Chapter 15
Alaric
The days blur together. Practice, press, silence. Repeat.
I wake, I skate, I pretend.
It’s easier to act like Magnus Hale never existed than to deal with the hollow space where he used to fit.
The rink feels colder now. Depressing instead of that usual thrill. My blades cut through the ice, but there’s no rhythm to it anymore, just motion. The others are laughing, chirping each other, tossing pucks across the blue line. I’m a ghost among them, all muscle memory and empty breath.
Coach Hendricks blows the whistle. “Come on, Hale, get your head in the game!”
I nod automatically. “Yes, Coach.”
But I can’t get my head anywhere. It’s still trapped in that apartment, replaying Magnus’s voice, the flash of hurt when I told him I didn’t choose him.
That I’d never choose him.
God, the look in his eyes.
I slam the puck into the boards too hard. It ricochets past Devon, who mutters something under his breath but doesn’t push. They all know something’s off. No one knows what.
When practice ends, I peel off my gloves and helmet slowly, feeling like I’m underwater. The locker room buzzes around me, steam rising from showers, the wet slap of towels, the metallic clatter of sticks and skates.
Kyle’s voice cuts through it all. “You okay, man?”
He says it casually, like he hasn’t been the center of a hundred fake articles with my name next to his. Like my father didn’t orchestrate the whole thing.
I force a small smile. “Fine.”
Kyle grins like we share a secret. “Good. I’ve got some good news—your dad invited me over for family dinner.”
That yanks my attention back. “He what?”
Kyle’s smile widens. “Yeah. Said he wanted to get to know me better. He said he can really set us up as America’s next power couple.”
My stomach knots. Of course he did—the dinner invite, the narrative, the forced connection—my father’s fingerprints are all over this.
I mumble, “That’s great,” and head for the showers.
Kyle follows. “Hey, don’t go all quiet on me. You’ve been weird lately. You barely talk at practice. You dodged my calls all week. What’s going on?”
The question digs in too deep.
I turn on the shower full blast, hoping the noise drowns him out. But Kyle steps closer, his voice lowering just enough to hit me between the ribs.
“This about Hale?”
My jaw tightens. “Why would you think that?”
“I saw the way you looked at him during that last Wolves game,” he continues, voice edged with curiosity—no, something darker. “That whole rivalry act? You two were staring like you wanted to kill each other or—”
I whirl around, water dripping down my face. “Drop it.”
Kyle bites his lip, eyes dragging over my naked body in a way that feels possessive. “Fine.”
He leaves me stewing under the spray.
When I finally step out, towel slung low on my hips, the tension hasn’t faded. It’s coiled, ready to snap.
By the time I’m dressed, the rest of the guys are filtering out. Devon tosses me a half-hearted “See you tomorrow,” and Liam’s laughing with Cal near the door.
Kyle’s waiting by the lockers.
“Hey,” he says. “Come out back with me a sec.”
The hallway leading to the rear exit is narrow, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. I follow him because I’m too tired to argue.
The moment the door shuts behind us, he turns and crowds into my space.
“Jesus, Kyle—”
He kisses me.
It’s fast, hot, and wrong. His mouth tastes like mint and arrogance. I push at his chest, but he just grips my jacket and pulls me back.
I shove harder. “Stop.”
Kyle blinks, breath shallow. “What’s wrong with you lately?”
“Don’t do that again.”
He scoffs. “Why not? We’ve been doing this for months.”
“Not anymore.”
The words hang between us, heavier than the cold night air.
Kyle’s easy smile falters. “So that’s it? You’re just done?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know. I’m… confused,” I manage. “I need time to think.”
He laughs—a harsh, ugly sound. “Time to think? About what? Whether you can do better than me?”
“This isn’t about—”
“Oh, come on.” His voice rises, sharp enough to cut. “You think I don’t know what this is? You’re the golden boy, the owner’s son. You can’t handle bad press, so you’re dropping me before it gets messy.”
“That’s not—”
He steps closer again, face twisting into something unfamiliar. “You’re making this way harder than it has to be. This was supposed to be simple, Alaric. A good look for both of us. You think I wanted this circus?”
The shift in tone chills me. “What are you talking about?”
Kyle exhales sharply, shoving his hands through his hair. “I just wanted a quick thing, alright? Some fun. Then your dad called. He offered to keep me in the spotlight if I played along. It’s PR gold—the team’s golden heir and his perfect partner.”
I freeze. “He what?”
Kyle looks annoyed, like he’s explaining something obvious. “He said it’d help everyone. The team, me, even you. I didn’t think it mattered to you, honestly.”
“You made a deal with my father?”
“It’s not like I had a choice. You’re the one he wanted me linked to.”
