Chapter 143 STILL A TEAM

Chapter 143 STILL A TEAM
The morning light fell across the bench in long, golden stripes.

Jack sat with his elbows resting on his knees, watching the active players move through the glass.

Their bodies were distant, small, their voices muffled by the thick panes. The scrape of skates was a faint echo. The slap of sticks against pucks was dulled.

Luca sat beside him. Their shoulders almost touched. Not quite. But close.

Jay and Noah were a little farther down the bench. Jay's hand rested on the wood between them. Noah's knee pressed against his. They weren't talking. They didn't need to.

Sam should have been somewhere on the ice with the rest of the team. Instead, the four suspended players were simply watching.

The rink hummed. The lights buzzed. The air was cold. Jack sits up and stretches, bones popping.

“This is getting old,” he mutters.

Luca shifts, eyebrows pinched. “We’ve been here twenty minutes.”

“Exactly.”

Jay laughs, rolling his shoulders. “You complained when we were playing.”

Jack turns his head just enough to glare, but the edge is dull. “I never complained.”

Noah snorts. “You complained every morning.”

Jack doesn’t even bother arguing. “That’s different.”

Noah smirks. “How?”

Jack shrugs, looking at his hands. “I was useful then.”

Jay ruffles his hair. “Now you understand it.”

Jack doesn’t snap back. The words land and linger, heavier than they should.

“Yeah.”

Before anything else gets said, footsteps echo. Kian’s coming down the hall, hockey bag slung over his shoulder, one arm loose, the other hand swinging a water bottle. He stops, eyeing the four of them like he’s stumbled into a crime scene.

“You four look miserable.”

Jay raises his eyebrow. “Good morning to you too.”

Kian points at Luca. “You look especially miserable.”

Luca scowls, barely lifting his head. “I’m just sitting.”

“Exactly.”

Something passed between them, a sort of uneasy truce. Jack remembers what Luca told him last week, that strange and earnest trust me enough to let me stand beside you. Kian drops his bag with a heavy thunk that vibrates up Jack’s legs.

“I’ve got an idea.”

Luca, skeptical as ever: “That usually worries me.”

Kian barely even smiles. “You four still have to play the final.”

They all go still, like words could jinx their second chance. Jack shifts, a flicker of hope and nerves, feeling his heart beat faster.

Kian continued. “So sitting here for two months isn’t doing you any good.”

Jay shrugs. “So? What are you suggesting?”

“Practice.” Kian taps his water bottle. “Senior rink is empty this afternoon.”

Noah glances toward the far doors. “We’re suspended.”

Kian grins, voice conspiratorial now. “From the official team. No rule says you can’t train."

Jack narrows his eyes. “And Coach is just gonna let us use it?”

Kian actually laughs—real and sharp. “I’ll go ask.”

Luca frowns. “You already decided?”

Kian swings his bag back over his shoulder. “I decided I’d ask.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

He’s gone before anyone can argue. Jack watches him disappear down the corridor, a flicker of something lighter settling on his chest.

Jay leans closer to Luca, smirking. “You two seem comfortable.”

Luca’s deadpan hits harder than any punch. “Don’t.”

Jay grins, shaking his head. Jack can’t help but snort. For the first time all day, he almost feels like laughing.


Kian finds Coach Parker by the clanging metal shelves in the equipment room. Coach stands there, arms crossed, eyebrows like thunderclouds.

“What do you need?”

Kian doesn’t blink. “Senior rink.”

Coach raises a brow. “For?”

“Practice.”

“You have a team practice,” Coach says, growing impatient.

Kian shakes his head, stubborn. “Not with the team. Jack, Luca, Jay, and Noah. They’re suspended, but if the team makes the final, they need to be ready.”

Coach’s silence is heavy, but Kian stands his ground.

“They’re gonna lose their timing if they just sit around. Give me an hour. Senior rink.”

Coach’s stare drills into him. “And who’s running it?”

Kian points to himself. “Me.”

Coach’s face is unreadable. “You?”

Kian grins. “You don’t trust me?”

“That’s exactly why I’m asking.”

Kian laughs, then sobers. “ I'll keep it controlled. No contact drills. No showboating. Just skating, passing, positioning, conditioning. They need it.”

Coach chews it over. Finally: “One hour.”

Kian’s relief is genuine. “Thank you.”

