Neon & Nets (Venom Next Gen #1)

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Knight

Stepping onto the ice for the first time with the Venom, my heart’s pounding like a damn drum. This is it—the moment I’ve been waiting for, dreading, and everything in between. I can feel guys watching me, their eyes like lasers cutting through the cold air. They wonder if I’m just Cash Hale’s kid, skating on my dad’s legacy. But I’m here to show them I’m more than that. The ice beneath my skates feels familiar, but today it’s different—charged, almost electric.

I glide into position, my eyes scanning the rink. The veterans keep up with their version of the stank eye. I catch snippets of whispers—“Hale’s kid,” “Dante,” mixed with a few sarcastic “bullshits”—floating in the air, and it fuels the fire in my gut.

As I skate past, Tom Campbell, one of the older defensemen, gives me a quick once-over, his expression hard. “Let’s see if you’re the real deal,” he mutters, just loud enough for me to hear. A flash of anger surges through me, but I shove it down, nodding at him instead. Respect here isn’t handed out; it’s earned. And today, I’m all in.

The whistle blows, and we’re off. First drill, and I’m already screwing up. Tristan Dubois sends me a pass, but I misjudge it—the puck slides right past my stick and slams into the boards with an echo that feels like it’s mocking me. A few of the vets smirk, and I catch Campbell shaking his head. Damn it. This isn’t how I wanted to start. My stomach twists with frustration, but I force myself to stay cool. I lock eyes with Tristan, who’s a new sign too, half-expecting him to be pissed, but he just gives me a half-grin—no judgment, just a silent message: Shake it off, man.

I suck in a breath, letting the cold air clear my head. One mistake doesn’t define me. I’m not here to let a rough start derail everything. I get back into position, ready to prove I’m not just a name on the roster.

Next drill, Tristan’s on point—his pass is crisp, dead-on. This time, I’m ready. I catch it clean and fire the puck into the net. It’s not a game-winner, but it feels damn good. Some of the younger guys cheer, and I skate back to Tristan, fist-bumping him in thanks. We’re clicking now, and for the first time today, I feel a spark of confidence.

Coach McTiernan’s voice slices through the chill of the rink like a slapshot. “Hale, Dubois, on the line!” he barks, not even glancing up from his clipboard. Tristan and I snap into position, adrenaline spiking. McTiernan’s been around the block—long enough to know the difference between real talent and hype. The guy’s not Coach Brenig, who led the Venom to two Stanley Cups, but he’s also not about to let anyone coast, especially not me.

As he passes by, he doesn’t bother lowering his voice. “Despite the drivel that Dante spouts out his mouth, this isn’t a legacy tour, Hale. You’re here to play, or you’re out. Got it?” His tone leaves no room for argument, and I nod, the weight of his words settling on my shoulders like lead. There’s no room for error here, no second chances.

Up in the stands, I catch a glimpse of Sergio Giovanetti, the new CEO, watching the practice with that cold, calculating gaze that matches his father’s. He’s not just interested in the team—he’s watching me, scrutinizing every move, every shot. His mission is clear: make his exacting father happy by restoring the Venom’s glory days. He’s expecting me to be part of that plan. The pressure is suffocating, but I use it to fuel my drive.

The drills are relentless, but during a quick break, I spot a loose puck drifting near my skate. Without thinking, I flick it toward Tristan, a grin tugging at my lips. He catches it with ease, his eyes narrowing playfully. “Trying to keep me on my toes, Hale?” he quips, a smirk breaking across his face.

“Just making sure you’re paying attention,” I shoot back, laughing as the tension in my chest loosens a little. A few of the other guys chuckle, the sound cutting through the intensity that’s hung over the rink all morning. For a moment, it’s just hockey—just a bunch of guys who love the game, nothing more, nothing less. And for the first time today, I feel like this might actually work out.

Practice wraps up, and as we head back to the locker room, Tristan falls into step beside me. “You almost lost it out there,” he says with a smirk, nudging me with his elbow. “But you pulled through.”

I chuckle, the weight of the day’s pressure lifting slightly. “Yeah, I guess I did.” It’s the kind of banter I’ve missed, easy and unforced. As we change out of our gear, I realize this is exactly what I’ve been craving—a sense of camaraderie, of being part of something bigger. Skating off the ice with Tristan, the expectations don’t feel as heavy, and for the first time, I start to feel a little more at home.

“Hey, Tristan, do you want to…” Shit, how does one casually ask a new teammate if they’re interested in being friends off the ice, too? With my old team back in New York, I got along with my teammates, but I was always aware that our situation was temporary. If I’m going to play for the Venom for the foreseeable future, this is my opportunity to form some solid bonds .

Like, just as a random example, Dad and Marco. Best buds for life, and all that.

No pressure, Tristan, but do you think you’d like to be the godfather of my future children, maybe? Suave, Knight. Real smooth.

Tristan is still staring at me. Right. Words. I give what I hope is a casual shrug. “Wanna hang out? We could—” play video games , I almost say, but then I remember that I’m living at my childhood home for the moment. If he thinks that I only got this deal because of my dad’s legacy, admitting that I’ve moved back in with my parents won’t do me any favors.

