“That she’ll convince herself she meant it when she said it’s just business,” I whisper, the words unraveling. “And I’ll lose something I never even got to have. Again.”
I blink hard, jaw locked against the sting behind my eyes. God, I hate how vulnerable this feels. She lets me break open where I’ve been duct-taping myself together.
“You’re not dangerous when you feel. You’re honest. The danger comes when you pretend not to.”
I look away, breathing through the tightness in my chest, because no one’s ever said something like that tome. Not in a way that felt like truth instead of reprimand. My eyes burn as I try to swallow it all down before it spills over.
“Your new homework is to notice the moment when the line between pretend and real blurs. And don’t judge or rationalize it.”
The words hit somewhere deep and terrifying because I already know what my body does, and it all leads back to her.
Chapter Eighteen
Kyle
The rink at eight a.m. smells like cold metal and soap; it bites the inside of your nose and makes you feel like you’re starting over, whether you want to or not. I lace my skates on the bench, each movement steady and familiar, like muscle memory, the closest thing I have to a prayer I know by heart. If I focus on the rhythm long enough, maybe I won’t think about the meeting with Alycia yesterday.
Cooper greenlit the fake relationship plan as if were as simple as taping a stick. Alycia agreed to something that looked a hell of a lot like sacrifice dressed as strategy. And I’ve been pretending I’m fine ever since, even while every cell in my body hums with the urge to fix something I don’t know how to fix.
The locker room hums—chirps bouncing off lockers, tape snapping, two rookies playing knee-hockey with a roll of clear tape. I walk past, and they scatter like I’m a hall monitor. Normally, I’d laugh, but today, it just sits heavy on my ribs.
“Morning, Romeo.” Cole’s voice drifts from behind me.
He’s leaning in the doorway like a billboard forDo as I say, not as I did,black beanie pulled low, sporting stubble he forgot to shave or didn’t care to. He jerks his chin at my phone buzzing on the bench. “Your fan club is awake.”
I don’t have to look to know it’s no one I want to speak to right now. My agent. A podcast producer. Three beat writers. Probably half the league. Everyone wants a quote, a soundbite, a reaction to the story that’s already everywhere.
I ignore them all because the second I respond, it becomes real in a way I’m not ready for. If I don’t engage, maybe I can still pretend this whole thing is something Alycia chose, not something that’s choosing both of us by force.
“Careful,” I say, bending to retie a lace that doesn’t need it. “Your halo’s blinding me.”
“Please. I pawned that thing years ago.” His gaze sweeps my face, too sharp for a man who plays off everything like a joke. “You sleep?”
“Define sleep.”
“Closing your eyes and not obsessing over a girl for four to eight hours.”
“Then no.”
He grins, but it’s sympathetic around the edges. “Try not to look like a murder suspect at practice. Reporters are already sniffing around.”
“They can sniff somewhereelse.”
“That’s not how sharks work.”
“Sharks smellblood,not bullshit.”
“Sometimes they smell both.” He bumps my shoulder with his knuckles. “Head up. Breathe.”
He says it like it’s simple, but it isn’t. Not when the only thing I can think about is the way Alycia walked away like she was stitching her heart back together with every step. Still, something in his tone—steady, low, a little protective—cuts through the noise. It’s not advice from a teammate; it's my big brother talking. And that’s new.
He gets what it feels like for one woman to tilt your whole world off axis. He lived it. Fought for it. Earned it. And right now, I need someone who remembers what it feels like to stand at the edge of something that could either ruin or save you.
“Head up,” I echo, voice rough.
He nods once, and for the first time in a long time, it feels like it might be enough.
On the ice, the world narrows the way I need it to. The sound of skates carving into fresh ice and pucks clacking off boards, this is the only rhythm I’ve ever trusted.
