Chapter 18
Collision Course
Leo
The sound wakes me before the light does. A faint buzz, steady and rhythmic, cutting through the fog of half-sleep. My phone vibrates against the coffee table, the screen flashing Sage’s name.
For a second, I think she’s calling me from the studio. Maybe she couldn’t sleep. Maybe she wants to talk about last night. I fumble for the phone, squinting at the glare. But it isn’t a call—it’s a live connection already in progress.
A pocket dial.
I almost end it, thumb hovering over the red button—until I hear her voice.
“Get away from my car.”
She sounds sharp. Angry. Scared.
I sit up fast, the blanket sliding off my chest. My pulse spikes. There’s noise on the other end—echoing space, the metallic hum of a garage. Then her again, louder this time: “You’ve been stalking me—this is over. Leave the building.”
Every muscle in my body goes rigid. I press the phone closer to my ear. There’s a pause, then a man’s voice answers, low and calm in the kind of way that sets every instinct I have on edge. “Come on, Sage. You don’t mean that.”
It’s the voice that does it—the smugness. The familiarity. The way he says her name like it belongs to him.
My blood goes cold.
I’m off the couch before I even realize I’ve moved. The phone’s still pressed to my ear as I shove my feet into sneakers and grab the nearest hoodie. “Hang on,” I mutter, though she can’t hear me. “I’m coming.”
The world narrows to a tunnel—the click of the door locking behind me, the slap of my footsteps echoing down the stairwell. The air in the garage hits cold and stale, tinged with gasoline and concrete dust. Fluorescent lights flicker overhead, humming in and out like the start of a bad dream.
And then I see them.
Sage stands beside her car, I can see her body is rigid.
For a split second, everything tunnels—the hum of the garage lights, the smell of oil and concrete.
Her body rigid, arms crossed but trembling.
A few feet away, a man leans against the hood, posture lazy but coiled with something mean underneath.
I know that face.
Grayson Locke.
My hands curl into fists before my brain catches up. The smirk on his face is the same one he wore after every cheap shot on the ice—cocky, practiced, calculated to make you swing first.
Sage turns at the sound of my footsteps, eyes wide. Fear flashes across her face—not of me, but of what’s about to happen.
“Leo,” she says, voice thin. “Don’t—”
But it’s too late. The sight of her backed into a corner, of him standing there like he owns the ground she’s on, lights something primal in my chest.
“What are you doing here?" I demand.
Grayson’s gaze slides to me, his grin slow and deliberate.
The air between us feels charged, like the split second before a puck drops—except this time, it’s personal.
Grayson straightens, pushing off the car with casual arrogance, like I just interrupted his warm-up instead of something far darker. The smirk never fades. “Didn’t realize Sage had company these days,” he says, voice smooth and cold. “She always did have a soft spot for broken things.”
Sage steps forward, her voice tight. “Grayson, stop.”
He doesn’t. His eyes flick to her and then back to me, like this is a game and I just joined in. “Guess you’re the reason she won’t pick up the phone. I was starting to think she forgot her manners.”
My pulse slams in my ears. “You’re the one who’s been calling her.” It’s not a question. My voice comes out rough, dangerous. “The flowers. The knife set. That was you?”
His grin widens, and I swear my vision tunnels. “Little gifts. Old habits. She used to like surprises.”
“Get out,” Sage snaps. “Now.”
The way she says it makes my chest ache—because there’s history there, and it’s written in the fear she’s trying to hide.
Grayson ignores her, eyes locked on mine. “You think you know her?” he asks. “You think you can fix her? You have no idea what she’s like when—”
“Enough.” I take a step forward, the kind that makes him shift, even if he pretends not to. “You need to leave. Right now.”
He chuckles under his breath. “Or what? You’ll hit me? Go ahead, Voss. Add ‘assault’ to your losing streak.”
Sage moves between us fast, her hands out like she can physically hold the tension back. “Leo, please,” she whispers. “He’s not worth it.”
She’s right. She’s always right. But the part of me that’s rational is losing ground fast. My fists ache to connect with something solid.
“Listen to her,” Grayson says, voice dripping with mock sympathy. “She’s learned what happens when she doesn’t.”
Sage flinches. Just barely—but I see it. And that’s it.
I lunge before I can think.
The sound of my fist hitting flesh cracks through the garage like a gunshot. Grayson’s head snaps back, his smirk finally gone. For one satisfying heartbeat, the world goes silent.
Then chaos.
Sage screams my name as Grayson staggers, hand to his jaw, eyes gone sharp and wild. He recovers fast—too fast—and the next second, he’s shoving me back hard enough that my shoulder slams into the concrete pillar behind me.
I see red.
He’s grinning again, teeth bloody. “There it is,” he breathes. “The temper they warned me about.”
I swing again, but Sage’s voice cuts through the haze. “Stop it! Leo, stop!”
She throws herself between us, palms pressed to my chest, trembling. Her eyes find mine, wide and desperate. “He wants this. Don’t give him what he wants.”
Her words barely register. All I can see is him—smirking behind her, standing too damn close, like she’s a shield instead of a person. My jaw locks, adrenaline burning hot and wild.
“Move, Sage.” My voice comes out low, strained. “I mean it.”
She doesn’t move. “Please,” she whispers. “Just… please.”
Something in the way she says it cracks me open. I step back, fists still clenched, chest heaving. My whole body shakes with the effort of stopping.
Grayson watches us with that same smug detachment, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “She was mine first,” he says casually, like we’re talking about borrowed property. “And she’ll come back. They always do.”
The words detonate.
Before I can stop myself, I’m moving again—but this time, Sage catches me by the hoodie, yanking me back with more strength than I thought she had. “Enough!” she cries. “He’s not worth it!”
The fury drains out all at once, leaving me dizzy, hollow.
Grayson smirks one last time and turns toward the exit. “See you around, Voss.”
The echo of his footsteps fades into the hum of the garage lights, and for a long, awful moment, the only sound left is Sage’s ragged breathing.
She sinks against the car, shaking. I reach for her, but she flinches.
The distance between us has never felt wider.