Page 16 of Traded

Rivalry barely begins to cover whatever the hell this is. I scream alongside Katie, the rows around us alive with energy that crackles through my veins. They don’t normally make this much of an effort so early in the regular season. Dick wasn’t kidding about pushing the rivalry.

The screens flash red.

“Led by Head Coach Reid Masterson…”

Aces highlights flash overhead, and their players start their skate out through smoke and red lasers to a mixture of exultation and jeers.

“Starting in goal—Mackenzie ‘Mac’ Shaw!”

Mac, the alpha from the hall. He raises his glove, unfazed by the noise.

“Why do they get full intros?” Katie leans forward to get a better look. “Not that I’m complaining. It’s like a catalogue.”

“Does Ethan know you’re scouting for new pack members?”

She laughs. “He nearly died of dehydration during my last heat. He’d love a friend or three to tag in. Fuck, look at that one. He’s pretty.”

“At right wing—Austin Navarro!”

I’ve never met him. I know he’s part of Boone’s pack, and he was votedPlayer We’d Love To Puckin the tongue-in-cheek NPHL Fan Awards last year, narrowly beating out afuriousJonas.

“On defense—Dimitri Yukov!”

A particularly aggressive chorus meets that one. It matches the behemoth of an alpha who skates out, his head lowered.

“Come to mama.” Katie evolves into a heart-eyed emoji, and I choke down my laughter. “The things I would do to climb that mountain.”

Roll call continues, scarlet jerseys flooding the rink, until—

“Aces, welcome your captain… number thirteen… Boone Mercer!”

The Aces fans lose their minds.

I’ve heard the Aces fans love Boone, and it shows, even as the smaller crowd is drowned out beneath the Titans' derision.

I expected him to play to the crowd, but he surprises me. He only circles center ice once, slow and deliberate, tapping his stick against the surface as if the hostility energizes him.

Of course it does.

The screens split to show footage of Boone on one side and Carter on the other, and the crowd goes freaking feral.

“Oh, this is insane,” Katie says breathlessly.

The lights cut blue, the furnace shaking around us.

“And now…”

The announcer drags out every syllable until nineteen thousand people are vibrating with anticipation.

“YOUR BLACKWATER TITANS!”

I’m on my feet. Players explode onto the ice through smoke and blue fire that jets up on either side.

“Starting in goal—your number thirty-two—Benji Laine!”

Benji skates out to a huge reaction, flashing his glove toward our section. Katie, I notice, is particularly enthusiastic in her whooping. When I bury my elbow in her side, she throws her head back and cackles.

“On defense—number twenty-six—Ryker Lowry!”