The engine hummed beneath my hands, low and steady.
Outside, the road stretched ahead like a wound still bleeding light. The city blurred past—cold, indifferent. But my thoughts weren’t on the road. Not really.
They were still back on the ice.
Mikel’s face—twisted in rage, eyes wild—right before I dropped him. I could’ve done more. It would’ve taken nothing to snap his jaw clean. Break a rib. Humiliate him the way he tried to humiliate her.
But I didn’t.
Not because of the refs. Not because of the penalty.
Because she was watching.
I didn’t want her to see that side of me. Not yet.
I clenched the steering wheel tighter. My knuckles stretched white beneath the skin.
What had started as ego—locker room posturing, a stupid bet to get under his skin—had turned into something else. Something I hadn’t signed up for. I didn’t like surprises. I didn’t like losing control.
And Mina? She was all sharp edges and fire under pressure—impossible to control.
It should have irritated me.
Instead, it made my blood burn.
I replayed the fight in my head, the shifts on the ice, the way my body moved without hesitation—efficient, deadly. Winning was what I did. I expected it. But this wasn’t about winning anymore.
This was about her.
And I didn’t know what to do with that.
She shifted beside me, drawing my attention. A small movement. Barely noticeable. But in the silence, it echoed.
She stared out the window, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
She didn’t fear me. That was dangerous.
Most people feared me. They should.
Her reflection in the side mirror caught the streetlights—flashes of cheekbone and lashes and the curve of her jaw, defiant even in shadow.
Then she spoke. Quiet. Sharp. “Why do you care?”
I didn’t answer right away. My mind scanned the road out of instinct, but her voice stayed lodged somewhere in my chest.
“About what?” I said, even though I knew what she meant.
“Him.”
One word. Loaded. Precise.
I shrugged like it didn’t matter. “I don’t.”
The lie landed heavy between us. Not even dressed up.
She turned her head slightly, just enough to look at me. Not full on. Just enough to let me feel it.
Her eyes weren’t soft. They weren’t angry, either.
