The rink is too bright for how little sleep I’ve had. The cold air hits as soon as my blades touch the ice, and it helps, a little. Sharp and clean is what I need. Something I can focus on. Except every time I blink, I’m back on that sofa with Rose beneath me, her hands gripping my shoulders, the sound she made when I kissed down her neck. My body is still running on that high and it’s a fucking miracle I’m skating straight.
Ryan glides past, spraying a wave of ice shavings into my legs. “You move like an eighty-year-old divorcee,” he says, grin wide. “Rough night?”
“Jealousy’s not a good look on you,” I shoot back, tapping his skate and making him wobble.
He cackles as Lukas glides up on my other side, studying me. “You look… charged,” he says.
“Charged?” I snort. “That your official medical opinion?”
But he just smirks, because he knows he’s right. I can feel it, that restless energy I can’t shake, a tight twist under my ribs. Rose has rewired something in me and nothing feels normal anymore.
Coach’s whistle shrieks and we launch into edge work. Tight turns, stops so sharp they rattle my bones, pivots that burn through my thighs. The focus narrows into the scrape of blades and the rhythmic pull of air. But the second my brain has an inchto wander; I’m lost in her again. Her laugh, her fingers sliding under my shirt, her breathy “Callum” against my mouth.
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter to myself, nearly missing a transition.
“Oi!” Ryan yells mid-turn. “Thinking about your girlfriend?”
“She’s not—” I start.
Lukas smacks the back of my helmet as he passes. “You’re lying to yourself, mate.”
I almost trip. He grins proudly, the prick. And I don’t bother denying it again. We swing into quick-pass drills. Ryan and I battle for the puck. He slips, I steal, and I fire a shot so hard it rattles the frame of the net. My pulse is a drumline. My head is a mess.
“Someone’s pissed,” Ryan says, slowing near me.
“I’m fine.”
He gives me the kind of look only a teammate who sees way too much can. “Which is code for absolutely not fine.”
The break whistle blows and we coast to the bench, helmets off and breath puffing in cold clouds. I gulp down water like it’ll wash down the confusion in my chest. Lukas nudges me.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asks.
I look around at the guys, the ice, the fluorescent lights reflecting off everything. The place I’ve spent half my life trying to prove something. And the truth hits. Rose makes me want to be better. Rose makes me feel I can be. “Better than okay,” I say. And I mean every syllable.
The massive rink doors slam open like a gunshot. Heels click against the concrete flooring, sharp, angry, and determined. I don’t even have to turn. My whole body reacts first, going rigid.
Talia.
She strides in as though she’s arriving on a red carpet, sunglasses and an attitude that can be seen from space. Thesecurity guy tries to stop her but she ignores him with a flick of her hand. Every Panther goes silent. Watching.
Ryan whispers, “Ohhh, shit.”
Lukas whistles low. “This’ll be fun.”
Coach looks as though he wants to retire on the spot.
Talia zeroes in on me, heels stabbing the ground with every furious step. She stops inches in front of me, ripping her sunglasses off like she expects applause. “You blocked me,” she snaps.
“I did,” my voice flat as the ice under us.
She laughs once, its sharp and humourless. “Cute. You can’t be serious about this breakup shit.”
“I’m serious.”
She scoffs, leaning in. “No, you’re not. You’re just having a tantrum. Is this about that photographer?”
Heat floods through me, not embarrassment, but anger. “Watch it.”
