Chapter 46
LIVELY
The ice beneath my skates was the same as it had always been, but my legs felt as if they'd forgotten how to carry me.
Because Hailey Baleman, the only woman who could cut me off at the knees, and who did so every . Single . Time , now probably thought I was a pathetic fuck.
Every time my blade hit the surface, there was that familiar scrape, that clean cut through frozen water, but inside, everything was jagged. Raw. Broken into pieces that tore holes into the walls of my intestines, unable to be pieced back together no matter how hard I tried.
And damn it, I had tried. All night. Sleep had never come—just an endless reel of images playing behind my eyes like a horror film I couldn't shut off.
Her stunned expression as she'd overheard my parents threatening me.
The fury blazing in those whiskey-brown eyes as she'd confronted them.
The humiliation burning through my veins as she witnessed the one thing I'd never wanted her to see: how fucking powerless I really was.
The memory made me physically sick, my stomach twisting with a shame so profound it had teeth.
Two years of careful maneuvering, of building myself into someone worth noticing—someone who wasn't a helpless puppet struggling in near futility against his parents mapping out his life in their neat, clinical lines—all of it shattered in the span of minutes.
My parents had always been my dirty secret.
The elegant monsters who had birthed me, dressed me up like their perfect heir, and then proceeded to hollow me out from the inside.
I'd built my life around hiding that reality—crafting Lively Summers, charismatic hockey captain, into armor I never took off.
But she'd seen it all. The golden boy of Northgate University, reduced to a puppet dancing on his parents' strings.
A fraud. A coward who couldn't stand up to Mommy and Daddy.
So much so that she had to do it for him.
I'd always imagined that if Hailey ever saw the real me—the mess behind the mask—it would be on my terms. That maybe someday, when she finally stopped looking at me like I was something she'd scraped off her skate blade, I could show her the truth.
But not like that . Not with her witnessing firsthand how pathetic I really was.
And, as if that wasn’t humiliating enough, I'd also gone and blurted out that I loved her before kissing her like a fucktard who had no concept of consent.
“And I still loved you anyway.”
That memory made me want to crawl into the nearest hole and die.
That wasn't how I'd pictured telling her—not in some sterile hospital corridor with the antiseptic smell burning my nostrils, my face flushed with anger and embarrassment, my voice cracking like I was going through puberty all over again. I’d had a plan, goddammit.
Something romantic. Something worthy of her.
Not that pathetic, half-choked confession thrown at her feet like emotional vomit. And certainly not that kiss .
Her taste haunted me— sweet , that damn cinnamon chapstick imprinted in my memory. I'd crossed the one line I'd sworn never to cross. I'd taken without permission. For what? Three seconds of heaven that would torture me for the rest of my life?
What kind of bastard does that? The kind who’s never going to touch her again . That much was true.
She must think I'm fucking insane . Or worse, that I was trying to manipulate her into feeling sorry for me.
The sad little rich boy with the mean parents, using his tragic backstory to gain sympathy.
Just thinking about it made my skin burn with a shame so intense I could taste it, metallic and bitter on the back of my tongue.
She probably couldn't wait to be rid of me now—
“Summers! That's a weak-side coverage breakdown! Wake up and backcheck!”
Coach Gunner's voice sliced through my thoughts, sharp enough to draw blood. I blinked, realizing I'd been standing motionless at center ice, my stick loose in my hands like a forgotten prop.
Ah, shit. What the hell was I doing right now? This wasn’t the time or place for this!
That tiny voice in my head laughed, as if heartbreak was ever courteous enough to wait for a convenient time. As if there ever was a convenient time.
“Sorry, Coach," I called back, forcing charm into my voice with the same practiced ease I'd perfected over years of pretending everything was fine. I painted on a grin, the same one that had charmed professors and teammates and everyone except the one person who mattered. “Just strategizing!”
Coach didn't look convinced, but he didn't call me out further.
