Chapter EIGHT Lexi
I'm still tasting the ghost of Wes's kiss, a mix of mint and rebellion, when we’re all back in the arena Monday morning. The ice rink echoes with the early-morning sounds of hockey practice—pucks slamming against the boards, skates carving into the frosty surface. I had been floating on a cloud of dangerous attraction all weekend, but now, being back here feels like walking into an emotional minefield.
The memory of his lips pressing against mine sends a jolt through me that’s half thrill, half dread. It was impulsive, intense, and everything I expected from Wes Jacobs, the guy who plays by his own rules. And yet, the slow dance and the warm expression on Noah's face keeps flashing in my mind, his kind-hearted captain’s gaze as genuine as his sportsmanship on the ice.
"Hey, Turner! Focus!" A voice shouts from across the rink, snapping me out of my reverie.
As I stand up to look for the source of the lilting words, the cold air bites at my cheeks. But it's nothing compared to the chill that settles over me when I see Cassidy Harper gliding onto the ice. She's like a winter storm personified—beautiful, dangerous, and entirely unpredictable. Her every move screams privilege, from her perfectly styled hair that never seems to fall out of place, even under a beanie, to the designer coat she shrugs off and hands to some adoring minion. What is she doing at practice? She should be at her own practice. Cheerleaders never attend the rough-and-tumble morning drills.
I know Cassidy from high school. She and her “squad” were the popular girls in school, the cliched crew that only dated jocks and spent their time primping in the bathroom between classes and bullying anyone who didn’t fit their criteria—which was ever-changing and mostly based on looks and how much your parents made. I never measured up, not that I cared. But I’ve always found Cassidy nearly intolerable.
And then she does something totally unexpected—she makes a beeline for Noah. My stomach drops as I watch her reach him, her hand brushing his arm in a way that's just shy of possessive. Her laughter rings out clear and melodic, but to me, it sounds like a siren's call—one that spells disaster.
"Turner, you okay?" someone asks, but I can't tear my eyes away from the scene unfolding before me. Noah looks caught off guard, his smile polite but strained as Cassidy leans in, whispering something that prompts a furrowed brow from him.
Jealousy is a spiked ball in my chest, each breath pushing the points deeper. I want to look away, to skate off this sudden, sharp pain, but I can't. I'm frozen, watching the girl who's had everything handed to her on a silver platter make her move on the one guy who's shown me kindness without expecting anything in return.
"Lexi?" The voice is closer now, tinged with concern. I finally manage to break the spell, glancing over to see one of the assistant coaches peering at me with a frown. "You sure you're good to go?"
"Yeah," I say, pushing past the hurt that threatens to spill over. "Just thought I saw something." But it's more than something. It's a clear picture of where I stand—or where I don't.
“Can you help Hartley suit up?” the assistant asks, and I nod woodenly.
I tighten the straps on Dean Hartley's gear, my fingers working mechanically, weaving through laces and buckles. He grunts—a sort of thanks, I guess—and I nod, keeping my face neutral. Inside, I'm a mess of tangled strings, each one pulling in a different direction and threatening to unravel me completely.
"Good job, Turner," Dean smirks, giving me an exaggerated pat on the back. "Got your head in the game?"
"Always," I retort, but it's a lie. My head is anywhere but here. It's stuck between the lingering burn of Wes's lips and the sting of seeing Cassidy Harper cozying up to Noah. I feel like an outsider in my own life, unsure where the boundaries lie, or if there are any left at all.
"Hey Lexi," Wes calls out from across the rink, and I brace myself. His voice is a siren—it's come to signify both danger and desire, and I never know which I'm sailing toward. I glance up to catch him watching me, that half-smirk playing on his lips, as if he knows exactly what kind of chaos he's stirred within me.
"Need me for something?" I ask, my tone clipped. Professional distance is my armor now, even though I want nothing more than to peel away the layers of doubt and insecurity that have settled over me like frost.
"Thought you might check my tape job," he says, patting his shoulder. It's an excuse, we both know it, but I walk over anyway because when Wes Jacobs asks, I somehow find it impossible to say no. I grab a roll of kinesiology tape.
My hands take over, pulling the collar of his jersey aside, adjusting the tape here and there. It's a dance I know by heart—distraction through action. Each strip I smooth down is another thought I push aside: thoughts of Wes, thoughts of Noah, thoughts of what it means to be caught between two very different worlds.
"Looks good," I finally say, stepping back. The moment feels heavy, charged with unspoken words and what-ifs. But I can't afford to dwell on them, not when there's work to be done.
"Thanks," Wes replies, and I can tell he's trying to read me, to find an opening in the walls I've built up overnight. But I'm determined to keep them standing, at least until I figure out how to navigate the minefield that is my personal life without blowing everything up—including my future career.
"Let's keep it professional, okay?" I add, and Wes nods, a shadow crossing his features. He gets it, I think. He has to.
"Of course, Turner," he says, and there's an edge to his voice that lets me know he's not just talking about the tape job.
As practice progresses, I throw myself into the work, tending to pulled muscles and bruised egos with equal fervor. Each ice pack I apply, every encouraging word I offer—it's all part of the role I play here. After practice, I turn from the main rink, my cheeks flushed with cold and exertion. I stomp my feet to shake off the numbness, stealing another glance at Noah and Cassidy as I head to the back hallway. They're deep in conversation now, her hand resting lightly on his chest. He laughs at something she says, but the sound doesn't quite reach his eyes.
Noah looks up and catches me watching.
"Lex, wait up!" Noah calls after me, his voice tinged with an urgency that knots my insides. He reaches up and pulls Cassidy’s hand away.
"Can't, busy day!" I call back, not trusting myself to handle a close-up encounter. I need space, distance – anything to avoid watching the guy I might have feelings for cozy up to someone else.
As I weave through the corridors, I remind myself that this is how it has to be. I can't control their actions, only my reactions. Lexi Turner, intern extraordinaire, the girl who has her act together even when her heart's a jumbled mess. And maybe, just maybe, if I focus hard enough on being that person, I'll start to feel like her too.