Chapter 8 Miles
Miles
The rink is a cold, sharp bite against my skin, the kind of air that cuts into your lungs when you pull it in too fast. My skates grip the ice, and every stride feels like punishment—me against the boards, me against the sound of blades scraping and sticks slapping.
I can hear Coach barking at us from the bench, his voice grating over the hum of the arena lights.
The first guy comes at me with the puck, and I don’t even think. My body lowers, shoulders squared, and I check him so hard against the glass the whole board rattles. His grunt of pain echoes, and I push past him, grabbing the puck like it’s mine by right.
“Jesus, Miles,” someone mutters, but I don’t stop.
Another shift, another body. Every single one of them feels like they deserve it, and I’m more than willing to deliver. It’s not practice anymore—it’s war. And every bastard in front of me is the enemy.
Out of the corner of my eye, movement pulls me, distracts me, and the blonde hair immediately catches my attention.
Chloe Ashford. Here. Why? Bella and a few others sit next to her, all bright smiles and confidence, tossing her hair around.
And Chloe—fuck—she’s different. She’s not smiling, not flipping her hair like the rest of them.
She’s sitting quiet, focused, watching us like she’s trying to figure out how it all works.
Her legs crossed, hands wrapped tight around a coffee cup, lips pursed just enough to drive me insane.
And my chest tightens.
“Thatcher!” Coach’s voice slices across the rink. “Get your head in the game, son. Focus!”
I grunt, pretending like I didn’t hear him, but I did. And it pisses me off even more.
Jamie skates up beside me, his stick dragging over the ice, his usual smirk tugging at his mouth. “The hell’s your problem?”
“Stay out of it,” I snap, not even looking at him.
Jamie skates right in front of me, forcing me to slow down. “Seriously. What’s going on? You’re gonna end up sending one of our own to the hospital, and then Coach will have your ass. Spill it.”
I exhale hard, dragging my glove over my mouth cage. “It’s her.”
Jamie follows my gaze, his smirk widening when he spots the girls in the bleachers. “Who, Bella? Don’t tell me you finally fell for a cheerleader. I mean, I get it. The skirt thing, the—”
“Not Bella.” My voice is sharp, cutting him off.
He pauses, eyes narrowing. “The new one?”
I don’t answer, which is answer enough.
Jamie’s grin fades, replaced with a flicker of curiosity. “Seriously, Miles. What the hell is it with that girl? You’ve been wound tight since yesterday. You gotta tell me what’s going on because right now you’re skating like you’ve got a death wish.”
Before I can reply, the whistle blows, pulling us back into drills.
The next twenty minutes are a blur of motion—passes, shots, checks. My body’s on autopilot, but my brain is a mess. Every glance toward the stands drags me back to Chloe. Her wide eyes track us across the ice, and I swear she flinches when I slam another guy against the boards.
“What the hell, Miles!” one of the defensemen snaps after I nearly take his head off.
“Shut up and skate,” I bark.
Coach doesn’t even hide his frustration. “Knock it off, Thatcher! This is practice, not a goddamn brawl.”
But the anger won’t go. It festers, boiling under my skin.
One of the guys—Hunter, our second line forward—grins like he’s about to chirp me. He makes a slick comment under his breath, something about me needing to get laid, about the way Bella’s looking at me from the stands. And then he adds in the blonde with the tits, low, casual.
I don’t remember making the decision. One second he’s skating past me, and the next my glove is fisted in his jersey, yanking him down hard.
My fist connects with his jaw, the crunch satisfying in a way that makes my stomach twist. He shouts, tries to shove back, but I’m already on him, driving punch after punch into his face, into his ribs, into anything I can reach.
The ice under us is slick with the scrape of our skates as we wrestle, his shouts muffled under the crack of my knuckles.
“Thatcher! Enough!” Coach’s voice booms, but it doesn’t register.
“Get the fuck off me!” Hunter snarls, but I’m lost in it.
Then strong arms wrap around me, hauling me back. “Miles! Enough!” Jamie’s voice, close to my ear, breath ragged as he drags me off the guy. I’m still straining against him, chest heaving, fists aching for more.
The whistle blows again, sharp and furious. “Everyone take ten. Now!” Coach bellows.
I shove free from Jamie’s grip, storming toward the locker room. My gloves slam against the wall as I rip them off, the clang echoing through the room. The bench screeches when I kick it, wood splintering under my boot.
Jamie follows, shutting the door behind him. He leans against it, arms crossed, watching me like I’m some caged animal ready to tear through the bars. “You wanna tell me what the fuck that was? Because you just went nuclear on your own teammate.”