Tristan’s bemused smile fades. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

“Don’t have to do what?” Now I’m the confused one.

“You don’t have to treat me differently just because we’re gonna be linemates.”

Okay, I’m officially lost. “That’s not what I was doing. I thought, you know.” I grope for the right words. “I thought we could get to know each other off the ice. Maybe I could show you the city. You’re new to Vegas.”

“And you grew up here,” he says. “You’re hockey royalty.”

Okay, that’s absurd. I expected my new teammates to lambast me for skating by—literally—on my dad’s reputation, whereas Tristan seems to be implying that I deserve to do exactly that. “Hold up. Dante may have signed me because of the past, but I’m still here to prove myself. Same as you. We’re teammates, both moving toward the same goal. That’s all that matters.”

Tristan studies me for a long moment, one hand resting on the door of his locker. “Okay,” he says eventually. “Sounds good. To me. What did you have in mind?”

“I was thinking—” A chime from my watch stops me in my tracks. “Hold that thought.” I flip my palm up to activate the screen. It’s a text-thread, with my sister’s name at the top.

SuperKnova: Hey nerds, I wanna have a movie night. My coworker won’t shut up about this new alien thriller and I have terminal FOMO. Mom already said we can use the screening room. Who’s in?

SofiaRossi: What time?

SuperKnova: How about five? We can order in.

Across the locker room, Viktor whoops. “Heck yeah! Movie night! I’m hanging out with Knova.”

“And me,” I remind him. To Tristan, I add, “Knova is my twin sister. And she’s a knockout. So, you know, bro code.”

“Ah.” He nods. “So, she’s off limits.”

I clap my hands together, then aim finger-guns at him. “Got it in one.”

Tristan turns to watch Viktor high-five a few of our teammates. “How come you don’t remind Viktor about the bro code?”

“Because Knova’s way scarier than I am. Plus, they love to hate each other. There was an issue back at junior high graduation. They’ve been fighting ever since. And when I say fighting, I mean sometimes it gets physical. There is no danger of them ever falling into bed with each other.”

Tristan’s eyebrows climb toward his hairline. “Oh.”

“She was in the military, by the way,” I explain. “She doesn’t need me to defend her honor. In Knova’s case, bro code means I protect you from her. I know better than to get involved in her relationships.” I bob my head back and forth. “Truth be told, it’s a real fuck around and find out situation.”

My message must be sinking in, because Tristan has the good sense to look terrified. “Hands off your sister. Got it. ”

More messages come in.

No1Viktor: I’ll be there!

VivaLaViv: I can’t make it. Late night at work.

SofiaRossi: Aww, that’s too bad! I’ll miss you. Can’t wait to see the new costumes.

Tristan cranes his neck to read the messages. “Who skipped out?”

“Vivian,” I said. “Viktor’s older sister.”

He droops a little. “I see. Another bro code situation.”

SofiaRossi: Knight, are you coming?

“Is Sofia anyone’s sister?” Tristan asks, with what sounds like a note of hope in his voice.

“I mean, yes, but her brothers aren’t on the team. Although her father is the long-time broadcast analyst. Marco Rossi.”

“Rossi, huh?” Tristan grins. “That’s a relief.”

I avoid his gaze as I send a message of my own. I assume Knova used text because so many of us are on the chat, and because she knows Viktor and I have to leave our watches in our lockers during morning skate. Still, I wish we’d used asynchronous video messaging so that I could see Sofia’s face.

KnightInShiningArmor: Yeah, I’ll be there.

SofiaRossi: See you all tonight!

Does it mean anything that she didn’t confirm her attendance until I said I was going? Am I overthinking this?

Tristan gives a glum sigh. “I see how it is.”

I flip my palm so that the holoscreen goes dark. “What?”

“Sofia might not be anyone’s sister, but she’s also off-limits.” His smile is rueful but resigned.

“I didn’t say that,” I protest. If Sofia wanted to hook up with Tristan, that would be none of my business. He seems… cool. I could respect her decision. I definitely wouldn’t stew over it for months, wondering what Tristan has that I don’t.

Nope. Not me. I’d handle my shit.

Probably.

Maybe.

Okay, I might be deluding myself there.

My train of thought must play out in my expression because Tristan grins. “You didn’t have to. Your face said it all.”

“Do you, uh, want to join us tonight? For the movie?” I feel like a dick now since I invited him to hang out and then immediately got a better offer. And there’s no denying that it is better because any plan involving Sofia automatically gets first priority.

Tristan is taking my flakiness in stride, though. “Do I want to hang out with your sister, your frenemy, and your crush tonight? I’m good.” He nudges me with his elbow. “How about we make plans for a night that’s a little less fraught. How about Wednesday?”

I nod in relief. “That would be great.”

“Cool.” Tristan closes his locker door and presses his palm to the keyless biometric lock. It bolts shut. “And, Knight?”

“Yeah?”

“Good luck with Sofia.” He gives me one last wave, hoists the strap of his bag to his shoulder, and strides away.

Little does he know that I’m going to need all the luck I can get.