“We meet off campus. No one can know. Ever.”
I drag my gaze over her face and the curve of her mouth. The way her jaw tightens when she’s holding herself together. God, I want to ruin that composure. But Sam holds her ground.
Finally, I let out a breath. “We start before the next game.”
Every part of me knows this is a mistake. But I’m going to make it anyway.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
EVEREST (KANE)
Practice hasn’t even started and I already want to punch something. The lights are too bright, and every breath tastes like blood and bile from how hard we’ve been working. Coach is still riding our asses, even though it’s been almost three weeks since the party, since Jackson’s accident, since he decided to shove Sam down our throat.
And I hate it. Having her here, being forced to see her face, constantly reminding us that she nearly kneecapped our chance at nationals.
“Hustle up,” Coach yells from the sidelines, breaking my thoughts. “Finals are in three days, and losing to Baymont is not an option. You’ve done good the last two games without Kincaid, but win this, and it’s an automatic bid into nationals. The season’s riding on it.”
Everything’s riding on it. Which is why the second I spot Sam entering the locker room, my blood boils, that all-consuming pull of irritation biting at my skin.
“Williamsburg.”
“Yes, Coach,” Alex responds, fishing his way to the front.
“Warm ’em up.”
Alex nods and spins on his skates. “You heard him. Let’s work.”
Mountain’s the first to start his drills, slapping pucks off the boards like it’ll quiet whatever storm’s sitting behind his eyes. Alex looks like he’s running on fumes—again.
I push off, immediately getting into my zone. The moment my blades touch the ice, it’s as if the world ceases to exist. Nothing else matters—not the bullshit, not the pressure of working ten times harder than anyone else, and not the stack of medical bills waiting for me.
It’s just me, my skates, and an inch of solid ice. This is home. Not the condo that’s been empty since my mom went back into the facility, and not the room in the lake house.
I skate short bursts, stopping hard, leaving slashes in the ice. My breath sears my lungs, but it’s a good burn. The kind of pain that makes you forget every fucked-up thing in your world. Time seems to stand still and before long, the guys are tapping out one by one. But I don’t stop, I keep going, cutting deeper and deeper tracks across the rink. Just maybe, if I go fast enough, I’ll escape the rest of this hellish life.
Alex skates up beside me, checking my speed, his eyes sharp as usual.
“Don’t burn yourself out,” he says between breaths.
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
He smirks. “Cute.”
I shoot him a look and push forward, leaving him to circle back to Mountain. It’s going to take everything we’ve got to beat Baymont, and we fucking need this win. He can act like I’m pushing too hard, but the fact is, they want this just as bad as I do.
It’s evident in the way Mountain slaps pucks away from the net, all of his frustrations leaving with each block. It’s in the way Alex leads the rush, practice or not. His golden boy facade iscracking under the pressure. He acts like he’s got it all in check, but he’s been just as on edge.
A whistle blows in the distance, bringing me out of my haze.
“Bring it in, boys. Get some rest, and be back on time tomorrow,” Coach orders.
From the corner of my eye, I witness Alex glide toward the bench, tossing his stick, then unpeeling his helmet. He stands off to the side, talking to Mountain.
“Hey, Kane,” Alex yells.
I skate closer, only staring at him, not bothering to respond.
“We’re about to get some grub. You in?”