And, for the next few minutes of our set, I forced my body to finish the defensive zone coverage drill we'd been running, going through the motions while my mind remained trapped in that hospital corridor. But I could feel the rest of the team was watching me, their eyes following me across the ice, burning with questions they didn’t dare ask.
The humiliation of being rejected so publicly was enough, I couldn’t find it in me to make my heartbreak into a goddamn Heartbreak Anonymous group therapy session featuring the very same guys who saw it happen in the first place.
Coach blew his whistle, the shrill sound cutting through the cavernous space of the rink, signaling us to gather around.
As I skated to the bench, blades carving crescents in the ice, I felt the weight of another gaze on me—heavier, more potent, like a physical hand pressing between my shoulder blades.
I knew without looking that it was her, I could feel it like a sunburn on my skin.
But I kept my eyes down, focused on the ice beneath my skates, watching crystalline shavings fly with each cut of my blade. I couldn't look at her. Never thought the day would ever come but…here we were.
God, I was so pathetic.
“Alright, listen up,” Coach Gunner said, his voice gruff as both our teams gathered around.
Coach Hawkins was standing right beside him, her expression strangely excited…
like she knew something we didn’t. And I didn’t know whether or not I was going to like the words that were going to come out of Coach Gunner’s mouth next.
“We've got some good news.” He continued and I couldn’t help but exchange wary glances with Dylan at the twinkle in his eye. I was even warier at his dramatic pause that belied his lips tilting slightly upwards. “The repairs on the Rink Runners’ rink has been completed ahead of schedule.”
Despite him announcing this with a certain flourish, a stunned silence descended over the Rink Runners, not the jubilant reaction our Coaches clearly expected. I caught them exchanging anticipatory glances, clearly waiting for the whoops and hollers.
It didn’t come.
Instead, a murmur went through the Rink Runners, exchanging uneasy glances, shifting their weight from skate to skate. So even they weren’t so thrilled with the news, huh? They’d only just started to get along with the Blizzard Belles, after all.
“This means,” Coach Hawkins continued, her brow furrowing, “the joint practices will be ending at the end of this week.”
The news blew through me like a wrecking ball through brick. So this was it, huh? After this week, we’d go back to what we were before—distant stars in separate galaxies, occasionally crossing paths but never actually touching. The thought made my already wrinkled heart shrivel inside my chest.
“Now, we know this arrangement got off to a rocky start,” Coach Hawkins continued, glancing between our teams with something that looked suspiciously like pride.
“But you've all shown tremendous growth. So we’re hoping this spirit of cooperation will continue, even after you return to your separate facilities.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Where weeks ago there would have been cheers at the thought of having our own rink back, now there was only a heavy, uncomfortable quiet.
Coach Gunner cleared his throat. “We'll have one final mixed scrimmage today. So pair up and let's make it count.”
I could feel my teammates looking at me, waiting for me to break the tension like I always did. Normally, I’d have a quip ready, but my mouth felt stuffed with cotton and my thoughts were pretty much lagging.
“Hey, Cap?” Dylan nudged me in the side, concern lacing his tone. “You up for it?”
I really wasn’t in the headspace for it, honestly but I forced my lips into what I hoped was a convincing grin, slapping on that mask of charm like war paint.
“Bet y’all are going to miss us,” I drawled, the words feeling hollow even as they left my mouth. “I guess we should show you guys how the play is done, you know, as part of the goodbye package?”
The goodbye package.
Gina snorted, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder. “Please. Watch us wipe the floor with your big heads,” she retorted, her eyes gleaming with challenge. “Right, Hailey?”
My heart lurched at the mere sound of her name, my eyes betraying me before I could stop them, flicking toward where she stood.
And damn it, she was looking right back.
Those eyes were fixed on me with an intensity that made my shriveled heart expand in my chest. Ironic that she was paying attention to me now, after last night’s disaster.
“Yeah.” Her voice was quiet but firm, thrumming with a determination that sent electricity skittering up my spine.