I pace, dragging both hands through my sweat-damp hair. My chest is heaving, blood still pounding in my ears. “It’s Chloe,” I mutter finally, the name tasting bitter on my tongue.
Jamie tilts his head, curious. “Chloe? Who the hell is Chloe?”
I stop pacing, staring at him like he’s lost his mind. “The girl. The blonde. With Bella. The one you can’t stop fucking staring at.”
His smirk fades, replaced by dawning realization. “Wait. Wait a second. The girl with the—” He gestures vaguely to his chest. “The boobs?”
I glare at him. “Yeah. That girl.”
He whistles low. “Okay, Chloe. What’s the deal? Why are you losing your shit over her?”
I take a breath, steadying myself before stepping closer, lowering my voice. “Remember that car I had you get rid of?”
Jamie blinks. “We’ve gotten rid of a lot of cars, man. You’re gonna have to be more specific.”
“The red one.” My voice drops even further. “The night you brought Chipotle to the warehouse. The night I was babysitting.”
Jamie’s eyes widen, recognition dawning. “No. No fucking way.”
I nod, jaw tight.
“Holy shit,” he mutters again, dragging a hand through his hair. “That’s the girl? The rich girl you had stashed in the warehouse?”
“Yeah.”
He lets out a low laugh, half disbelief, half nerves. “What the fuck is she doing here? At our school?”
“I don’t know,” I admit, the words raw. “And I don’t fucking like it.”
Jamie studies me for a moment, all traces of humor gone. “Does she know who you are?”
I shake my head. “No. She was too out of it, and I was careful. There is no way she saw me or Rico. But it doesn’t matter. I don’t want her here. I don’t want her anywhere near us.”
Jamie nods slowly, piecing it together. “Okay. I get it. She’s a problem.
But listen—me and you? We’ll figure out why she’s here.
I’ll find out what the hell’s going on. But you—you gotta get your shit under control, man.
Coach benches you, we’re screwed. You can’t afford to keep losing it like this. ”
I sink down onto the bench, elbows braced on my knees, sweat dripping down my face. “I know.”
Jamie claps a hand on my shoulder, firm. “Then get it together. I’ll handle Chloe.”
I glance up at him, a sick feeling settling in my gut. “Don’t get too close to her.”
He smirks faintly. “Relax. I’ll just… ask some questions. That’s all.”
I nod, but unease coils tighter in my chest. Because if Chloe being here is a coincidence, it’s the worst fucking one I’ve ever seen. And if it’s not? Then we’re all in deep shit.
Jamie hands me the blunt like it is nothing, like we are two idiots hiding behind the bleachers instead of men with more sins than years under our belts.
The flame from my lighter sparks against the paper, and I inhale deep, lungs filling with smoke that burns sweet and low.
It spreads through me like heat under my skin, calming, slowing the pulse that has been hammering since practice.
I lean back against the hood of his car, exhaling into the late afternoon air, the gray haze curling upward. The silence between us is familiar, easy. Jamie’s grinning, like he knows something I don’t. Which, to be fair, he usually does.
“I haven’t seen you all day,” I say, handing the blunt back. My voice feels rough, like gravel against my throat. “And now I know why.” I shake my head, a low laugh breaking from me. “I can’t believe you had to fuck the principal’s assistant.”
Jamie throws his head back, laughing loud enough to draw looks if anyone else were around. His grin is pure mischief, mouth quirking as he drags on the blunt again. “It was all for you, brother. You better be thankful. That woman’s stamina is not to be underestimated.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Unbelievable.”
“Unbelievably helpful,” he corrects, smug.
Then he exhales smoke like a dragon, eyes glinting with the satisfaction of someone about to deliver a story.
“Turns out Chloe Ashford’s been transferred here.
Communications major. Should technically be in second year, but she’s picking up some first-year classes to catch up.
And—you’ll love this—she listed her address at East Pointe. ”
I straighten, brows lifting. “East Pointe?”
He nods, clearly enjoying the way I lean into every word.
“That’s… not exactly the neighborhood for spoiled rich girls.”
“That’s what I thought.” Jamie flicks ash onto the ground, passes me the blunt again.
“I had someone check on the net. Turns out Daddy Dearest had himself a hell of a scandal. Embezzled cash in Chicago Gold Coast and the whole damn Pointe. Now he’s rotting in prison.
All their assets? Frozen. Wiped clean. The family went from penthouse to—well—Pointe apartments. ”
I drag on the blunt, the smoke harsh this time, like it’s scraping truth down my throat. “Jesus Christ,” I mutter as I exhale. “I didn’t see that one coming.”