I sit. Kai drops down beside me, forearms on his thighs, hands clasped so tight his knuckles go pale. He stares straight ahead. Doesn’t look at me. Which is how I know he’s about to say something that scares him.
“This Tuesday,” he says.
My stomach tightens. “Yeah.”
Kai drags a hand over his mouth like he’s trying to wipe the words off before they come out. “I don’t like that game.”
“I figured,” I say.
He huffs a humorless laugh. “You’ve figured a lot lately.”
That lands weirdly, but I let it pass. Because Kai isn’t in a place for me to get defensive.
He swallows, throat working once. “Rushton.”
The name hits like a puck to the ribs.
Even before I knew everything, games against South Valley had always carried a charge in Kai. The way he plays when we face them. The way his temper sits closer to the surface.
Kai’s jaw ticks. “He got in her head. Quietly. On purpose. And by the time anyone saw it?—”
His voice cuts off.
His eyes flash to mine again, pain and anger braided together. “So I did the only thing I could. I made sure he never got near her again.”
I nod once. My jaw is clenched so hard it aches.
Kai stares at the floor. “That’s why I’m always angrier when we play them.”
“I get it,” I say.
Kai’s laugh is short and bitter. “Do you?”
“Yes,” I say, immediate and honest, with zero hesitation. “There’s just about nothing I wouldn’t go back and do to protect Owen from the accident, and he was my older brother, not younger. I feel like you’d be even more inclined to protect your younger sister to the best of your ability. And trust me, I’m not going to let him near her either.”
Kai’s head snaps toward me.
For a second, I think he’s going to bite my head off for saying it like I have any claim, but his expression shifts into something quieter. Not approval or permission, but acknowledgment mixed with respect, like he knows what I’m really saying. That this isn’t a game to me.Sheisn’t a game.
Kai blows out a long breath and stands abruptly. “I need food before I kill someone.”
“Good plan,” I mutter, pushing off the bench.
We walk out together, the hallway echoing with our skates in our hands, the smell of the rink still clinging to us.
Outside, the air is cold enough to clear my head—almost. Kai’s shoulders are still tight. His steps are sharp on the sidewalk, like he’s walking out tension instead of talking through it. We don’t go back to the apartment. We head toward the little campus café that serves sandwiches that taste like cardboard and comfort at the same time.
Kai orders like he’s never eaten in his life. I get whatever comes up first, because I’m not hungry, my body still runningon adrenaline and something else that makes my chest feel too full.
We sit at a small table by the window, and Kai stares at his drink like it owes him money.
I watch him for a beat before speaking. “You good?”
Kai snorts. “No.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Same.”
He finally takes a bite of his sandwich and chews like he’s mad at it. Then he says, without looking at me, “How is she? Really. I know you’ve been spending a good bit of time with her.”