I turned away before she could see the flush spreading across my face, pushing off the ice with more force than necessary. “Then let's do this!”
The scrimmage was brutal. Both teams skated like they had something to prove, bodies colliding with a ferocity that would leave bruises tomorrow. Every check was harder, every pass sharper, every shot more precise—like we were all trying to make our last moments on the same rink count.
But I couldn’t focus. Not really. Not with her out there, carving across the ice like she owned it, her dark ponytail whipping behind her as she intercepted a pass, spun past my defense, and fired a shot that found the back of the net before Matt could even react.
My eyes tracked her every move, helpless against the magnetism that had first drawn me to her two years ago—and was still drawing me.
But that was a torture that I was just going to learn to live with now.
The Belles erupted in cheers, Gina slamming into Hailey with a jubilant hug that made something dark and possessive twist in my gut.
Her rare smile—God, that pretty smile—flashed briefly, a glimpse of sunshine breaking through winter clouds before her game face slammed back into place.
I wanted to be the one touching her, the one making her smile, the one feeling the warmth of her body against mine instead of watching from a distance like some lovesick creep.
Shit. I turned away, adjusting myself discreetly as my cock strained painfully against my cup. The hard plastic dug into sensitive flesh with each movement, a physical punishment for my inability to keep my thoughts—and my body—in check.
When Coach finally blew the whistle to end the scrimmage, I was already moving, skating toward the exit with desperate speed.
The cold air rushed past my face, but did nothing to cool the fever burning beneath my skin.
That was when I caught a glimpse of her from the corner of my eye—Hailey, turning toward me, mouth opening as if to say something—the sight of those lips parting sending a jolt straight to my groin.
My legs pumped harder, blades digging into ice with frantic precision. I couldn’t stop now.
“Summers!” Her voice carried across the ice, slicing through the ambient noise of sticks and skates and conversation.
Not even if she called my name like that. Especially not when she called my name like that.
I pretended not to hear, pushing through the double doors and into the corridor with the force of a hurricane. The rubber mats beneath my blades offered less resistance than ice, making me stumble slightly but I didn’t let it break my momentum.
I couldn’t face her right now. Not after last night…not after what I did. I just…I just couldn’t right now.
The locker room was empty when I slammed through the door, everyone else still on the ice or lingering to chat. Thank God . The overhead lights flickered on automatically, harsh fluorescents revealing rows of empty benches and lockers standing at attention like silent witnesses to my breakdown.
I yanked at my gear with frantic hands, peeling off the layers that were burning my skin.
My jersey first, then shoulder pads, each piece hitting the floor with a dull thud that punctuated my ragged breathing.
My cock throbbed painfully with each movement, the ache so intense it was a literal cloud over my thoughts.
I shoved my pants down around my ankles and stepped out of it, staring down at the obvious tent in my boxers with a mix of desperation and self-disgust. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t do this—wouldn’t reduce Hailey to some cheap fantasy.
For two years I’d held that line, treating what I felt for her as something sacred, something worth waiting for.
But I had nothing left to wait for now. Now I knew exactly what she tasted like, what she felt like, what it was to finally, finally have her lips under mine. All that just to never have a chance with her anymore.
My fingers hooked into the waistband of my boxers, hesitating. Just a few minutes alone, that’s all I needed. Just enough to take the edge off, to silence the wanting that had become a physical pain.
If I was going to live with this ache for the rest of my life, couldn’t I at least give myself this one moment of relief? Just this once—?
The door crashed open at that moment, and my head snapped up towards the sound.
Hailey stood in the doorway, her chest heaving like she’d sprinted after me, wisps of dark hair escaping her ponytail to frame a face flushed with exertion.
Those whiskey-brown eyes that had stared at me with something close to pity last night, were now wide and stunned as they locked onto mine…
then dropped lower, to where my cock was currently straining against the thin fabric of my boxers, the outline leaving nothing to the imagination.
Shit.