On Thin Ice (The Baltimore Banners Book 8) by Lisa B. Kamps

Author:Lisa B. Kamps [Kamps, Lisa B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BimHaven Press
Published: 2016-07-24T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

Sweat dripped from his face, stinging his eyes and blurring his vision. Kenny didn't stop, just brushed the side of his face against the sweaty shoulder of his practice jersey as he moved across the ice. He pushed off again, twisting and sliding as he skated backward, all of his focus on Dillon Frayser as his teammate moved toward the net.

Kenny kept up with him, his body loose, ready for any sudden change Dillon might make as they got closer to the net. The man's face was carefully blank, his hazel eyes completely flat, giving nothing away, not even a blink.

Damn but the kid was good. Intense, eerily unreadable with absolutely no tells. How the hell did he do that? He'd have to ask him later, after practice. He was two years younger than Kenny but that didn't mean he couldn't learn from him, couldn't ask—

Shit. Dillon moved to the side, so fast Kenny almost didn't have time to react. Almost. He slid to his left and reached out with his stick, tipping the edge of the puck and knocking it from Dillon's tape. That was all he needed. He leaned forward, cradling the puck against his own stick, and cut right before heading up the ice.

A shrill whistle pierced the chilled air of the rink. Kenny stopped skating, coming to a slow stop before turning on the edge of his blades and heading back to the bench.

"Nice work, Haskell."

Kenny grunted, nodding in acknowledgement at the compliment as Coach Reyes tapped him on the shoulder when he walked by. He brushed his face against his shoulder again, following the other guys back to the locker room to shower and change.

Harland sat down next to him and started unlacing his skates. "We're heading to the Maypole for lunch. You joining us this time?"

"Yeah, I'll go." He pulled the sweat-soaked jersey over his head and reached for his pads. The loud noise that always seemed to fill the locker room slowly died, fading into an unnatural silence. Kenny looked up, his gaze automatically landing on Coach LeBlanc standing in the middle of the room. The other coaches—George Stephenson, Wade Reyes, and Steve Benoit—stood with him. Their faces were stoic, carefully blank except for the deep red flashing along the jagged scar running down Sonny's face. Kenny sat up straighter, his eyes darting behind the coaches and resting on the familiar kid standing behind them, looking hesitant and out of place.

Corbin Gauthier, the goalie from the Banners' minor league team, the York Bombers.

"Oh shit." Kenny nudged his elbow into Harland's side, getting his attention before nodding in the direction of the group.

"What the hell?" Harland's voice was low and rough, loud enough for only Kenny to hear.

"Everyone, listen up." Sonny's deep voice echoed like a clap of thunder in the cavernous silence. His eyes scanned the room, resting on each player before moving to the next. His hands squeezed on the tightly rolled papers coiled in his palm, rustling in the silence.

"Alec will be undergoing surgery tomorrow for a torn MCL.

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