Page 78

I stare at him. My hands flex at my sides. “It was a misunderstanding.”

He shakes his head. “Really?” he asks sarcastically.

Silence stretches between us. My pulse pounds at my temples.

“This wasn’t my idea, but I have it on good authority that I can’t keep both of you on the ice if all you can think of is pummeling each other. You and Eli are good players but you might be Type A…or was it C? Either way I know you are too high strung, and this is what you need.”

The breath locks in my lungs. There it is.Therapy speak.

If it wasn’t his, there’s only one person it could’ve been.

Sienna.

My jaw tenses. Coach’s face gives nothing away, but his tone shifts just enough to tell me he knows exactly what’s going through my head.

“You’re a leader, Caleb. You want your spot back? Act like it.”

I don’t say another word. Just turn and walk out.

But the rage stays.

I should be heading back to campus. Instead, I find myself here.

Coach Jacobs’ house. The porch light cutting through the early evening haze. My fingers tighten on the wheel. My jaw aches, a dull reminder of my father’s idea of a lesson. I press against the bruise, inhale sharply. I have survived worse. I’m fine.

I step out, climb the porch, and knock. My patience is already razor thin. If Coach won’t listen at practice, maybe he’ll listen here.

The door swings open.

Not Coach.Her.

Sienna blinks up at me, barefoot, still damp from a shower. Loose sweatpants hang low on her hips, the waistband untied. Her tank clings to her curves, thin enough to show she isn’t wearing a bra. Her hair drips against her shoulder.

I exhale through my nose, gripping the doorframe. Rage coils tight in my stomach.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice is steady, but she shifts, weight shifting from one foot to the other.

“Your dad’s still at practice, huh?” I say, already knowing the answer.

Her lips part, then press into a line. “If you’re looking for him, check the school.”

She moves to shut the door.

I shove it open and step inside.

She gasps, stumbling back. “What the hell—”

The door clicks shut behind me.

“What are you doing?” She presses back against the wall as I close the space between us.

I don’t answer. My hand wraps around her throat, pinning her in place. Her breath hitches. I don’t squeeze. Not really hard. Just enough for her tounderstand.

“This is your fault.” My voice is rough, low.

Her lashes flutter. “What are you talking about?”

I press my fingers a fraction tighter. Her lips part, a small, choked sound slipping free. I ease up, running my thumb over her mouth. Her skin is warm, soft.Toosoft.