Chapter 2 – Blades, Bruises, and Bruised Egos

“This is hell,” I muttered, dragging the hockey stick behind me like a broken sword.

“No,” Lucas said, skating backward effortlessly in front of me, still wearing my face. “Hell would be if you had to actually play in a match tomorrow. This is just warm-up.”

“Warm-up for what?” I gritted my teeth, wobbling forward. “My inevitable death?”

“Less whining. More gliding.”

He sounded so smug. So calm. Like he wasn’t wearing my oversized hoodie and leggings while bossing me around like a drill sergeant with a ponytail.

“I’ve been in this body for less than a day, Lucas! I’ve never played hockey in my life. You expect me to magically become NHL-ready in five days?”

“I expect you to not ruin everything I’ve worked for since I was ten,” he snapped, skating in a perfect circle around me. “Start with balance. Bend your knees. Center your weight.”

“Oh yeah, let me just download that skill real quick—”

My left foot shot out from under me. I yelped and fell backwards, flat onto my spine with a solid thud.

Lucas winced. “Okay, that one looked like it hurt.”

“Ya think?” I groaned.

He glided over and offered a hand. I stared at it like it was made of snakes. “Don’t worry,” he said dryly. “I’m not going to flirt with myself.”

“Charming.” I took the hand anyway, and he hauled me to my feet with zero effort. Which was weird. This body was strong. Like, terrifyingly strong. No wonder he made skating look easy.

“You’ve got the muscles,” he said, reading my mind. “You just don’t know how to use them.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

Lucas handed me the stick again. “Let’s try something simple. Just pass the puck to me.”

I looked down at the black puck on the ice like it had personally insulted me. “Okay… pass. Got it.”

I shuffled forward, lifted the stick awkwardly, and gave the puck a shove. It veered right and slammed into the wall ten feet from Lucas.

He blinked. “Were you aiming for my ghost?”

I pointed the stick at him. “You are one snarky comment away from getting this shoved somewhere deeply inconvenient.”

He smirked.

Which looked weirdly cute on my face.

Ugh.

“Try again,” he said.

This time, I passed it a little straighter. It still missed him, but not by a mile.

“There you go,” he said. “Now again. Until you can actually aim.”

And so it went. For the next hour, I passed puck after puck. Fell on my butt five more times. Got snow in places that should never be snowy. Lucas barked orders and occasionally gave what I think might’ve been reluctant compliments, like, “Not bad,” or “Less terrible.”

My muscles ached. My back throbbed. My pride? Obliterated.

But I kept going.

Because as much as I wanted to hate him… I couldn’t forget what he’d said earlier.

“If I lose this... I lose everything.”

That wasn’t just anger. That was desperation.

We sat on the bench later, breathing hard—me from actual exhaustion, him probably just from the psychological effort of dealing with me.

I looked over. “So what happens if we’re still like this during the game?”

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes were fixed on the ice, jaw tight. “Then we lose. And I’m done. No scholarship. No future.”

I swallowed. “You think it’s some kind of curse?”

“Feels like it,” he muttered. “What kind of cosmic joke is this? The girl who can’t skate and the guy with everything to lose trapped in each other’s lives.”

“Rude,” I muttered. “I have things to lose too, y’know.”

He finally looked at me. “Like what?”

I hesitated. “...My dignity.”

Lucas raised a brow. “Too late for that.”

I elbowed him. “Shut up.”

He cracked the tiniest smile. My face. Smiling like that. I didn’t know whether to be proud or horrified.

We sat in silence for a while. The rink was empty except for us. The low hum of the lights buzzed like a lullaby. The world felt small and far away.

“Why did you reject me so fast?” I asked, before I could stop myself.

Lucas stiffened. “What?”

“Yesterday. I confessed. You didn’t even blink before saying no.”

He didn’t answer right away. He just leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees.

“I didn’t think you were serious,” he said quietly. “You don’t even know me.”

I stared at him. “So?”

“So liking someone just because you watched them from afar isn’t real. It’s just projection.”

That stung.

Because… he was kind of right.

But also kind of wrong.

“You’re right,” I said slowly. “I didn’t know you. I liked the version of you I made up in my head. The one who’s kind and focused and passionate and brave.”

Lucas turned to me. “And now?”

I looked at him—at myself, sitting there looking exhausted and guarded and human.

“I still don’t know,” I admitted. “But I think you’re not the jerk I thought you were either.”

His eyes met mine.

And something passed between us. Something weird and sharp and soft at the same time.

Whatever it was, I stood up fast. “Okay! Let’s call it a night before I have a full identity crisis.”

“Already too late for that,” he said, standing too.

We got back to his house—my current home, apparently—and snuck in as quietly as possible. His parents were out, thank God. My parents were at work late, as usual. We’d agreed earlier not to freak them out. Or anyone else.

Lucas tossed me a spare hoodie and some sweatpants. “You’ll sleep better in these.”

“Wow. You offering your clothes now?” I teased. “Should I be honored?”

“Please. It’s just weird seeing you in my face wearing a crop top.”

I snorted and headed into the bathroom to change. When I came out, Lucas was already on the floor with blankets, setting up like a war camp.

“You can take the bed,” I offered. “I mean, it’s your body.”

“I’m not sleeping in it while it looks like you. That’s peak creepy.”

“Fair.”

I flopped onto the bed and groaned. “This is going to be the worst week of my life.”

“Agreed.”

But we both fell quiet.

Too quiet.

Then Lucas said, “Rae?”

“Yeah?”

“What if we don’t change back?”

The question echoed into the silence like a stone dropping into a frozen lake.

I didn’t answer.

Because I didn’t have one.

The next morning, I woke up to the sound of a phone ringing. Loud. Annoying. Buzzing across the floor like a demon mosquito.

Lucas (in my body) groaned, grabbed it, and went pale.

“What is it?” I asked, sitting up.

He turned the screen toward me.

It was a message from Coach Hwang.

“Park, practice’s been moved up. Emergency team meeting. You're leading warm-ups in 30 minutes. Don't be late.”

I froze.

Lucas looked at me with wide eyes.

“You’re going to hockey practice. Right now.”