CHAPTER 14
The air inside the rink is frigid, a stark contrast to the fire burning in my chest as I stand at the center of the ice, surrounded by an arena that feels both familiar and alien.
The bright overhead lights cast sharp shadows on the smooth, glistening surface, making it look like a pristine battleground.
I can hear the distant sounds of laughter and chatter from the few teammates gathered in the bleachers, their faces a mix of excitement and disbelief at the sight of me about to attempt something so reckless.
I glance over at Hayes, who’s standing just off the ice, arms crossed and a confident grin plastered across his face.
He looks like he was born to be in charge, and the fact that he’s about to guide me through this dare only heightens my anxiety.
I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but the pit in my stomach grows heavier with every passing second.
“Are you ready?” Hayes calls out, his voice teasing, echoing off the walls of the rink.
“Yeah, just—give me a second,” I reply, my voice sharper than I intend. I reach up and tug the blindfold over my eyes, letting the darkness engulf me. The fabric is soft against my skin, but the moment I can’t see the ice beneath my feet, my heart starts to race.
I take a tentative step forward, feeling the coolness of the rink seep through my skates. My body tenses, muscles coiling as I concentrate on the sound of Hayes’s voice.
“Alright, Miller,” he says, his tone suddenly serious. “Start skating forward. Just take it easy. You’ve got this.”
I push off with my right foot, gliding slowly. My instincts kick in, and I feel the familiar rhythm of skating return. I focus on the sound of his voice, using it as my guide. With each push, I gain confidence, allowing myself to move faster, the adrenaline coursing through my veins.
“Good, now to the left,” he instructs, and I veer slightly to my left, trusting him implicitly, despite the nagging doubt in the back of my mind.
“Keep going, keep going! You’re doing great!”
I feel a rush of exhilaration as I navigate through the rink, the air cold against my cheeks, my heart pounding in sync with my movements. But that excitement is short-lived.
“Now, turn right,” Hayes directs, and without thinking, I pivot my body.
Suddenly, a flicker of intuition whispers that something is off. “Wait,” I hesitate, but Hayes’s voice pushes me forward.
“Just keep going, Dakota! You’re almost there!”
I can’t shake the unease brewing inside me, the way he’s so casual with his directions.
I hesitate, biting my lip as I reconsider my next move, but Hayes’s enthusiasm pulls me back in.
I lean into his command, forcing myself to trust him even though the weight of our history looms heavily between us.
“Faster! You’ve got this!” Hayes’s voice crackles with excitement, and I push harder, feeling the speed rush through me.
And that’s when it happens. “Right again!” he shouts, and I can feel the panic rising in my throat as I realize I’ve veered too far. “No, left!”
“What? No!” I scream, my heart dropping as my instincts scream that something is wrong. I try to stop, hastily removing the blindfold, but it’s too late. My skate catches on the edge of the boards, and before I can even register the impact, I’m flying forward, arms flailing.
The world spins as I collide with the unforgiving barrier, the sound of the boards cracking against my body ringing in my ears. I hit hard, pain radiating through my shoulder and back, the impact jarring. I crash to the ice, stunned and breathless, the cold seeping through my clothes.
“Dakota!” Hayes’s voice slices through the haze, but I’m still dazed, the breath knocked from my lungs.
Before I can gather my thoughts, I feel hands on my shoulders. “Dude, are you okay?” Lance’s voice is urgent as he and Zach rush over, their faces filled with concern.
I groan as I push myself up, wincing at the sharp pain in my shoulder. “What the hell was that?” I snap, my voice raw as I glare at Hayes, who’s standing there, a mixture of amusement and guilt etched across his features.
“I told you to turn left!” Hayes protests, stepping closer.
“You lied to me!” I shout back, my fury boiling over. “You wanted me to crash!”
“Maybe if you listened, this wouldn’t have happened!” Hayes shoots back, his tone matching my intensity.
“Are you fucking kidding me? Is this your sad excuse for an apology?” I take a step forward, fists clenched as I glare at Hayes who’s fucking amused by all of this. “You think this is funny? You think you can just toy with me like that?”
Hayes steps closer, his expression shifting from playful to furious. “You’re the one who accepted the dare. If you wanted to back down, you should have thought twice before running your fucking mouth!”
