On Thin Ice

That Monday, the atmosphere in the Oakridge High School hockey team’s locker room was more restless than usual and not just because it was the first ice practice after summer break. Everyone had already heard the news, even though it was supposed to be a closely guarded secret. Harvey Brewer had first let it slip to his son Kenneth, who immediately rushed to tell anyone willing to listen. By the time the news fluttered like a mischievous butterfly into Brooks Myers’ ears, rage ignited inside him.

The rumor that had kept the small town of Aspen on edge during the last weeks of summer took concrete form that Monday in the hallways of Oakridge High, when a new student arrived in the morning. Not just anyone could stir such a reaction, but this boy was not just anyone.

He was Elias Somerset. Jackson Somerset’s son. The heir of an NHL star, returning to the small town as if to remind everyone that some people were simply born with a silver spoon in their mouths.

Jackson Somerset himself was Aspen-born and the hometown’s hero. Why? Because he had put the hockey-obsessed town on the world map with an extensive career in the NHL. Before all that success, he had played as captain of the Oakridge Otters, leading them to multiple championships. Since then, the team hadn’t won a thing.

Now, with Somerset’s son back, rumors and speculation about why the family had returned filled the headlines, coffee shops, and street corners. Brooks couldn’t care less. He was sick of Jackson Somerset and his whole damn picture-perfect family.

Brooks was fast becoming for the Oakridge Otters what Jackson Somerset had once been. He was the captain poised to lead them to their first championship since Somerset’s era. He had fought for every accomplishment, and each game had carried him closer to his NHL dream. But now, Elias Somerset’s return cast a shadow over it all.

He would have to share the spotlight, and Brooks feared there wouldn’t be enough room left for him. Everything he had worked for might be for nothing. Brooks didn’t want to be second best. He had to be the best.

Elias Somerset was Brooks’ complete opposite. At only seventeen, he had already achieved what most players could only dream of in their wildest fantasies. He had followed the path his father had blazed, becoming at least as talented a skater and player—if not better. All the expectations placed on him had peaked the previous year, when Elias won the World Junior Championship with Team USA. Everyone in Oakridge had watched the tournament. If someone had told Brooks then that Elias Somerset would be sitting in the same locker room the following fall, he would’ve laughed himself breathless. Now it felt like Elias was storming into his territory, uninvited.

Elias represented everything Brooks hated. Yes, he was an elite level player—but what else could you expect from someone who had been born with skates on his feet and surrounded by the best professionals and coaches before he even learned how to walk? Brooks might not know him personally, but he knew enough. Elias had been handed his life on a silver platter, and that was one of the biggest reasons why Brooks was so bitter. Brooks had had to fight for everything he had.

Brooks wasn’t particularly outstanding at a lot of things. At best, he was an average student. He had friends and people liked him well enough, but he didn’t have much in the way of social skills. He was blunt, determined, and often rude.

But there was one thing he excelled at. Hockey. It was the only thing that mattered to him. When he had skates on his feet and a stick in his hand, everything else faded away—his sick mother, the mounting bills. On the ice, he didn’t feel any pain. On the ice, he was free.

Brooks had skated for the first time at the age of three, and he hadn’t been separated from his skates since. Over the years, the neighborhood had grown used to the thudding sounds coming from the Myers’ yard as pucks slammed into the net one after another. With each passing year, the shots grew harder and faster, and Brooks turned into the toughest player the small hockey town had seen in ages—since Jackson Somerset. He had everything he could ever need: the body and the hands, the heart and the head. Nothing else mattered. He had known it from the moment he first laced up his skates on the edge of a nearby pond at age three. Only one thing was required of him: everything he had to give.

And even then, he had been ready.

For years, the Oakridge High hockey team, the Otters, hadn’t inspired much fear or respect. Since Jackson Somerset had moved on, the Otters had sunk into the mud.

Until Brooks and Tomas Silva, the team’s head coach, started molding it back into a winning team. Over the course of three seasons, they had steadily climbed toward the top. Last season had ended in a bitter loss in the bronze-medal game against the Saint Sebastian Sabers. They had been so close to victory Brooks could almost taste it. It left him with a thirst—a thirst that could only be quenched by a championship.

Senior year was beginning. This would be Brooks’ last chance to finish what he had started with his team. They had to win. There was no other option. There was a bear inside him, and everyone knew it. There was such a fire in his eyes that no one dared stand in his way. Elias Somerset would either be a useful ally or the worst possible obstacle. Brooks wouldn’t let him stand in the way of success.

The noise in the locker room grew louder and louder. Brooks’ longtime right-hand man Andrew was showing him a clip from the Boston Bruins’ game the night before when the locker room door finally opened, and the thick anticipation in the air burst like an overinflated balloon.

First through the door was Tomas Silva, head coach of the Oakridge Otters. The middle-aged man with a receding hairline was dressed in his usual black tracksuit and carried a thermos mug in his hand.

“Alright, boys!” Coach Silva announced his presence. All eyes turned toward him, but this time the players weren’t really interested in what he had to say. The coach knew it and stepped aside, revealing the tall, blond youth behind him, carrying a heavy equipment bag on his shoulder.

