Chapter 2 TEAMMATES NOT RIVALS

JAKE

I was 14, and it was my first summer hockey camp. I was determined to make a name for myself to prove I belonged among the best. That’s when I first met Isaac Lim.

We were paired up for a game, and I was immediately intimidated. He was fast, his skates barely making a sound on the ice. And his shots? Unstoppable. But I wasn’t going to let him outdo me. I played my heart out, determined to show him I was just as good.

The game was intense, and the tension between us was palpable. We clashed, literally, in a corner of the rink, both of us fighting for the puck. The ref blew the whistle, and we stood there, chests heaving, staring each other down.

That’s when it happened. Isaac smiled, a tiny, condescending smile that said he knew he was better. It lit a fire in me. I pushed him hard, and he stumbled back. “You think you’re so great, don’t you?” I sneered.

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Looking back, I realize now that it wasn’t just about hockey. It was about who was the best, who was the strongest, who was the most deserving of attention. And that summer camp was just the beginning. We went head-to-head in every game, every tournament, every practice. We pushed each other to be better, to be faster, to be stronger. But the thing is, I never actually hated him. I just... I didn’t want to be second best.

I stood frozen in front of the door, duffel bag slung over my shoulder. This was it. I was really doing this. I am sharing a room with Isaac Lim for the next two months. The thought made my stomach twist into knots.

I took a deep breath, trying to psych myself up. It was just two months. I could handle him for that long, right? But what if he drove me crazy? What if we killed each other?

The memory of his smirk flashed through my mind, and I felt a spark of determination. I wasn’t going to let him get the better of me. I was Jake White, star player of the Red Hawks. I could handle one Isaac Lim.

With a newfound sense of resolve, I pushed open the door and stepped inside. The room was bigger than I expected, with two beds on opposite sides and a desk in between. The walls were a bland beige, but the view through the window made up for it – the training rink stretched out below, gleaming in the morning sun.

"Hello, roomie. Welcome to our lovely abode for the next six months."

Isaac was leaning against the bathroom doorframe, arms crossed. His hair was perfectly messy, his eyes perfectly bright, and that lazy smile on his lips felt specifically engineered to push my buttons.

"Two months," I corrected sharply, trying to sound casual but failing to hide the bite in my voice. "It’s two months, Lim. Don't push your luck."

Isaac raised an eyebrow, letting out a low, smooth chuckle that made my stomach do a weird, annoying flip. "Oh, my mistake. Just felt like six given the company. But hey, look at the bright side. We’re getting elite training, a sweet view, and each other. What more could a star player ask for?"

I snorted, narrowing my eyes. "You know exactly what I mean. Don't play nice. It doesn't suit you."

"I'm always nice, White," he said, tossing his own gear bag onto his bed with practised ease. "But I'm willing to make this work if you are. Try not to unpack too loudly, okay? Some of us value our beauty sleep."

Before I could even process a comeback, he turned on his heel and headed straight out the door. “Come on, White. The first day of training awaits. Try to keep up.”

"Sit," Miller barked, still not looking at us. "You two think you're pretty clever, don't you?" Miller finally set the board down. His eyes were cold, drilling straight into both of us. "You think the NorthSter camp paid for your travel, your lodging, and your ice time so you could stage a personal gladiatorial match on my rink?"

"Coach, with all due respect—" Isaac started.

"Shut it, Lim," Miller snapped. He slammed his palm on the desk. "I watched the tape from the scrimmage. White, you intentionally blew past your defensive coverage just to take a run at Lim in the neutral zone. And Lim, instead of passing to an open winger, you waited for White to close in just so you could shoulder-check him into the boards."

I felt the heat rush to my face. "He was asking for it, Coach. He’s been riding me since we got into the dorms."

"I don't care who started it!" Miller stood up, towering over the desk. "Look at the crest on your jerseys. Look at it!"

We both looked down reluctantly at the NorthSter logo on our chests.

"For the last four years, you two have been the big fish in your own little ponds," Miller said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, low growl. "Jake, you're the golden boy for the Red Hawks. Isaac, you're the prodigy for your club. Out there in the real world, you are bitter rivals. I get it. The media loves it. Your fans love it."

He stepped out from behind the desk and stood right between our chairs.

"But inside these four walls? For the next two months? You are not rivals," Miller hissed, pointing a blunt finger between my face and Isaac's. "You are teammates. If one of you falls, the other one picks him up. If one of you scores, the other one is celebrating. If I see you target each other on the ice one more time, I will personally strip your gear, pack your bags, and put you on the first bus back to your hometowns. Am I clear?"

The threat hung heavily in the air. Being sent home from the elite NorthSter camp would ruin both of our chances at the upcoming draft scouts' showcase. It was a career-killing move.

"Yes, Coach," Isaac muttered.

"Clear, Coach," I muttered, my teeth grinding so hard my jaw ached.

Miller stared at us for three more agonizing seconds, making sure the message sunk in. "Good. Get back out there. And if I see you two within five feet of each other, you better be passing the puck, not blood."