Chapter 12 Finn
Kael is acting strange.
And that’s saying something, because Kael is always strange.
Quiet.
Controlled.
Ice-cold until he snaps into violence on the ice.
But now?
Now he’s... distracted.
He spends the entire warm-up staring up at the mezzanine hallway instead of the ice. He runs drills without his usual precision. And the second Coach calls a short break, he disappears into the tunnel like somebody set off a silent alarm only he heard.
Something happened.
I felt it earlier — in the way he said Wren’s name, too sharp, too clipped. In the way he kept his distance instead of hovering like he usually does when he thinks someone’s hurt.
And Wren?
Yeah. Something’s wrong there too.
She’s on the bench organizing medical tape into neat, ridiculous piles. She keeps doing it, over and over, like if she gets the symmetry perfect, her heart will slow down.
But every few seconds, her eyes flick toward the exit.
Like she’s waiting.
Like she’s afraid.
I skate over to the boards and lean my forearms on the top, catching her attention.
She startles. Actually startles.
It guts me.
“You okay?” I ask softly.
She nods too fast. “Just busy.”
“Harper,” I say, “that’s the answer you give when you’re not okay.”
She looks down at the tape, fingers tightening around the roll. “I don’t... I don’t want to talk about it.”
I bite my tongue. Hard.
Because I want to ask.
I want to push.
I want to demand to know who the hell hurt her.
But Kael pushing her seemed to make things worse, and Atlas was one second away from punching a hole through the table.
So I do what neither of them can.
I go gentle.
I drop my voice into something warm. “I won’t make you talk.”
Her shoulders go slack with relief.
“But don’t lie to me, okay?”
She finally, finally looks at me.
Her eyes are glassy.
Not crying.
Just... worn.
“You’re scaring me,” she whispers.
The words hit like a puck to the chest.
“Not you,” she adds quickly. “Everything. All of this.”
I swallow the surge of emotion that rises way too quickly.
“You don’t have to be scared around me,” I say. “I swear it.”
Her breath stumbles.
I want to go around the boards.
I want to pull her against me.
I want to tell her that if someone touched her, I’d ruin their entire life.
But I stay put.
Because if I push too hard right now, she’ll shut down.
So I lift one glove, palm up, offering—not insisting.
After a moment... she sets her hand in mine.
Just for a second.
Just enough.
Her fingers tremble.
I wrap gently.
Warmth to warmth.
“You’re shaking,” I murmur.
“Cold,” she whispers.
Lie.
But I don’t call it that.
I rub my thumb over her knuckles, slow and grounding. “You want me to stay close today?”
Her breath catches. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to.”
Something flickers across her face—fear, conflict, longing.
Then she squeezes my hand once and lets go.
Coach shouts for us to line up.
I push off the boards, but I keep my eyes on her as I skate backward.
And that’s when I see Kael reemerge from the hallway.
Jaw set.
Eyes dark.
Energy all wrong.
He’s found something.
He’s hiding something.
And Atlas notices too—his gaze snaps to Kael, then to Wren, then back again, like he’s connecting dots none of us can see yet.
The air shifts.
Something big is coming.
I feel it in my ribs.
In the ice.
In the way Wren tries to shrink herself smaller, as if trying to disappear.
Not a chance.
Not with the three of us watching her like predators with the same prey.
Practice starts.
But nobody’s head is in it.
Because Kael has a secret.
Atlas is vibrating with silent aggression.
Wren is barely holding herself together.
And me?
I’m realizing something ugly and terrifying:
I’m falling for her.
Fast.
Hard.
And there’s no slowing down now.