32. Ethan
32
ETHAN
The winter sky hangs heavy as I pull into the arena’s parking lot. Snowflakes swirl down like they have nothing better to do, floating in slow, lazy circles before dotting the windshield. Fitting, somehow—like the whole world’s decided to take a breather just when mine feels flipped inside out. Holly’s words echo somewhere deep, and with every step closer to the rink, the weight feels heavier.
Just before I can slip inside, a familiar, unwelcome figure appears by the entrance, grinning as though he’s just found a fresh way to annoy me. Raymond Blue.
“Starting to feel like I’m babysitting my own shadow, Blue,” I say, brushing past him.
“Now, now,” he croons in that grating, mock-concerned tone. “No need for all that brooding hostility. Don’t think of it as being shadowed. Call it family protection.”
“Family?” Stopping, I glare down at him, jaw tight. Blue’s smug grin is practically screaming for a fist to wipe it off his face.
“Oh, yes. With your cousin Jake Carter and our mutual friend, the illustrious Mr. Roland, we’re like a little team ourselves. Not quite the Blizzards, but we’re ready to dig into your delightful little soap opera of a life.” Blue leans in, eyes glinting. “But Holly? Poor girl—might just get swept up in the excitement, don’t you think?”
My hands curl into fists, nails biting into my palms, but I keep them firmly at my sides. “Mention her again,” I say, my voice low, “and you’ll regret it.”
Blue’s laugh echoes as I finally shove through the entrance and head into the locker room. The sight of my team—my actual team, the one that matters—draws my focus back, though even their faces look unfamiliar, washed over with wary expressions. Ryan and Liam step forward, bracing themselves with the kind of look I usually reserve for dodging a puck at eighty miles per hour.
Ryan clears his throat. “You okay, man?”
“Yeah, well, if by okay you mean losing my mind, yeah.” I yank my jacket off, each word tight. “This whole mess—she’s all I can think about. But if she wants to be away from me, I’m … I don’t know. Maybe it’s what she needs.”
Liam just shakes his head with an exasperated grin. “Or maybe you’re both too damn stubborn to admit you’re both miserable.”
Ignoring the glances and loaded silences, I swap into my gear and hit the ice. The cold is sharp, biting, just the way I need it. Time to force out every ounce of frustration, to turn everything off for a while. Each slap of the puck feels like a release—one way or another, a means to let out whatever storm’s been building up. But the sense of control doesn’t last.
Pucks thud against boards and skates cut paths through the rink like knives tracing old scars. Each drill is a command, each shift a reminder of what it means to hold on when everything slips. The noise fades, replaced by the rhythmic pulse of focus. But my focus fractures when my eyes catch movement by the sidelines—a dark-haired actor with a smirk that has launched a thousand soap operas, leaning next to the snake himself, Raymond Blue.
The cold twist in my gut replaces the morning’s coffee. Out of the corner of my eye, there he is—Jake Roland, standing with Blue on the sidelines like some smug, paparazzi-driven specter. I don’t even have to see his face to know he’s smirking. Jake’s antics are a toxic mix of attention-seeking and boredom, and having him here is a blatant attempt to provoke me.
The puck slides past as Cain, a teammate who’s never been known for his subtlety, swerves toward me. “You’re looking a little distracted there, Carter. What’s the matter? Hypocritical romance eating you up?”
I lock my jaw, forcing my eyes to the ice. Focus, Carter.
But then Robbins joins in, laughing as his voice slices through. “Hey, Carter! Hypocrisy looks good on you,” he sneers, skating close enough for elbows to brush.
Behind me, I hear some laughter bouncing across the rink, echoing like a taunt.
Cain goes again, “You were just scared we’d go after your girl, huh? Why, is she that cheap?”
That’s it. My restraint shatters, and before I know it, I’m slamming into him, my shoulder hitting hard against his. The sound of bodies clashing echoes through the arena as we spin across the ice.
“What the hell, Ethan?” Cain yells, catching his balance as he whips around, face red and furious.
“You wanted a piece of me?” I snap into his sprawled form. “Congratulations, you’ve got it.”
“Enough!” Coach Andrew’s voice thunders across the rink, and in the span of a second, it’s like the entire place is vacuum-sealed silent. Andrew skates over, stopping only inches away. His eyes are like ice drills boring into me. “Carter, off the ice. Now.”
He gestures to the bench, and even though everything in me screams to argue, I obey. Back on the sidelines, the guys give me sidelong glances, their expressions hovering between worry and something that looks uncomfortably like disappointment.
When the practice finally wraps, I stalk off the ice, heading straight to the locker room, but Ryan’s voice stops me.
“Ethan.” There’s something stern in his tone. Captain-like. He steps in front of me, arms crossed. “Got a minute?”
I grit my teeth, then nod, muttering, “Is this friend Ryan talking, or the team captain?”
His sigh is weary. “Honestly, man, both. The team? They look up to you.” The hallway is a tomb of silence until Ryan’s voice cuts through, steady and unyielding. “What was that out there? Are you the star player or a wrecking ball with an ego problem?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes, it does,” Ryan bangs one fist on the wall. “You should maintain a certain image of calm and this morning didn’t exactly help. You should know better than to react to whatever drivel’s coming out of Cain’s mouth.”
“So that’s it? Let Cain run his mouth, and I keep taking it?”
“Don’t twist my words,” he says sharply, then takes a breath.
I drag a sharp inhale, the kind that hurts going down. “I understand. It’s just right now, I’m not in the right frame of mind … it’s like I’m trying to stand on breaking ice.”
Ryan’s expression softens, brows unknitting, eyes dark with empathy. “Look, as your friend, I get it. You’ve got this whole thing with Holly, and it’s eating you up inside. But Captain Ryan? He can’t let you just keep showing up on the ice ready to bodycheck every teammate who looks at you sideways.”
“I get you, Captain Ryan,” I chuckle dryly.
“Good.” He lowers his voice. “Now as friend Ryan. I know you care about her. Hell, we all see it. But you’re suffering, and not the usual way you do.” He studies me for a second. “This isn’t just about her, is it?”
The weight of his gaze presses in, and the words claw up before I can hold them back. “I’ve got Blue, Jake Roland, and my own cousin teaming up, trying to ruin what little life I’ve got left here. And Holly…” A pang cuts through my chest. “I’ve never felt this way, Ry. It’s like she’s … hell, she’s it. And I can’t lose her. But she’s already gone.”
Ryan leans back, thoughtful. “Then stop trying to be ‘cool’ about it and fight for her, Ethan. I know you—you don’t back down. Don’t start now.”
I frown, shaking my head. “It’s not that simple.”
Ryan just shrugs. “Nothing worth having ever is.”
For a moment, I stare at him, taking it in. The truth settles, raw and unavoidable. He’s right.