Coach grumbles, but there’s a glint of approval in his eye. “If I hear you’ve turned it into a scrimmage—”

“You won’t,” Kian promises, already backing out.

“Good.”

Kian’s halfway back before the boys even notice him. Jay’s on his feet first. “Well?”

Kian tosses his water bottle onto the bench, grinning. “One hour.”

Jack straightens, shaking off fatigue. Luca narrows his eyes. “You’re serious?”

“Unfortunately, yeah.”

Jay stretches, cracks his neck. “Finally.”

Noah grins, standing.

But then Sam appears in the hallway, cheeks flushed, still in training gear. He glances at Kian, then back toward the rink.

Kian frowns. “Where’s the team?”

Sam jerks a thumb. “Practicing.”

“Then why aren’t you with them?” Kian asks, already suspicious.

Sam shrugs, trying to look casual. “I’m done.”

Jack knows BS when he hears it. “Sam.”

Sam doesn’t even try to lie. “Coach’ll figure it out.”

Jay laughs. “You skipping practice?”

Sam tilts his chin, like he’s daring them. “I’m captain.”

Jack’s eyebrow lifts. “Exactly.”

Sam’s mask slips. His eyes dart to the rink doors, then back to them.

“I don’t want to go back in there.”

Nobody teases him for once.

“It’s weird,” Sam admits, voice small. “I know I’m supposed to be their captain, but—” he pauses, looking at each of the suspended players in turn— “you guys are my team, too.”

Luca’s voice is gentle. “Sam, you should be out there. With them.”

Sam shakes his head. “Nope.”

“Sam—” Jay tries.

Sam grabs his stick, clinging to it. “If you’re practicing, so am I.”

Jack studies him, smiling a little. “You’re supposed to be captain.”

Sam just shrugs. “And you’re still a captain to us.”

Jack’s smile grows, even if it hurts a bit. Sam points toward the senior rink.

“So quit arguing.”

Kian sighs, but he’s grinning, too. “Fine.”

Sam’s answering smile is all relief. Kian points at him, mock-stern. “But if you miss practice tomorrow, I’m telling Coach.”

Sam groans. “Traitor.”

The senior rink feels like new ground. No noise except the distant hum of the fans. No eyes. Just the five of them stepping onto cold, empty ice.

Their skates hit the surface and Jack feels the world shift a little lighter, a little less raw.

Luca glides beside him, silent, the lines of his body relaxing just enough to shake off the last of his nerves.

Jay and Noah trail behind, playfully jostling for space. Sam lingers near the door, uncertain, but then pushes off and joins them.

Kian stands by the boards, blowing on his hands. “Don’t just admire the paint. Start with laps.”

Sam raises a hand. “How many?”

Kian’s eyes slant. “You want to ask?”

Sam winces. “Never mind.”

They take off, the scrape of skates a familiar soundtrack. Jack forgets, for a moment, about the mess outside these boards. He pushes, breathes, listens to himself getting faster, steadier.

After laps, Kian gets serious—more coach than teammate. He sets up pucks, draws cones, lines them up.

Passing drill. Jack flips the puck across to Noah, who accepts with a little flourish.

Jay zig-zags through cones, Luca following close.

Acceleration sprints. Jack lunges, burning lungs and legs.

Controlled scrimmage. Jack barks, “Jay, you’re inside.”

Jay slides out. “Noah, go wide.”

Noah nods, skating hard.

Luca waits, watching the play.

Jack catches his eye. "You see it?"

Luca nods, voice a little breathless. “Yeah.”

Kian blows the whistle, lips pursed. “Again.”

The second attempt is smooth, like they’ve found some buried rhythm.

Kian nods, not quite smiling. “Better.”

Sam wipes sweat off his brow. “Is that it?”

Kian grins. “You want a compliment?”

Sam huffs. “Wouldn’t hurt.”

“Not happening.”

Laughter bounces off the empty rafters.

During one drill, Sam tried taking over. "Mendoza would probably—"

Jack cut him off. "Here."

Sam looked at him.

Jack passed him the puck. "You're playing with us. Don't worry about being captain here."

Sam caught it. The puck kissed his blade. "Then what am I?"

Jack smiled. "My teammate."

Kian claps, impatient. “Run it again.”

This time they don’t overthink, and suddenly everything is smoother, more natural. Jay and Noah move as if tied by a string. Jack passes to Luca without looking. Sam cuts in, receives a pass, and the puck snaps off his stick just right.

