Chapter 1
Mac shows up to Westover Prep with a split knuckle and a permanent record that got folded in half and stuffed into her backpack by the school counselor. They said something about fresh starts. Character-building. Channeling energy into “structured extracurriculars.”
What they meant was: Stop fighting people, Mackenzie.
So now she’s standing in the middle of a manicured hockey field, wearing borrowed cleats two sizes too small, staring down a girl who looks like she was born in a J. Crew catalog.
KJ Brandman.
Captain. Sweater vest energy even in a sports bra. Ponytail so tight it could slice a man’s ego.
“Coyle, right?” she says, like she’s just looked her up and memorized her weaknesses. “Defense.”
“Didn’t say I wanted to play.”
“You don’t have a choice.” KJ’s stick is tucked under her arm like a third limb. “Coach said you’re on the roster.”
“Coach didn’t ask if I cared.”
KJ’s mouth twitches. Not a smile. Not not a smile. “Good. We don’t need caring. Just don’t slow us down.”
Mac considers swinging. Not the stick. Her fist. But the last time she did that, she ended up with a new zip code. So instead, she grabs the stick, rolls her shoulders, and says, “Try and keep up, Captain.”
She doesn’t mean to be good. She just is.
Her first practice is chaos. Mac doesn’t know the rules. Doesn’t want to. But she moves like instinct, sharp turns and shoulder checks and fast breaks that make the other girls yell in half-panic, half-awe.
And every time she gets the ball, she sees KJ’s eyes narrow just slightly. Calculating. Disapproving.
After a scrimmage, Coach calls them over. “You two are going to have to work together. Brandman, she’s shadowing you this week.”
KJ’s expression tightens like she’s been told to babysit a live grenade.
“I’m not anyone’s shadow,” Mac mutters.
“Then keep up,” KJ says. “If you can.”
⸻
That night, Mac’s dorm roommate asks what field hockey was like.
Mac lights a cigarette out the window and mutters, “Like war. But with skirts.”
She doesn’t say she liked it.
She doesn’t say she liked her.