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And I’m still here.

Chapter thirty

Liam

Thisgirl’sadangeroushabit—tight, wrecked, soaked in everything I couldn’t say.

And I fucking ghosted her.

Left her tangled in the aftermath, skin flushed, lips swollen from saying my name—while I slipped out like it was nothing.

Now I’m skating like a man with something to outrun—and every second, I feel it pulling me back to her.

The rink’s cold. Too cold. It bites through layers of gear like it’s got something to prove. My blades cut the ice with the usual speed, but there’s no fire behind it today.

No focus.

Just motion.

Repetition.

Going through the drills like a machine with its wires crossed.

Coach’s voice sounds like it's coming from underwater. The echo of pucks slamming against boards mixes with the shout of plays and cuss words in passing, but none of it sinks in. I’m not really here.

I’m still back in her bed.

Or more accurately—standing over it like a goddamn coward while she slept, curled around a memory I didn’t have the balls to stay and make real.

I should’ve kissed her shoulder. Brushed her hair off her face. Whispered some half-ass promise I didn’t even know I meant yet.

Instead, I watched her like a thief and slipped out the door like one too.

The drills blur together. My timing’s off. I miss an easy pass. I barely react to a slapshot that skims too close to my skate. When Coach finally blows the whistle, his glare is hard enough to crack glass.

“Liam! Get your fucking head in the game!”

I don’t answer. Just skate to the side, jaw tight. I yank off my gloves, flexing my hands like that’ll get rid of the tension coiled in my chest.

It doesn’t.

Nothing does.

Not the ice. Not the noise. Not the endless loop of last night—her gasping my name, her nails raking down my back, the way she shook underneath me

Aiden’s waiting by the boards when I finally make my way off the ice. He’s got that laid-back posture that always makes him look like he owns the world without needing to prove it.

“Thought you were gonna knock your own teeth out on that last rush,” he says.

I shrug. “Wasn’t trying to impress anyone.”

“Good. ’Cause you didn’t.” He falls into step beside me, eyes cutting over me like he’s trying to read a game plan I haven’t written yet. “You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

“I slept.”

“Then I take it you didn’tlikewhat you woke up to.”

I stop walking. “What do you want me to say?”