Chapter 24
The smell of freshly brewed coffee fills the apartment as I lean against the kitchen counter, mug in hand.
The steam curls upward, fogging my vision for a second before I take a long sip.
My body aches from last night’s practice, but it’s a good kind of ache.
The kind that means I’m pushing harder than ever.
Brie’s heels click softly against the wooden floor before she even appears, and when she steps out of the bedroom, my chest tightens the way it always does.
She’s already dressed for work, wearing a fitted blouse tucked into a pencil skirt, her hair pulled back neatly.
Professional. Controlled. Untouchable and something about that just made me feel a type of way.
“Morning,” I say, my voice still gravelly.
“Morning,” she replies with a small smile as she adjusts the strap of her bag. Her tone is light, but her eyes linger on me for a second longer than necessary.
I set the mug down and rub at the back of my neck. “Sorry I was out cold by the time you got back last night. Should’ve waited up.”
She gives me that gentle shrug she always does when she’s trying to tell me not to worry. “Cameron, it’s fine. You were tired. I could tell.”
That doesn’t make me feel better. “Yeah, but you shouldn’t come home to an empty room. Next time, just call me. I’ll wait up, no matter how late it is.”
Her lips twitch like she’s hiding a smile. “And what if I come in at midnight? You’d still be sitting here half asleep, just to prove a point?”
“Maybe.” I lean back against the counter, folding my arms. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing.”
She shakes her head, amused, though a faint blush colors her cheeks. “You’re too much.”
She moves toward the door, clearly ready to escape before I can push further. But something in me doesn’t want to let her go just yet.
“Hold on,” I say, and she pauses, eyebrows raised.
“What is it?”
“Don’t I get a kiss before you run off to glower at Miranda and co?” I ask, half teasing, half serious.
Her blush deepens instantly, her eyes darting away like she’s considering whether to ignore me. “Really?” she murmurs.
“Really.”
She steps closer, her movements careful, deliberate, as if she’s negotiating with herself. Then, in one swift motion, she rises on her toes and presses her lips against mine. It’s quick but warm and sweet. The kind of kiss that lingers long after it’s over.
When she pulls back, she tries to cover her flustered expression with a smirk. “Happy now?”
“Yeah.” My voice comes out lower than I expect.
She grabs her bag and heads for the door, her posture straighter than before, like she needs the distance to catch her breath. The second the door clicks shut behind her, I realize I’m smiling. Grinning like an idiot, actually.
I shake my head and force the expression away, muttering under my breath, “Get it together, man.”
But the truth is, I don’t want to get it together. Not when it comes to her. I sigh and finish the rest of my coffee in record time. I’m supposed to be at the rink in less than two hours and I need to get ready.
The drive to the rink is quiet except for the low hum of the traffic and the steady rhythm of my fingers drumming against the steering wheel.
My mind is still caught somewhere between Brie’s lips on mine and the unease that’s been gnawing at me since the dinner party.
By the time I pull into the parking lot, I’m hoping practice will be enough to drown everything out.
Keith is already there, leaning against his car with his arms crossed. He’s never the early one, which is why I blink in surprise when his eyes lock onto mine the second I step out of my truck.
“You waiting for me?” I ask, pulling my duffel bag from the back seat.
“Yeah.” His tone is clipped, serious in a way that instantly puts me on edge. “Let’s walk in together.”
I arch a brow. “What is this, high school? You scared to go in alone?”
Keith doesn’t crack a smile. “Just humor me, Cam.”
That alone is enough to shut me up. We fall into step, the gravel crunching beneath our shoes as we cross the lot.
Keith’s shoulders are tense, his jaw locked like he’s working himself up to something.
By the time we push through the doors into the empty locker room, I know whatever’s coming isn’t good and I’m already anxious.
“Okay, what’s going on Keith? You’re acting strange.”
Keith waits until the door swings shut behind us before he speaks. “You need to watch your back.”
I dump my bag onto the bench. “Care to explain, or is this supposed to be cryptic advice?”
His eyes narrow. “I’m serious. Jack’s been running his mouth in the locker room, to anyone who cares to listen.
He has this crazed look in his eyes when he talks.
I’ve seen the way he looks at you like he’s waiting for the chance to screw you over.