“Sam, you’re chasing too hard!” Kian calls. Sam slows, laugh bubbling out.

Jay mugs for Kian’s attention, earning a sharp “Hold!” from him. Noah is everywhere, always in the right spot.

Kian is relentless. “Again. Jack, to Luca. Luca, shoot.”

Luca does. The puck rockets in—goal.

Kian blows his whistle, finally grinning. “That’s the one.”

Luca glances at Jack, the silent partnership solid. Jack’s grin is pure mischief, and Sam skates by, pretending to scowl.

“Don’t get cocky.”

Jack just laughs. “You’re jealous.”

“I’m captain.”

Jack shrugs. “Not here.”

Sam sticks his tongue out and they snap back to formation, Kian already hollering for another run.

During water break. Jack sits on the boards, chest heaving. Luca drops beside him, sweaty and glassy-eyed.

“I missed this,” Jack says quietly.

Luca nods, voice tired. “Me too.”

Jack glances around—Jay and Noah are joking about something, Sam sprawled out next to his gear, Kian still pacing. “It’s different now.”

Luca’s brow creases. “How?”

Jack considers. “Feels like we’re still a team.”

The edges of Luca’s mouth twitch. He leans his head against Jack’s shoulder, just for a beat. “We are.”

Jack jostles him. “Good.”

Kian’s voice roars from across the ice, breaking the moment. “Break’s over!”

Jack groans, stretching stiff muscles. “I Hate him.”

Luca stands, tapping his skate against Jack’s. “You don’t.”

Jack smirks. “I tolerate him.”

Time blurs. The five of them fall into a rhythm that’s rough, unpolished, but full of chemistry.

Jay and Noah barely need words they trade passes, anticipate without thinking.

Luca is always where Jack expects him to be. Sam slides in, finding gaps nobody else sees. Kian never stops correcting, but he’s grinning.

Finally, Kian blows the last whistle, lowers his stick, and calls, “That’s it. One hour!”

The team collapses near the boards, steam rolling off their backs into the frigid air. Jack unstraps his gloves, running a hand through his hair, sweat sticking it up in all directions.

He looks at Kian, voice lower but steadier than before. “Hey.”

Kian quirks a brow. “What?”

“Thanks.” Jack sweeps his arm at the empty rink. “You didn’t have to do this. You’ve got your own practice.”

Kian shrugs it off. “You four looked pathetic sitting outside the rink.”

Sam laughs dryly. “Four?”

Kian snorts. “Five. You joined them.”

Sam grins. “Still, he’s right.”

Noah leans his stick against the boards, voice soft. “We appreciate it.”

Jay flips a puck in the air and catches it. “Yeah. Seriously.”

Luca gives a half smile, searching Kian’s face. “You gave up your time to help us. We won’t forget it.”

Kian can’t meet their eyes for long, scuffing a toe against the boards. “It’s just hockey.”

Jack shakes his head. “Still mattered.”

Sam teases, lighter. “And you barely complained.”

Kian scowls at him. “Don’t ruin it.”

Sam’s grin is sharp. “Sorry.”

Kian almost cracks a smile, shakes his head, trying to look annoyed. “Just be ready for the final.”

Jack meets his gaze, solemn. “We will.”

They sit along the boards, wiped out and content—sticks resting across laps, helmets dumped onto the ice. Sam yanks his helmet off, hair wild.

“Okay,” he pants.

Jack nudges him. “Okay what?”

Sam, still catching his breath, grins. “Maybe being suspended isn’t the worst thing.”

Jay laughs. “Don’t tell Coach.”

Noah’s nod is gentle.

Luca tilts his head toward Kian, who just shrugs. “You still have a final to prepare for.”

Jack claps him on the shoulder. “We’ll be ready.”

Kian gives a rare, sincere nod. “I know.”

A beat.

“But tomorrow, Sam goes back to his team.”

Sam sighs, long-suffering. “Knew there was a catch.”

Everyone laughs, the sound echoing around the empty rink. Jack throws an arm over Sam’s shoulders. Sam tries to wriggle free, but he’s not really fighting.

“I hate you.”

Jack just grins. “No, you don’t.”

Sam sighs. “Unfortunately.”

Luca and Jack exchange a small look, the kind that says everything.

For once, sitting together on the edge of that cold rink, the silence turns soft—no longer punishment. Just five teammates, and for now, nothing’s missing.