Leo stands in the hallway, still in his game jacket, hair damp, eyes dark. There’s a smear of sweat at his temple, a bruise blooming along his jaw. He looks furious and lost all at once, like the air’s been punched out of him and he doesn’t know where to put the anger left behind.
For a second, neither of us speaks. The space between us vibrates — thick and charged.
“Hey,” I manage, voice softer than I mean it to be.
He doesn’t answer. He only stares past me into the apartment, jaw flexing. His hands are balled into fists at his sides, knuckles scraped raw. I can smell the faint mix of ice, sweat, and adrenaline still clinging to him.
“Leo,” I try again. “What happened?—”
“Don’t,” he cuts in, voice low. “Don’t ask me that.”
The tone makes me go still. Not because I’m scared, but because I recognize it. That edge of control — the way people sound right before they break.
He exhales, dragging a hand through his hair. “I didn’t know where else to go.”
Something twists in my chest. I step aside without thinking. “You’re home,” I say quietly.
He moves past me, the door clicking shut behind him. The air shifts immediately — thicker, warmer, full of tension that feels like static before lightning. He drops his duffel onto the floor and stands there for a second, shoulders rising and falling like he’s still skating, still fighting.
“I shouldn’t have come here,” he mutters, voice rough. “Not like this.”
“You could’ve gone anywhere,” I say softly. “You came here.”
That makes him look at me. Really look at me. His eyes are wild with something I can’t name — exhaustion, fury, hurt — and for a heartbeat, neither of us moves. The space between us feels too small, too charged. My pulse matches his.
“You don’t have to talk,” I whisper. “Just… breathe.”
He exhales like he’s been holding it in for hours. The fight drains out of his posture, leaving something heavier behind. He nods once — just a fraction — and runs a hand over his bruised jaw.
When he finally speaks, it’s barely audible. “He scored on me.”
I don’t say I know. I just step closer, close enough for the air to buzz between us.
Chapter 12
Breaking Point
Leo
The door shutsbehind me with a thud that shakes the frame.
For a second, I just stand there — chest heaving, lungs burning, the smell of ice and sweat still clinging to me. My jersey sticks damp to my back, every muscle in my body wound too tight. The adrenaline hasn’t worn off. The rage hasn’t either.
I don’t even remember the drive here. Just the way Grayson’s smirk burned itself into my skull, the way the locker room went silent when the reporters started their questions, the way I had to choke out canned answers while the wordslost his edgeechoed in my head.
Now the apartment feels too small for all of it — too warm, too quiet. I pull my jacket off and let it drop to the floor.
Sage steps out from the kitchen, crossing her arms. Her expression’s a mix of concern and warning. “You could’ve texted,” she says, voice steady but soft. “Let me know you were coming.”
I bark out a bitter laugh before I can stop it. “And say what? That I’m getting baited on ice and blamed off it?” The words come out sharp, jagged, and too loud in the small space.
Her mouth presses into a thin line. “You could’ve said something.”
“I’m saying it now.” My voice cracks mid-sentence. I rake a hand through my hair, pacing, trying to bleed off the energy surging under my skin. “You have no idea what it’s like—every hit, every camera, every person waiting for you to screw up.”
Sage doesn’t flinch. “Then tell me instead of tearing the room apart.”
I stop pacing long enough to meet her eyes. There’s something about the calm in her voice that makes it worse—like she’s not afraid of me, but of what I’m becoming.
