Jack takes a shuddering breath, eyes dropping to the floor. The rise and fall of his chest is uneven, his breaths harsh as one second rolls into two, then three, and I watch in real time as he reaches an internal conviction.
Slowly, he looks up at me, and for the first time in my life, I see something behind his eyes that scares me. It’s cold. Detached.
Almost pitifully, he says, “I had hoped you wouldn’t say that.”
There’s asnickcoming from his hand,and the glint of metal, then he’s jumping over the counter. Mina screams. My eyes widen on the switchblade just as I dart out of his path. The psychotic cunt is actually trying tokill me?
“Mina,run!” I roar.
He raises his arm in an arc, and I jump back, trying to avoid swipe after swipe.
I block his next attack, gripping his wrist to keep it away from me, but he shoves me against the cupboard and throws his fist into my gut to dislodge my hold. An involuntary hiss yanks out of me from the pain that tears through my ribs, but I just manage to parry his next hit with the heel of my palm to his nose. Jack cries out, stumbling backward.
Mina sprints past us, out of sight, and I breathe a little easier. I use the momentum to slam his arm down onto the counter. His hold on the weapon is too firm, and he pulls his other hand back to land a punch square in my jaw.
My head whips to the side, grip loosening around his wrist. He breaks free from my grasp, only for me to ram my shoulderinto him again and tackle him against the corner of the marble countertop.
He makes a pathetic, pained sound at the contact. Food and cutlery fly onto the floor. Sick fascination fuels me to level him with another punch to his gut that leaves him winded, but not disarmed, and he throws himself at me, knocking me back against a wall.
This time, the brandishing of the blade is uncoordinated as he wheezes, not as steady on his feet anymore. It gives me enough time to grab the frying pan off the floor and knock his offending hand away before shoving him back.
The weapon clatters to the floor, but he doesn’t relent, fisting my shirt and getting close as we grapple for dominance.
We’ve always been evenly matched off the ice: same build, similar height and strength. Jack workedhardto make sure we were always equals, and that couldn’t be more apparent now.
When I land a blow, he delivers one too. If he’s bleeding from his cheek, then my jaw pays the price. Strike after strike, block after block. Until we’re not equals anymore.
He straddles me on the floor and gets both hands around my throat. I slap his arms, buck my hips, kick out, punch, hit, but each move is slower than the last. My lungs rage, and fire licks through my brain, fucking with my vision as cold needles my skin.
Jack’s face distorts with dots and a blurry haze the more my fight dwindles.
“We could’ve been unstoppable together.” Despite the roaring in my ears, I hear his voice loud and clear. “I could’ve made you a fucking star. My whole life, I dedicated to you, and this is how you repay me? You don’t deserve my love. I’m—” he chokes off.
Oxygen slowly trickles back into my lungs. I’m too caught up in the shock of watching his face twist and pale, eyes wide on mewith the purest, most painful form of betrayal. His throat bobs, mouth opening with a gag to reveal his bloodstained teeth.
My gaze slides to the handle protruding out of the side of his neck. I throw him off me and roll to the side, gasping in a lungful of air as my body tries to orient itself from the fight. I stumble onto my feet, swaying to stand in front of Mina as the room spins.
I blink hard, trying to make sense of why Jack is facedown on the floor, spilling red onto the tile. Why he’s making that choking sound. My attention zeros in on the handle in his neck.
A knife handle.
My breaths shudder as I stare at the crimson pooling on the floor.
A short, sharp sob comes from behind me, and I whip around to see Mina watching Jack, frozen and shivering.
Oh, fuck.
“I . . . He . . . He was . . .” She struggles, mouth opening and closing as her eyes are still on him. “I-I— He was going?—”
I grab her shoulder and maneuver us so her back is to my chest. “I know, baby. I know,” I repeat, cupping her cheek and brushing her hair off her face, and I spot the gash on her forehead. “Don’t turn around. Just look at me, okay? I’m so sorry. Promise me you won’t look.”
Fuck.Fuck.
This is...myfault. Shit. I knew better than to provoke him, and he must have found out from Coach that I was going to be here.
I should’ve trusted my gut and left themomentsomething felt off. IsworeI saw his car outside of the studio when we took a break for dinner, and look what he did. He hurt her. He could’ve done so much worse if I didn’t rush back here once we were finished.
Christ, what have I done?