I can feel the heat rising in my chest, a mix of frustration, anger, and adrenaline propelling me forward. “You know what, I’m sick of your shit. You think you are better than everyone, huh?”
I notice the rest of the team are now gathered around us, waiting and watching to see what’s going to happen next. The only thought running through my mind right now is how I want to punch that smug look right off Hayes’s face.
This son of a bitch has done enough.
“Not to brag, Miller, but you know you can’t beat me, on and off the ice,” Hayes says, pointing his fingers at my face as we stare down at each other. “So maybe think about that before you open your fucking mouth.”
“Get your fingers off my face right now,” I growl, curling my fingers into a fist.
“Or what?” Hayes scoffs, taking a step forward so we’re breathing the same air.
“What are you gonna do about it, Miller? Or should I remind you’re still the fucking bitch I used to hit.
” Hayes drops his stance, ready to fight.
The space between us crackles with tension, and I can see the spark of challenge igniting in his eyes.
I laugh, the sound foreign to my own ears, anger flashing through my eyes as I briefly glance around the rink.
“Guys, cut it out,” Lance says, coming in between us, as he gently pushes Hayes away.
“Dakota, let it go,” Zach says, putting his hand around my arm. I angrily snatch my hand away from his grip as I turn to walk away.
“Pussy,” I hear Hayes call out and in a flash, I connect my fist with Hayes’s jaw, punching the smug look off as our teammates try to stop us.
Hayes retaliates, landing a punch to my side.
Pain shoots through me, but I push through it, throwing another wild punch that catches him off guard.
We’re a mess of flailing limbs, shoving and grappling, the sound of our bodies crashing against each other echoing in the rink.
We are throwing punches at each other, each hit fueled by years of pent-up resentment.
“Stop it! You’re going to hurt yourselves!” Lance shouts, but we barely hear him. I’m too consumed by the rush of adrenaline and rage, the fight pushing all my worries aside.
Hayes shoves me back, and I stumble but quickly regain my footing. “You think you can just mess with me and get away with it?” I snarl, anger lacing my words.
“You started this, Miller!” he growls, stepping forward to throw another punch.
But just as we’re about to throw another blow, Zach steps in, grabbing my arm to pull me away. “Enough! This is stupid!”
“Let go of me!” I shout, trying to break free, but Zach holds me back, his grip surprisingly strong.
Hayes takes a step back, breathing heavily, and I can see the anger still swirling in his eyes, but there’s something else too—an uncertainty that wasn’t there before. Finn and Ezra stand by Hayes, trying to check if he’s okay, but Hayes angrily shoves past them.
“Let’s just cool off,” Lance suggests, stepping between us. “Both of you. Before someone gets hurt worse than Dakota already is.”
I glare at Hayes one last time, my chest heaving as I try to catch my breath. The adrenaline is still pumping through me, but the reality of what just happened hits me. I can’t keep letting him get to me like this.
“What’s going on here?” A familiar voice asks, cutting through the sudden silence in the rink. We turn toward the voice, surprised to find Coach River standing on the bleachers staring at us.
“Miller and Griffin, my office. Now!” Coach Rivera calls, shifting his gaze between us as he turns to leave.
The tension in Coach Rivera’s office is thick enough to cut with a knife.
I sit on one side of the room, arms crossed over my chest, while Hayes sits on the other side, his jaw tight, and his eyes staring straight ahead.
His lip is busted from where I managed to land a good punch, and I’m pretty sure my knuckles still sting from that blow.
There’s a bruise forming on his cheek and I discreetly smile at my handiwork.
My sides hurt from where he had punched me, and there’s a bruise underneath my right eye from where he had managed to land a good right hook. Mixed with the pain from when I’d crash on the rink, I feel like I was just run over by a train.
Coach Rivera sits behind his desk, arms resting on the armrests of his chair as he glares between the two of us. He hasn’t said a word since we entered the office, but the weight of his silence is worse than anything he could say.
“Care to explain what that was?” Coach finally asks, his voice low and dangerous. He looks between us, waiting for one of us to speak. When neither of us does, he slams his hand down on the desk, making us both jump. “I asked a question.”
“It was his fault,” I say at the same time Hayes blurts out, “He started it.”
We both glare at each other, and Coach pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration.
“Enough,” he growls. “I don’t care who started it. I care about how this team looks, and right now, both of you are making us look like a joke.”