“Okay.” Carter nods, before picking up his gear and leaving.
One by one, my teammates filter out, the sound of their skate guards echoing faintly against the tile floor. Max passes by, giving me a quick nod before disappearing out the door as well.
I let out an exhale before I finish dressing and sitting down on the bench, leaning forward as I put my skates on. I take my time lacing them up methodically, trying to focus on the tranquility of the movement and not the thoughts swirling in my head. The room’s quiet now, except for the faint sound of my fingers tugging at the laces.
I feel Blake’s presence hovering over me long before I hear or see him. The air shifts, becoming heavier, tense, causing my skin to prickle.
“Can we talk?” Blake's voice breaks the silence.
I don’t look up, just continue lacing my skates. My hands move faster, almost angrily, as I try to ignore the way Blake’s voice tugs at something deep inside me. It’s taking everything in me to continue with what I’m doing and not look up at him, because I know the moment I do, I’ll melt. I’ll break into a million shards.
“Chase,” Blake calls me again, this time with a hint of desperation, a crack in his voice that makes my stomach twist.
“What?” I snap, finally looking up. “What is there to talk about? You made it clear last night what you did and didn’t want. There’s no need to drag this out.”
Blake flinches at the sharpness of my words, something so uncommon from me, especially with him. I should feel some satisfaction from my words, from my actions, and from standing up to him, but I don’t. Instead, I feel hollow.
“I was nothing,” I continue, my voice firm and cold. “It’s cool. I want to thank you, though, for giving me the push I needed to come out about my sexuality. Had you been a man and stayed—actually talked to me that night at the cabin instead of running off—we could’ve worked it out. We could’ve come back here as a couple. Without all the drama that came after.”
I give my laces one last check, then stand. I don’t say anything else, giving Blake a chance to respond, to tell me I was wrong. But he doesn’t reply. He’s proving Carter wrong, and he meant just what he said. I meant nothing. I grab my helmet and stick off the bench and give Blake one final look before leaving.
Every step is a battle to keep going forward when all I want to do is turn back, to confront Blake, to maybe—just maybe—fix what’s broken between us. But I don’t. Instead, I bite back everything inside me that urges me to do that and make my way to the ice. To my team.
Chapter 9
Ginny
Isit quietly onthe bleachers, keeping myself hidden just out of sight. Neither my father nor the guys can see me, and that’s how I want it. I just needed to see them, my guys—no, that’s not right, they're not my guys anymore. The need to watch them move across the ice, playing the sport they love with a grace that rivals even the finest figure skaters, was too great. The rink feels alive, the scrape of skates on ice echoing like music, the puck snapping sharply from stick to stick. It’s mesmerizing—but something is off.
Even from here, I can feel it. Sure, they’re playing well. There are no arguments, no glaringly obvious mistakes, but the passion—the heart that binds a team together—is missing. It’s especially noticeable between Blake and Chase. Carter was right when he said we need to fix the rift between them, and fast, before it goes so long that it can never be repaired.
Carter and Chase move as though they share one mind, their synchronicity a testament to their twin bond. Meanwhile, Blake is in the net, commanding his space like no other goalie I’ve ever seen before. His focus is razor sharp, his body movingwith precision as he blocks every puck hurtling his way. But then, when Chase gets close, it all unravels, and he becomes a bumbling mess.
Chase seems to be Blake’s kryptonite, pulling his attention just enough to throw him off. I see the frustration in Blake’s body language—the way his shoulders stiffen, the way his movements grow sharper and more aggressive. He hates the mistakes Chase draws out of him, and it’s clear the tension between them is festering.
My thoughts drift as I watch them, memories of the four of us together flooding back. The laughter, the stolen moments, the love we shared—it all crashes into me, overwhelming and bittersweet. My chest tightens as I try to shove the emotions back behind the invisible door I’ve constructed to keep them at bay. It’s the only way I’ve been able to function each day since leaving them.
I can’t face those feelings; not now. My father made it clear long ago that I would never be allowed to have a relationship with anyone on his team. When I was old enough to notice the opposite sex as more than just skating partners, he shipped me away. And even if he were to accept the idea of me dating one of his players, he would have a coronary if he ever discovered the truth—that I wasn’t seeing just one of them, but three.
No. I refuse to be responsible for my father’s untimely demise.
I reach into my gym bag, pulling out my phone. Unlocking it, I scroll through a hidden album of photos—pictures of the four of us during happier times. Each image feels like a dagger to my chest, yet I can’t bring myself to delete them. I’ve tried, but every attempt ends the same: tears streaming down my face, my hand frozen, unable to press the delete button. Erasing those photos feels like erasing the love we shared, and I’m not ready to let that go.
“Since when do you enjoy hockey?” Antony’s voice startles me. It’s low and close, the heat of his breath brushing along my ear. My heart jumps as my phone slips from my hand, landing in my lap just before it could hit the concrete floor.
Quickly, I close the photo album, my eyes darting to the rink to make sure no one else has noticed me. My father and the team are still practicing, oblivious to my presence, and I exhale in relief.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, trying to steady my voice.
“Oh, just checking on some things,” Antony replies, climbing over the seats to sit beside me. His arm brushes mine, sending a wave of unease through me. “But why are you avoiding my question?”
“I’m not avoiding anything,” I say, leaning away from him slightly. “My dad’s the coach. I’m staying here now, so I’ll probably be going to some games. Just thought I’d check out practice and see him in action.”
“It wouldn’t have anything to do with the guys who approached you, would it?” Antony’s fingers brush the back of my hand, a deliberate touch that I quickly pull away from without giving him the satisfaction of seeing how much it unsettles me.
“I think you’re letting your imagination run wild,” I reply, shifting my body, attempting to put more space between us. “Why does it matter to you, anyway?”
He smirks, the expression dark and calculating. “I’ve invested too much time in our partnership for you to throw it away over somefucking cocks.I saw your phone, Geneva. Three men? Really? I wonder what your dad would think about that.”
