survive this town.

—————

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this one x

Words: 1920