“As you’ve probably already heard, Elias is joining us today. I hardly need to introduce him. Let’s give him a proper Otters welcome.” Coach Silva smiled broadly and patted Elias on the shoulder. The locker room filled with applause and shouts, but Elias seemed indifferent to the attention. He smiled politely and brushed the hair from his forehead.

“Glad to be playing with you guys.”

His voice was calm, almost too calm, as if this were just another ordinary day for him.

Brooks snorted. His eyes followed the boy as he went around the locker room shaking hands with teammates. Brooks had been obsessively stalking his social media the past few days. The posts were cocky and showy, but Brooks assumed it was part of the image, because in the locker room’s harsh halogen light Elias looked almost like a normal teenager in black jeans and a cream-colored sweatshirt.

Brooks snapped out of his thoughts only when he realized a hand was stretched out in front of his face. The skin was tanned and flawless. He sighed and took it with his own. The bruises on his pale knuckles had already started to turn yellow.

When Brooks didn’t say anything, Coach Silva cleared his throat.

“Brooks is the team captain and also our first-line center.”

Brooks lifted his eyes from their clasped hands and nodded at the boy. He managed to mutter some kind of welcome.

“Take a spot over there. On the ice in fifteen minutes.”

Elias squeezed past the crowded bench toward an open spot at the end of the row. Andrew sat deliberately wide, his skates in the way.

“Excuse me,” Elias said, but didn’t look at them. His voice was soft. Andrew didn’t move his legs. Elias awkwardly stepped over Andrew’s legs and went on. Andrew nudged Brooks.

“Just look at him. So full of himself.”

Brooks looked. How could he not look at the person who had been at the center of his thoughts for days? He had imagined this moment dozens of times while lying in bed at night, waiting for sleep that never came. In none of those scenarios had Somerset been so ordinary, so human, almost boring. The heavens didn’t part, and angels didn’t sing around him.

Elias bent toward his equipment bag, pulling out his gear. His blond hair fell into his eyes, glowing in the fluorescent light like strands of gold. His soft features looked almost too gentle for a hockey player. Most players were either wiry or built like tanks, but he was neither. He moved fluidly, like someone who knew his body perfectly. There was no teenage awkwardness in him.

If Brooks hadn’t been so bitter, he might’ve thought Elias was beautiful. And he was beautiful—undeniably so—even with faint shadows under his eyes. Probably from late nights studying or early practices. Still, Elias looked like something out of a dream. Someone who didn’t even have to try to stand out.

He just did.

Of course, it helped that he was the son of an NHL legend.

Brooks shook his head and followed his teammates out onto the ice.

The players had been itching to get back on the ice after the long break, and it showed. The coach made full use of their pent-up energy, pushing them hard. Many were still in summer shape after a vacation of alcohol and hot, sleepless nights. Just as Brooks was about to collapse and cool himself against the ice, a sharp whistle blew, signaling a break.

Brooks skated to the boards and grabbed his water bottle. Andrew followed right after, braking so late he slammed into Brooks’ side, nearly toppling him. A pack of thirsty, exhausted boys quickly gathered around.

Brooks’ eyes followed Elias, gliding around the ice like he had been born there. He aimed and shot right under the goalie’s left arm, making the net ripple.

“He’s crazy good,” Kenneth, one of the forwards, gasped. A wave of agreement swept through the boys.

“Not surprising, considering he led the World Juniors in points. And there were Swedes there,” Diego added, drawing approving murmurs.

Andrew scoffed. “He’s not that good.”

“Oh, he’s that good,” Kenneth laughed.

“Maybe. But I’m not about to let anyone waltz in here with his chin up and act like he’s better than me,” Andrew boasted. Brooks felt a small sting of guilt for having infected his friend with his own dislike, which Andrew—hotheaded as he was—couldn’t hide nearly as well.

“You’re just afraid that next to him girls will finally realize how average you are,” Diego teased, shoving him.

“Wanna get your head checked, huh?”

Before Brooks could say anything, the coach blew his whistle and gathered the team at center ice.

“Split into two teams. Reds versus Blacks. Somerset takes the Reds, Myers the Blacks. I want to see fair play.”

After switching jerseys, Brooks and Elias lined up against each other in the center circle. They slid into faceoff stance, sticks pressed against the ice, ready for the puck to drop. Brooks filled his lungs with crisp, icy air and glanced up, only to see Elias already looking at him. Behind the helmet’s cage, Elias’ eyes were gray, like a frozen lake on a winter morning, and Brooks wasn’t sure if they also made the air sharper.

And then, as if he had read Brooks’ thoughts, Elias winked. The gesture threw Brooks off for just a second, but it was enough. When the puck dropped, Elias hooked it with the tip of his stick and sent it back to the waiting winger. Andrew raised his glove questioningly, but Brooks didn’t stop to explain. He shot after the puck.

Elias was good. More than good. With every quick move, every perfect pass, the bitterness inside Brooks swelled until he felt like a boiling pot about to overflow.

Yet despite the bitterness, there was something—something so smooth, so effortless about Elias—that Brooks couldn’t help but feel some sort of respect for him. Even now, watching Elias weave through defenders, Brooks’ stomach twisted with a strange feeling, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t here to admire anyone. He was here to win.

Brooks’ hands tightened around his stick. He would fight for every inch of space, every second of ice time, because he would rather die than let this arrogant golden boy take everything from him.