Chapter 28
Cade
By the time I hit the ice, I’ve already run through twelve different ways to ruin Luke Dempsey’s life and rejected eleven of them for being too fast.
That is the problem.
Fast feels good. Fast is easy. Fast is what my hands want when I see that bruise on Bliss’s neck every time I blink, blue and purple against skin that never should’ve known his grip.
Fast is driving to whatever house Glory Days crawled back into last night, putting him through drywall, and letting the consequences sort themselves out after.
But fast doesn’t protect her.
Fast gives him a story. Fast gives him leverage. Fast makes him the victim if he’s smart enough to bleed in front of the right people.
And everything Bliss told me last night made one thing very clear: Luke Dempsey is smart enough to bleed with an audience.
So, I skate.
I skate until the blades feel like extensions of my bones and the cold air cuts the heat out of my lungs.
The rink is mostly empty this early except for the team and coaching staff, the overhead lights throwing hard white glare across fresh ice while pucks scatter black against the boards.
Five days until the season opener. Five days until Fury hockey stops being preseason noise and becomes the thing every person in this town watches like religion.
Normally, that thought centers me.
Today, it barely gets through.
I take the first passing drill harder than I need to, snapping the puck tape-to-tape with enough bite that Rider lifts his brows when he catches it.
“Morning to you too, psycho,” he calls, skating backward.
“Move your feet, Rider.”
“I am moving my feet. You’re just having a villain origin story before seven.”
Briggs glides past us with a puck on his stick and his usual lack of concern for personal safety. “Technically, this is his third villain origin story this semester. We need a punch card.”
Easton cuts across the blue line, smooth as hell and annoyingly controlled, because Wade plays like he was born with edges under his feet. “Five villain origins gets you a free felony.”
“See?” Briggs points his stick at him. “This is why Aura likes you.”
Easton’s head snaps up so fast he almost misses the puck Rider sends him. “Aura doesn’t like me.”
“She tolerates you aggressively,” Rider says. “That’s basically foreplay for law students.”
Easton shoots the puck so hard it cracks off the boards behind the net.
“Sensitive,” Briggs mutters.
I should chirp back.
Usually I would. Usually I’d tell Easton he’s one ignored text away from writing Aura’s name in his notebook with hearts around it, tell Briggs his mouth is the reason our team needs insurance, and tell Rider to stop encouraging both of them before Decker gets annoyed enough to end the conversation with one sentence.
But the puck comes back to me, and I bury the shot top corner so hard the rookie goalie doesn’t move until it’s already in the net.
Silence hits for half a second.
Then Briggs whistles. “Cool. So we’re all dying today.”
Coach barks for us to reset, and I do.
Drill after drill. Breakout. Neutral-zone regroup. Two-on-one rushes. Battle work along the boards. I hit harder than I should during contact, not dirty, not reckless, but enough that Rider grunts when I pin him and Briggs mutters something about me needing a licensed exorcist.
The ice helped because it gave my rage structure. Lines to stay inside. Rules to obey. Whistles to stop me. Systems to follow. A place to put the violence where it could be useful instead of catastrophic.
By the time we finish the final conditioning sprint, sweat is running beneath my pads and my lungs burn with cold air. My body feels better.
My head doesn’t. Ryan notices before anyone else.
He always does.
He’s leaning against the boards near the bench, helmet off, dark hair damp from practice, eyes sharp in a way most people mistake for quiet.
Decker doesn’t waste words. He doesn’t fill silence because it makes other people uncomfortable.
He grew up with enough hard edges that he recognizes them in other people, which is probably why he and I have always worked.
Briggs is chaos. Rider is half chaos, half weaponized grin.
Easton is control pretending not to be obsession.
Ryan is the one who sees the thing underneath.
He taps his stick once against the ice. “You gonna tell us why you’re skating like you’re trying to dig a grave?”
“Team meeting,” I say.
Briggs groans immediately. “Oh no. Is this about the group chat? Because I stand by calling it Chirp Kings. Democracy happened.”
“There was no vote,” Rider says.
“There was emotional consensus.”
“From you.”
“I contain multitudes.”
“Locker room,” I say.
That cuts through it. The four of them look at me, and whatever they see in my face kills the jokes fast.
Good.