Something in my chest snaps.
“So what was any of this?” I demand. “The dinners? The photos? The way you acted?”
He shrugs. “Publicity. You’re good press, man.”
I laugh, disbelieving. It comes out broken. “You’re serious.”
“Don’t get dramatic. It’s not personal.”
That does it.
I grab his jersey collar and shove him hard against the wall of lockers. The metal clangs, echoing through the hall.
“Don’t,” I hiss, “talk to me like that.”
He shoves me back, eyes flashing. “You gonna hit me, Al? That’d make a great headline—owner’s son in a domestic violence case.”
I don’t even think. I swing. My fist catches his jaw.
He reels back, cursing, then lunges at me. The two of us crash into the lockers, fists, elbows, the sharp crack of metal and bone.
Devon’s voice cuts through it, distant at first. “Hey! What the hell?” Then he’s pulling Kyle off me while Liam grabs my arm.
“Enough!” Coach Hendricks’s bark follows, heavy and final.
We’re both panting, blood smeared, shirts torn. Kyle’s lip is split. My knuckles throb.
“Office. Now,” the coach snaps.
No one moves. The silence stretches until Devon mutters, “Jesus, you two are insane.”
Coach points at me. “You—medic. You—shower. I don’t want to see either of you until you remember you’re teammates, not enemies.”
Kyle glares at me, wiping his mouth. “You’re gonna regret this.”
“I won’t.”
He storms off.
The others disperse slowly, murmuring, eyes darting between me and the dented lockers. Devon’s the last to leave. He pauses, hand on my shoulder. “Whatever that was, man… fix it before it gets worse.”
When I finally sink onto the bench, the adrenaline fades, and the ache sets in.
I stare at the floor.
Kyle’s words replay in my head. Your dad called me.
He really did it. He manipulated everything—me, the team, the story—just to protect his image. And I let him.
The locker room goes quiet except for the hum of the lights and the faint sound of my heartbeat pounding in my ears. I bend forward, elbows on my knees, and let the weight of it crush me.
For once, I don’t try to fight it.
I just let it break me.
? ? ?
By the time I reach Molly’s front porch, I’m shaking.
My knuckles sting where they split against Kyle’s stupid, smug jaw, and my throat feels like I swallowed gravel.
I don’t even remember the drive over, just flashes of streetlights through wet eyes and the sound of my own heartbeat pounding against the steering wheel.
Butter barks before I can even knock. Then there’s Molly’s voice, a half-laughing, half-exasperated call from inside. “All right, Butter, calm down, it’s just—”
She opens the door, and whatever she was about to say dies in her throat.
Her expression softens instantly. “Oh, Alaric…”
I try for a smile but my lips won’t cooperate. It’s more of a grimace. “Hey.”
“Get in here.”
The warmth of her house hits me like a wall.
It smells like cinnamon tea and dog shampoo—the kind of comforting domestic chaos Molly’s always been good at keeping.
Butter immediately trots over, tail wagging, pressing his wet nose into my knee.
I crouch automatically, fingers finding the soft fur between his ears.
“Hey, buddy,” I whisper. My voice cracks.
Molly’s watching me, arms folded, worry written across her face. “What happened?”
I can’t answer yet. I just stand there, shoes still on, eyes unfocused. The adrenaline is wearing off, and what’s left underneath it feels hollow.
She steps forward, takes my coat, and guides me toward the couch like I’m a kid again. “Sit. I’ll make tea.”
When she disappears into the kitchen, I finally let myself fall apart. My hands cover my face, and the tears come too fast to stop. I hate crying. I hate the sound of it, the way it makes me feel small, but right now there’s no holding back.
Butter hops up beside me, pressing his head against my shoulder like he knows. I clutch the dog like a life preserver and let myself shake.
Molly comes back with two mugs. She sets them down, sits across from me, and waits. That’s her way. Patient, quiet, never pushing until she knows I’m ready.
Finally, I manage a breath that doesn’t hitch. “It’s all gone to hell, Mol.”
“I gathered,” she says softly. “Tell me everything.”
I stare down at the tea, watching the steam curl. “Magnus. Kyle. Dad. It’s all tangled, and I don’t even know where to start.”
“The beginning is typically a good place to start.”
So I do.
I tell her about Magnus; how it started as rivalry and turned into something I didn’t expect. How the night after practice turned into mornings I didn’t want to end. How being with him felt like breathing for the first time in years.
Then I tell her about the fight. The things I said that I didn’t mean. The look on Magnus’s face when I told him he wasn’t worth the risk. The way he walked out without looking back.
By the time I get to Kyle, my voice has gone flat with the kind of numb tone that comes after too many shocks in a row.