Knox
The puck drops and the arena erupts. Noise crashes in from every direction.
There’s the roar of the crowd, the sharp crack of sticks on ice, the thud of bodies slamming into the boards.
The energy in the building is electric. It’s the kind that gets under your skin, making it impossible to stand still.
Normally, the second I step onto the ice, everything else disappears. That’s how I’ve always played. Focused and locked in.
But that’s not the case tonight.
Every time I skate past the glass high above the ice, my gaze zeroes in on Cheyenne.
She stands between Callie and Rina, wrapped in my name and number, her hair falling over one shoulder as she smiles at something one of them says.
She looks relaxed. Maybe still a little shy but far more at ease than she was when she first met Kia.
It’s not just that she’s here. It’s that she’s here in my world, fitting in like she belongs. I like it more than I thought possible.
A cluster of fans near the glass behind the bench point toward the suite.
A few phones are already out as pictures are taken.
I know exactly what that means. By the end of the first period, Railers Rumors will have grainy shots of Cheyenne in my jersey plastered all over the internet with some outlandish headline attached.
No surprise there.
It was all part of the plan.
Fake dating. Public appearances. Let people see us together so they’d talk. And her ex would finally get the message and move on. Her at my game, wearing my jersey with cameras pointed in her direction, was exactly what we signed up for.
What I didn’t anticipate was the way my chest would tighten every time I looked at her or she smiled at me.
That thought ricochets in my head just as the puck slides my way.
I react on instinct, cutting across the blue line and snapping a pass to Oliver before the defense can close in.
He feeds it right back, and I take the shot hard enough to make the goalie jerk sideways.
It clangs off the post and ricochets wide.
“Shit,” I mutter, pivoting and jumping back into the play.
On the next shift, I hit harder, skate faster, and push even more than before.
River glides past me between shifts, a grin tugging at his mouth. “You trying to win this game all by yourself?”
“Nah,” I say, adjusting my gloves. “Just trying to make up for the dead weight.”
He huffs out a laugh. “You’re in so deep.”
Even though I don’t respond, I know he’s right.
He claps a hand against my shoulder pad before heading back out. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
For the first time since I was a kid, I want someone to be proud of me. Someone other than my coach, parents, or teammates. Not even the fans chanting my name from the stands.
I want Cheyenne to watch me out here and see me in a different light.
Not as the guy making headlines or the man everyone thinks they have figured out, but as someone solid and dependable.
Someone who shows up when it counts. I want her to see that I matter out here.
That I’m a difference-maker for the team.
That beneath all the noise, there’s something real in me worth believing in.
Maybe that shouldn’t matter to me as much as it does. Maybe I shouldn’t care whether one woman in a suite high above the ice can see past the surface.
But it does.
And I do.
The thought has barely settled in before the whistle blows.
I coast toward the circle, catching my breath, when the guy next to me leans in. Knickerbocker. One of their defensemen. He’s big enough to throw his weight around, and clueless enough to think chirping is actually going to distract me.
He bumps my shoulder. “Putting on a show, McNichols?”
I barely glance at him. “How about you do us both a favor and worry about your own game.”
He chuckles and looks toward the suites. “Didn’t realize you were into reality stars.”
I remain silent even though my jaw locks hard enough to ache. There’s a ref less than ten feet away. It’s not worth taking the bait.
“The whole internet’s talking about her, man. Guess she needed a new storyline, and you’re the lucky bastard who got the job.”
My grip tightens on my stick as I continue staring straight ahead.
He leans closer, voice dropping as a few more players skate into position. “So, is she your new girl or is it just your turn?”
I swivel just enough to pin him with a hard look. “You should do yourself a favor and shut your fucking mouth before I do it for you.”
He smirks. “Touchy.”
The game resumes, and the next few seconds are a blur. Skates, sticks, bodies, and a scramble along the boards. By the time the play stops again, Knickerbocker’s on me like a fly on shit.
He laughs under his breath. “Always preferred redheads myself. I enjoy figuring out if the curtains match the rug. You get that far yet?”
My head whips toward him, and my vision goes red.
He glances up toward the suite before licking his lips. “Or… maybe there isn’t a rug at all. Can’t say I wouldn’t mind finding out firsthand. Think she’d be into a little two on one action? Or, hey, you can just sit back and watch.”
That’s it. I drop my gloves before the ref even finishes blowing the whistle, and my fist connects with his jaw hard enough for his head to snap sideways.
The crowd explodes as he swings, catching me in the shoulder before I drive him to the ice.
We go down in a tangle of pads and punches, helmets knocking together, the refs yelling as they try prying us apart.
Players on the bench are banging their sticks against the boards. I barely hear any of it over the blood roaring in my ears. He gets one glancing shot in before I pin him, landing another punch.
“Keep her name out of your fucking mouth,” I growl.
A striped sleeve wedges between us and then another. Hands grab at my arms before I’m hauled backward.
He’s still smirking as he spits blood onto the ice. “And if I don’t?”
When I lunge again, Steele hooks an arm around my chest while Laiken catches my elbow.
“That’s enough,” Steele barks.
“Box. Now,” the ref snaps, pointing.
“Cool it,” Laiken mutters under his breath as they drag me toward the penalty box. “Knickerbocker’s not worth getting tossed out over.”
The crowd is a mix of boos and cheers, the noise crashing over me in waves as I climb into the box and drop down on the bench before yanking off my helmet and shoving a hand through the damp strands.
Even now, I’m breathing hard as adrenaline surges through my system and anger simmers just beneath the surface.
The second I look up at the suite, I catch sight of Cheyenne standing at the glass.
From up there, she wouldn’t have heard a word he said. All she would’ve seen is me dropping my gloves and going after a guy, as if I snapped for no reason. Her eyes are wide, one hand pressed to the glass, the other to her chest. Concern is written all over her face.
There’s a fair amount of confusion too.
The rage inside me cools just enough for reality to settle in. Chey has no idea some asshole used her to get under my skin. And I don’t want her to.
River skates past the box and catches my attention.
“You good?” he mouths.
I nod once.
It’s a lie, and he knows it, but he lets it go.
I wanted Chey here tonight so she could see this part of my life and feel included.
So she could sit in that suite, wearing my jersey, and know I meant it when I said this was real.
Instead, I’ve given her a front-row seat to me losing my shit.
With my forearms braced on my knees, my gaze stays locked on her.
The penalty clock keeps ticking down, but my focus never strays from her. The only thought running through my head is that no one gets to touch her.
Not the press.
Or Dakota.
And certainly not some dickhead on the ice who thinks it’s funny to run his mouth.