And I don’t just mean on the ice. It’s like he’s obsessed with the thoughts of killing your dreams and that’s not something we want to happen. ”
The words hit harder than I want to admit.
I laugh, but it comes out dry. “Wouldn’t be the first time he tried to get under my skin.”
“No, Cam.” Keith steps closer, his voice low, sharp. “This is different. He’s planning something. I can feel it and I want you to be alert. Not paranoid that you’d have to stumble but alert enough that you would guard yourself before he comes in.”
I sit down and drag my skates from the bag, wanting the simple motion to ground me. I flip one over, running my thumb along the blade—and my stomach drops. A nick runs across the steel, barely visible but deep enough that, at high speed, it could’ve blown my ankle to pieces.
A cold chill slides down my spine.
Keith notices the shift in my expression. “What is it?”
I hold up the skate for him to see. His eyes darken.
“Son of a—” He cuts himself off, dragging a hand over his face. “See? This is what I’m talking about. That wasn’t an accident.”
I set the skate down carefully, my hands tightening into fists. “If Jack thinks he can end me by pulling this kind of crap, he’s got another thing coming.”
But even as I say it, the hairs on the back of my neck stand. Because Keith is right—this isn’t just trash talk anymore.
This is war.
Keith swears under his breath, pacing a short line in front of the benches. His fists keep clenching and unclenching, like he’s two seconds away from storming out to find Jack and make it physical.
“We need to tell Coach,” he says finally, his voice hard with conviction. “This isn’t just locker-room rivalry anymore, Cam. Tampering with your skates? That could’ve taken you out for months. You’d be done before the season even started.”
I shake my head, jaw tight. “No.”
Keith whirls on me. “No? Are you serious right now?”
“Yes,” I snap, louder than I mean to. The walls of the empty room throw my voice back at me, making it sound angrier than I feel.
“I’m not giving that lowlife the satisfaction of running to the coach like some scared rookie.
He wants me rattled. He wants me distracted. If I make noise about this, he wins.”
Keith stares at me like I’ve grown two heads. “Or you win by shutting this down before he escalates. Christ, Cam, you can’t just skate over sabotage like it’s nothing.”
I pick up the skate again, running my thumb over the jagged mark, the edge biting at my skin.
It makes my blood run hot, fury mixing with something else I hate admitting—fear.
But I force my tone flat, steady. “I’m not weak, Keith.
I’m not going to be the guy who tattles because Jack’s desperate for attention. ”
“This isn’t about being weak or a tattletale,” he shoots back, stepping into my space. “This is about being smart. Do you think anyone’s going to call you weak if you protect yourself? You could’ve been crippled today, Cam. Crippled.”
His words hang heavy between us. My chest tightens, but pride digs its claws in deeper. I shove the skate into my bag and meet his glare head-on.
“You don’t get it,” I mutter. “If I tell Coach, he’ll bench me until they ‘investigate.’ And while that happens, Jack gets what he wants—a clear path. I’m not handing it to him.”
Keith lets out a harsh laugh, no humor in it. “So what? You’re gonna play Russian roulette with your career just to prove you’re tougher than him?”
“I’m gonna beat him where it counts, which is on the ice,” I fire back. My voice is steel now, even though inside I’m still rattled. “He can try to cut my blades, mess with my head, whatever. At the end of the day, I’ll still be standing, and he’ll still be a bitter little prick in my shadow.”
For a moment, it looks like Keith might argue again, but then he exhales sharply, shaking his head.
“You’re impossible,” he mutters, grabbing his own gear. “Fine. Do it your way. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when this blows up.”
I don’t answer. Because I know he’s right—I know this is bigger than I’m letting on. But the idea of letting anyone see just how much Jack is getting to me? That feels worse than the sabotage itself.
So I shove the fear down, lace it up tight with my skates, and tell myself I’ll deal with Jack the only way I know how.
By burning him on the ice.
Coach’s whistle screams like an alarm and everything snaps into focus. The rink is suddenly a grid of lines and threat; the boards hum; the air smells like cold and metal and sweat. I skate out onto the ice and the world narrows to two things: the puck and the net.
“Gray! Eyes up!” Coach’s voice booms from the bench, sharp enough to cut through the noise. “Harder on the fore check! Don’t let up on the middle lane!”