I strip out of my gear slower than usual, not because I’m stalling but because I need the time to put every word in the right order.
The locker room smells like sweat, ice, tape, and the industrial cleaner facilities use to pretend hockey players are not a public health hazard.
Guys filter out in bursts of noise, towels over shoulders, showers running, music starting from somebody’s speaker before Coach yells to shut it off.
I wait until it’s just my guys.
Easton sits on the bench across from me, elbows on his knees, listening already.
Briggs leans back against his locker, still but not relaxed.
Rider is beside him, tape half peeled from one wrist. Ryan stays standing near the end of the row with his arms crossed, watching me like he knows whatever comes next isn’t going to be small.
I look at all of them.
Then I say, “Her ex is a problem.”
Easton’s eyes sharpen instantly. “Bliss?”
“Yeah.”
That one word changes the room. Briggs doesn’t joke. Not even a little.
Because Briggs knows Bliss. He knew her before I did, which is still one of the more terrifying origin stories I’ve heard because the idea of those two near chemicals explains half of Kimball Falls’ infrastructure problems.
“What happened?” Briggs asks.
“Enough.”
Ryan’s gaze doesn’t move from mine. “Define enough.”
I pull my shirt on, drag a towel over the back of my neck, and force myself to stay measured.
“Glory Days has been watching her. Controlling her. Hurting her.” My jaw locks hard enough to ache. “His kind of control leaves bruises.”
The room goes colder than the rink. Easton’s hand curls slowly around the tape in his lap. “Aura knows?”
Of course that is where his mind goes. I look at him and his face doesn’t change, but I see it anyway. The hit of concern. The immediate calculation. If Bliss is in trouble, Aura is in it too. If Aura is in it too, Easton Wade is already half a step from losing his mind.
“Aura and Charm know more than anyone,” I say. “They’ve been with her through it. Which means they’re in his orbit too.”
Easton nods once, sharp and silent.
Briggs pushes off his locker. “Where is he?”
“No.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You asked where he is with your felony voice.”
“I have several voices.”
“That one was felony.”
Rider glances at him. “It was a little felony.”
Briggs points at Rider without looking away from me. “Don’t police my tone when I’m being loyal.”
“This is exactly why we’re talking,” I say, and my voice comes out hard enough that they all still. “Nobody goes rogue. Nobody corners him. Nobody decides they’re going to handle this alone.”
Briggs stares at me. “You serious?”
“Dead serious.”
“That guy put hands on Bliss.”
“I know.”
“And you’re telling me we’re not touching him?”
“I’m telling you that if we touch him wrong, she pays for it.”
That lands because it was meant to.
I can see the same instinct in them that’s been chewing through me all morning. The simple version of justice. Find him. Hurt him. Make sure he understands.
But simple is dangerous here.
I look at Briggs first because he is the most likely to turn protective anger into a plan built entirely out of impulse and gasoline.
“This isn’t a drunk asshole who needs his teeth knocked in behind The Sin Bin.
This isn’t some guy mouthing off because he got jealous at a party.
He’s calculated. He’s been at this a long time.
He knows how to look clean while making her look unstable. ”
Rider’s expression darkens. “That’s fucked.”
“Yeah,” I say. “It is.”
Ryan’s voice cuts in, low and steady. “What do you need?”
“I need the ABC’s covered on campus,” I say.
Easton goes completely still.
I keep my eyes moving between them because this part matters, and it matters more than whatever satisfaction any of us would get from putting Luke through a wall.
“He knows Bliss’s routines. He knows where she works.
He knows her apartment, her family, her friends, the arena, The Sin Bin, probably knows where she buys tampons and the brand.
And after yesterday, he knows I’m watching him.
” I exhale slowly through my nose. “If he can’t get to her cleanly, he may try to scare her sideways. ”
Ryan’s gaze sharpens. “Aura or Charm become scare tactics.”
“Exactly.”
Easton’s jaw flexes once and Briggs goes quiet in a way I almost never see from him.
I keep going. “I’m not asking you to stalk them or scare them or make them feel like they’re under surveillance.
I’m asking you to be aware. Night classes.
Library. Parking lots. The walk from The Sin Bin to cars.
Parties. Anywhere one of them could get isolated without it looking like a setup until it’s too late. ”
Rider nods slowly. “Buddy system without calling it that.”