Iced Out (Leighton U #1)
CE Ricci
To the ones who broke the mold and wrote their own stories:
Continue chasing your most authentic self.
And to Taco Bell:
This manuscript would have never been finished
if it weren’t for you and your Baja Blasts.
“The world’s perception of you
exists only in memories.
Give them new ones.”
— Atticus
Theme Song: Antisocialist—Asking Alexandria Playlist: Bite My Tongue—You Me At Six, Oli Sykes Agree to Disagree—Sleeping With Sirens Straight to My Head—You Me At Six It’s Over When It’s Over—Falling In Reverse Enemy—Nerv Limits—Bad Omens medicine—Bring Me The Horizon Underdog—You Me At Six Harder To Breathe—Letdown.
MANTRA—Bring Me The Horizon Personal—Palisades Light it Up—From Ashes To New Anthem For The Underdog—12 Stones RISE—I Prevail Temporary Bliss—The Cab Not Enough—Outline In Color Colors—Crossfade Carnivore—STARSET
True Colors—Wage War What’s It Like—You Me At Six Less Of Me—Until I Wake Your Misery—Palisades FWYTYK—I Prevail Blackout—Breathe Carolina THE DEATH OF PEACE OF MIND—Bad Omens Animals—Ice Nine Kills Rise Above It—I Prevail Sink—Remember the Monsters Like A Villain—Bad Omens Cutthroat—blessthefall Fall—Palisades Glass Houses—Bad Omens Listen to the playlist on Spotify
Disclaimer As a dedicated sports enthusiast, I’ve done my best to portray all aspects of the NCAA and NHL hockey rules and regulations as accurately as possible. However, sometimes rules when applied in a fictional setting need to be bent to fit within the narrative, so some creative freedoms and liberties were taken for plot purposes of this book.
Leighton University, along with any other university within this work and series, is completely made up, fabricated so as not to misrepresent the policies and values, curriculum, or facilities of real institutions. The views in this book in no way reflect the views and principles of the NCAA or NHL, as it is a work of fiction.
Prologue
Oakley
Senior Year—Eighteen Years Old
One of the few times I ever let myself feel free and at ease is with blades on; ice beneath my feet. It’s difficult to describe, considering how fast-paced hockey can be, but a sense of peace takes over every inch of my being, and it’s like I become one with my team and the puck.
It’s a sense of belonging. Of purpose, going back to the first time I ever put on a pair of skates, and it only continues to grow with time.
It’s a feeling, deep in the marrow of my bones, confirming this is what I was called to do. Not because of the legacy my name carries, but because of the unchecked joy vibrating through my body every second I’m on the ice.
That feeling…it’s everything I could ask for.
And I want nothing more than to chase it to the ends of the earth.
This fact solidifies in my bones every time I fly up and down the ice after a loose puck, or score a shot on goal, seeing the lamp light up before my eyes. When every accomplishment and milestone I reach sets me further apart from my predecessors, letting me finally be seen outside the shadow they cast.
And it’s in the adrenaline rush, the intoxicating high, the all-consuming pride that comes from bringing home a hard-fought and well-earned win.
Which is why it’s understandable that I’m still on cloud nine when I’m on my way to board the bus after not only playing the best game of my high school career, but also winning Chicago’s city championship game against our biggest rival, Centre Prep. Even though the title is not nearly as prestigious as state champions—one Centre managed to snatch from our grasp last month—it still feels amazing to not only up the ante with a rematch, but to come home with the win.
Makes the victory all the sweeter.
Their star forward for the past four years, Quinton de Haas, leans against the wall about ten yards down the hallway. His gaze lifts to collide with mine, finally noticing me as I’m about to pass by.
“Good game tonight,” I tell him, because he did play well. Minus the parts where he was tossed in the sin bin for blatant penalties, playing more like a youth player than a top-tier recruit for numerous collegiate hockey programs. But I’m not about to hand him a backward compliment and cause a blow up, seeing as once his fuse is lit, it’s only a matter of time before it explodes.
Too bad for me; he detonates anyway.
A hand is fisted in my shirt and I’m being slammed against the wall before I have a chance to blink, let alone react. Once my brain registers what just happened, I lock eyes with him.
“Don’t start with that bullshit, Reed.” He’s seething, fury written all over his face. Bubbling below the surface, waiting to be unleashed.
His rage is nothing new, especially on the ice. He’s one of the most ruthless opponents I’ve played against in the past thirteen years. Hell, I’ve seen that fury come to life firsthand a few times; the anger he plays with building and building inside him until there’s no room left.
And then he snaps.
Just like right now.