Chapter 11
It’s been a full day since Collins barged into the apartment and twisted everything out of place.
Brie barely speaks to me. She spends most of her time locked in her room, only slipping out when she thinks I won’t notice, grabbing whatever she needs from the kitchen before vanishing again.
Collins, on the other hand, keeps coming around here like he has the right to…
well, I mean given the fact that he’s taken over my life, it isn’t exactly surprising.
Last night he even came back with groceries, smug as ever, as if I should thank him for keeping us from starving.
My phone shrieks in the silence of my apartment, jolting me upright from where I’ve been slumped on the couch, staring at nothing. My head throbs, my muscles ache, and for a second, I consider ignoring it. But the ringtone is insistent, cutting into the fog of my thoughts.
Collins. It definitely has to be Collins.
I groan, dragging my hand down my face, bracing myself for his voice, for the smug satisfaction I know will be dripping off his tongue. I’m ready to rip into him, to tell him for the hundredth time that I’m not playing this game. That he can take his schemes and shove them—
But it’s not Collins.
“Gray,” comes a different voice. Calm. Steady. Heavy with authority. My chest tightens instantly.
Coach.
My blood chills. What now?
“We saw the news,” Coach says. “Your supposed wedding.”
I freeze, blood draining from my face, heart hammering so hard I can hear it in my ears. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth.
“I… uh…” The words stumble out, half-formed. Not a lie. Not the truth. Just caught. Trapped. I have no idea how the topic of an actual wedding came up, but, well…
Coach doesn’t press. He sighs. “Look, we don’t know this side of you. We didn’t know you had… a life outside the rink.”
My stomach twists. Judgment? Disappointment? Curiosity? I can’t tell what exactly is going on in his head.
Then his voice sharpens. “But that doesn’t excuse the fight with Jack. You know that, right?”
I clench my fists, the memory flashing hot behind my eyes—Jack’s smug face, the hospital smell, my anger spiraling out of control.
For a second, rage flares bright, but it burns out just as quickly, leaving only a strange flicker of relief.
At least Coach isn’t pretending it didn’t happen. At least he said it out loud.
“The big game’s coming,” Coach continues, his tone softening, steady. “We need you. Our forward. You’re too good for your own good, Gray. You’ve still got fight in you—use it on the ice.”
The weight on my chest shifts, lightening in a way I didn’t realize I needed. My throat feels tight, but I force out the words. “I… I’ll be there.”
“Good,” Coach says simply, then hangs up.
The silence that follows is thick, buzzing in my ears. I stare at the wall, the echo of his words replaying over and over. They need me. The team needs me. And I need the ice as much as they need me.
I grab my phone, thumbs flying. I start to text Keith, I definitely missed training with him.
Cameron: Practice?
Keith: About damn time, man. Let’s hit it.
A smile, small but real, tugs at the corner of my mouth.
The next morning, I’m up early, dressed before the sun is up. My gear feels heavy on my shoulders, familiar, grounding. By the time I hit the rink, the sound of skates carving the ice is like music in my veins.
Coach’s voice cuts sharp across the rink, every command bouncing off the walls like a whip.
“Again! Faster this time. Don’t drag your feet!
” The guys groan under their breath, a chorus of complaints muffled by mouth guards and labored breaths, but hell, I would do anything to be here.
I won’t take this shit for granted again.
Skates scrape hard against the ice as we reset, shoulders sagging, but me?
I’m grinning. Every burn in my legs, every gasp of cold air in my chest feels like something I’d been starving for without realizing it.
Being back out here, with the ice under me and the puck snapping between sticks—it’s the only place I feel right.
My teammates welcome me back like I never left. Pats on the back, fist bumps, a chorus of “Good to have you, Gray.” The tightness in my chest eases, replaced with something warm. For a while, it feels normal again.
Until I step into the locker room and see Jack. He’s leaning back against the bench, his smug grin already plastered on his face like he’s been waiting for me. His eyes flick up and down, assessing, taunting. Perfect timing.
I grit my teeth and look away, shaking it off. Not today. Not here. I tell myself to focus. To ignore him.
But the smirk lingers in the back of my mind as I change, tugging at me like a thorn I can’t pull out. I can’t let him get to me, not today, not right now and definitely not ever.
Outside, the cold air hits me like a slap and for a second, I think I’m alone. But when I look up, I sigh when I spot Collins.
He’s leaning casually against his black car, hands in his pockets, head tipped just enough to look cocky. His suit is perfect, his tie sharp as usual, his expression smug. Like he’s been waiting all morning just to deliver his line.
When he sees me, he straightens, lips curling into a knowing smile.
“You were saying?”
I roll my eyes, already irritated. “Don’t start.”
“Too late,” he says smoothly, pushing off the car. “Because I told you this would happen. And now—” He spreads his arms, like the entire circus of the last forty-eight hours is a gift he’s personally wrapped for me. “Look where we are.”
I clench my jaw. “Fine,” I mutter, shoulders tense. “I’ll do it.”
His smile widens, sharp as a blade. “I know.”
I blink at him, frowning. “What do you mean, you know?”
“I mean,” Collins says, circling me like a shark, “I’ve already made preparations. Interviews. Appearances. A photoshoot. The works.” He leans close, voice dropping to a whisper meant to sting. “We’re going to milk the hell out of your marriage, Gray.”
I glare at him, fists tightening at my sides. “You don’t get it. This isn’t some game to me. This isn’t some—”
“Of course, it’s not a game to you,” Collins interrupts, cool and calculated. “It’s survival. But to the public? To the media? It is a game. And we’re going to play it better than anyone else.”
My teeth grind. “You’re disgusting.”
He smirks. “Would you rather the alternative?”
I want to argue, to shove him, to tell him exactly where he can stick his deals. But the truth gnaws at me because he’s right. My face, my career, my future—it’s all out there now, tangled up with hers.
Collins straightens, brushing invisible lint off his suit.
“Hop in. Let’s have breakfast,” he says, opening his door and without waiting for me to agree, he hops in. I roll my eyes but walk to the other side and get in.
“So here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to smile for the cameras.
You’re going to hold her hand. You’re going to convince the world you’re madly in love.
And in return?” He gives me a look so sharp it could cut glass.
“You’ll get back on that ice. You’ll get your career back. And she—she’ll get her recognition.”
Recognition? For her.
Collins claps me on the shoulder, all fake warmth. “This is the deal, Gray. And whether you like me or not, you need me to make it happen.”