Chapter 3 PRETTY BOY.

~~~AVERY.

“You can do this,” I whispered to myself, staring at the glass doors of the arena. “Just play the part.”

I gripped my bag tightly against my shoulder, my other hand clutching Jon's stick. My chest felt suffocated under the heavy binder, God, I can barely breathe in this thing, but before I could step inside, a massive body slammed into my shoulder.

“Move it, freshman,” a rough voice grunted as a player shoved past without looking back.

There was no turning back. I was here now.

The moment I pushed through the locker room doors, a wall of heat, noise, and raw male energy hit me. Rap music blasted over a speaker. Equipment littered the floor. To my left, two shirtless players were aggressively wrestling on a bench.

I quickly dropped my eyes, forcing a blank mask onto my face. I was trying so damn hard not to stare, but everywhere I looked, there was skin and chaos. Don't panic. Just look like you belong.

Suddenly, something wet and heavy flew through the air, smacking me square in the chest. I caught it on instinct, and it was a damp white towel.

“Yo, transfer!” a blond player called out with a smirk. “You gonna shower fully dressed? You’ve been standing by the door for five minutes.”

A player next to him chuckled. “Transfer is shy.”

My heart did a violent flip in my chest. “Uh…” I started, the syllable slipping out a fraction too high.

Drop the voice, idiot. Drop it now.

I instantly cleared my throat, forcing my voice into a deeper, raspy register. “Long day. Just trying to find my bearings.”

The blond guy shrugged, buying it. “Fair enough. Welcome to hell, kid.”

My relief lasted three seconds until I reached my assigned locker, sandwiched right in the middle of the busiest row. The guy to my right unbuckled his pants, changing into his gear without a second thought.

Shit. Shit. Don't look.

Panicking, I yanked my locker door open as wide as it would go, using the metal frame as a shield. I buried my head inside the narrow space.

“Dude,” a voice laughed from the other side of my barrier. “Are you changing inside the locker?”

“Superstitious,” I lied smoothly, poking my head out with a casual shrug. “Old habit. Can’t change without a barrier.”

The guy snickered, shaking his head. “Hockey players are fucking weird. Do your thing, man.”

A sharp whistle pierced through the room, killing the music instantly, and silence filled the room.

The coach walked in, his expression stern. “Listen up, Wolves. We’ve got a late transfer joining us today.” He pointed a thick finger directly at me. “You. Step up.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and stepped out. Every eye in the room landed on me.

“Damn,” someone whispered from the back. “He is tiny.”

“I have seen bigger middle schoolers,” another muttered.

Mocking laughter rippled across the bench. My face burned hot, a sharp spark of anger igniting in my chest. Let them laugh. I'll skate circles around every single one of them. I clenched my jaw, standing my ground.

“This is Avery Quinn,” the coach barked, cutting off the jokes. “He is a forward. Treat him like everyone else on this roster.”

“So hazing is allowed, Coach?” a guy grinned.

The coach cracked a dangerous smile. “Just make sure he can handle the ice.”

Before the team could respond, the heavy doors swung open. The room shifted instantly. Chatters died, and players straightened their posture.

Cassian Hayes walked in.

He was carrying his stick, drenched in sweat from an early session. Dark hair stuck to his forehead, white tape bound his wrists, and a fresh purple bruise flared along his jawline. He didn't say a word to the room. He just gave the coach a brief nod.

“You’re late, Hayes,” the coach said.

“I know,” Cassian replied, his low, rough voice completely dismissive.

My blood turned to fire. The last person to see Jon alive. The murderer. The man who walked away with a secret. I forced my hands loose at my sides so he wouldn't see them shaking with rage.

The coach gestured toward me. “Our new transfer, Quinn.”

Cassian stopped. He turned, and his eyes locked onto mine. It wasn't a glance. No, it was a heavy, calculating stare that felt like it was stripping away every layer of my defense.

Does he know?

No, no way he would. Keep your face blank.

Cassian slowly walked over, his skates clicking hard against the rubber mats. He crowded my space until his massive frame blocked out the fluorescent light overhead. I had to tilt my head back just to keep eye contact. He's fucking massive.

The room went dead silent.

Cassian looked me up and down, his dark eyes lingering on my face. I stared right back, forcing all my hatred down, refusing to blink first.

A slow, mocking smirk touched his lips. “Pretty,” Cassian murmured.

I blinked. What?

Cassian’s smirk widened, his eyes flashing with a lethal, teasing glint. “Boys this pretty don’t usually survive Ridgeway hockey.”

The locker room completely exploded.

“HE’S GOT A POINT!” someone yelled, slamming a locker door.

“Pretty Boy!” the blond guy shouted, laughing hysterically.

Within seconds, the whole team was banging their fists against the benches, chanting in unison, “Pretty Boy! Pretty Boy!”

The coach just shook his head. “Enough, boys. Gear up for the ice.”

Cassian leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Welcome to the team, Pretty Boy.”

He turned and walked away toward his locker, leaving me surrounded by teammates shoving past me with smirks and chuckles.

“Move, Pretty Boy.”

“See you on the ice, Pretty Boy.”

I stood by my locker, my nails digging deep into my palms. You bastard. The nickname was branded on me now. He thought I was just some soft rookie he could play with.

Just wait, Captain, I thought, staring at his back. I’m going to make you burn.