Page 36

Chapter Twenty-Six

I glance over at Avery as we rejoin the crowd, masks back on.

She looks at me briefly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

I don't know what the hell this is between us, but I’m fucking reeling.

That kiss… Jesus . It wasn’t just heat. It was something deeper and that scares the shit out of me.

Even the way her hand fits perfectly in mine feels like I’m tempting fate by holding onto it.

We step back into the stadium, the floor thumping with bass, voices, and skates slicing the ice.

Aidric appears from across the rink, heading straight for us. His expression is carved from stone and his eyes are burning.

"I talked to my dad," he says, exhaling sharply when he reaches us. "He said we can trust Klein."

I let out a sharp breath. "You fucking serious?"

"Dead," he quips. "He said he's one of the good guys."

I blink. "Damn. Didn't expect that. Did he say anything else?"

Aidric shakes his head, frustration bleeding into his voice. "That’s all he gave me. Just said, ‘You can trust him,’ and hung up."

Avery glances between us, letting go of my hand. "So now what?"

I drag a hand through my hair. "We’re back at square one. No proof or leads. No idea who’s fucking with us. Did your dad say why Klein's been questioning us?"

Aidric rolls his eyes. "Apparently he tests the loyalty of the brothers by seeing if anyone will spill our secrets then reports them to the society."

I chuckle. "Fucking sneaky bastard."

Just then, a ripple of movement at the far end of the rink pulls my attention. I turn, and there he is.

Callan.

Sitting tall in a black wheelchair with Brogan behind him, beaming like it’s Christmas morning.

The air punches from my lungs. Beside me, Avery’s breath catches, eyes locked on him like the rest of the room has disappeared.

I stare after her, something sinking in my chest as she rushes toward him. Of course she does.

Aidric claps a hand on my shoulder. "It’s our boy!" He grins as he moves toward him. "Let’s fucking go."

I follow at my own pace, slow and detached. Yeah, I’m happy Callan’s here. He deserves every bit of love and loyalty the crowd is giving him. But damn, if it doesn’t feel like every step toward him is a step away from her.

Just when I thought maybe Avery and I were finally figuring things out, the real hero returns. The one with the memory loss, the girl, and—whether he knows it yet or not—the heart she’s still trying to give back to him. I fucking hate how much it costs me to admit that.

Before I can reach them, the lights dim and the tribute video begins.

Soft instrumental music flows through the arena as footage of Callan lights up the Jumbotron: him scoring goals, grinning at teammates, getting mobbed after a win. It’s everything good about him—everything we’re here to celebrate.

I stop moving, drawn in as I watch. But then, static crackles across the screen and the music shifts. The image flickers, and suddenly, it’s not Callan anymore.

What the fuck?

The video shifts to security cam footage of the arena parking lot. A timestamp glows in the corner. This was the night we smoked the Saints.

My stomach drops. There we are: me, Aidric, Slade, Noah, Callan…and Evan.

Jesus Christ.

I remember that night too clearly. Evan ran his mouth about our win against Northwestern and accused us of cheating. Shit got heated fast.

Evan’s hands are trembling as Aidric steps in, chest to chest. I jump between them, arms out, trying to de-escalate, but it wasn’t enough.

Evan keeps spewing venomous threats and accusations and Aidric snaps, driving his fist right into Evan’s gut. Evan doubles over, hitting the pavement hard.

Callan hovers over him, his face twisted with fury as he yells something I can’t hear, but I know the words. I remember every damn one. You wanna talk the talk then get up and walk the fucking walk.

Evan fires back. "You’re all fucking worthless! Watch your backs because I’m coming for you!"

The camera catches me grabbing him as he tries to stand then I shove him back down hard .

Suddenly, the screen goes black and whispers and accusations begin to spread through the arena like wildfire.

"Did you see what they did to him?"

"What the hell was that?"

"Do you think they're the ones who hurt Evan Sanders?"

My throat tightens. "What the actual fuck."

I turn to Aidric and his jaw is locked, eyes burning.

We’ve been hit again, and this time, we were slapped in the face with an audience to witness it.

I break into motion, heart pounding, fists clenched as I shove past confused guests, eyes locked on my group huddled near the edge.

They all look rattled.

"Was that real?" Brogan demands the second I reach them.

Aidric just shakes his head, still stunned, as he runs his hand down his jawline.

"I’m going to check the file," Brogan says quickly. "It wasn’t on the final cut. I triple-checked." She narrows her eyes at us one by one. "But when I get back, I want answers."

She doesn’t wait for a response, just spins and storms off.

Callan shifts in his wheelchair, knuckles white as he grips the armrests.

"That night…" he says, voice low. "I remember that night. But I’m not sure I want to remember what came after," he adds. He blinks a few times, slow and strained, like something’s trying to crawl back to the surface of his mind.

Aidric leans in, tense. "You remember what happened next?"

Callan doesn’t answer right away. He turns his gaze to Avery. "I remember you in the locker room. You heard us talking. We threatened you."

Avery’s eyes widen. "Callan?"

He closes his eyes briefly, then opens them, glassy and distant. "There was a…music box," he says slowly. "And a picture."

Avery’s voice wavers. "What picture?"

"I had it," Callan says, blinking. "The one of you and your mom."

She shakes her head. "No, I found that. Someone took it and left it for me at Faraway Archery Range."

His brows pull together, the pieces refusing to fit. "Someone stole it from me." He blinks again, a tremble in his hand now. "I…I don’t remember anything else."

None of us speak for a moment. The air is heavy with tension, the music still playing somewhere far off in the background like nothing ever happened.

Avery steps closer to Callan and rests a hand lightly on his shoulder. His breathing slows, but I can tell he’s shaken—we all are.

There’s no denying it anymore, someone’s been playing this game longer than we realized and they've now gone from watching to acting.

A sudden scream slices through the air, startling all of us.

"What the hell was that?" Aidric snaps.

We all search for the source of the noise as a ripple of panic tears through the crowd.

"Come on," Avery says, already moving behind Callan’s wheelchair. She grips the handles tightly and pushes him toward the commotion.

We follow, taking the wheelchair-accessible ramp toward the main entrance. The crowd parts in bursts of confusion and gasps and we get a perfect view of what has everyone freaking out.

A body lies crumpled on the floor, a growing pool of blood seeping beneath it.

My heart drops. "Holy fuck," I breathe. "That’s…Julian."

He was a former Ice Lord we dismantled and ruined. Callan was supposed to finish him off in the woods after. But this isn’t an old, rotting corpse. This is a fresh, recent kill.

I glance at Callan. His face has gone pale, eyes locked on the body. But I can’t tell if it’s recognition or just shock.

If the timeline of his memories serves accurately, he should remember Julian's demise. Or what should have been his demise.

"Shit," Aidric mutters under his breath, his jaw clenched.

The sirens of the arena’s emergency system blare to life, red strobes pulsing through the space as security swarms in, ushering people back and creating a perimeter.

Avery steps forward, wrapping her arms protectively around Callan from behind. And this time, he doesn’t flinch or shove her away. He just stares ahead, shaken and silent. By the look on his face, he remembers. Maybe not everything, but enough for that body to haunt his mind.

Hell, it's haunting all of us because as I look around, seeing all eyes pinned to us, whispers rippling through the crowd, I know… they know . Or at the very least, they're suspicious as hell.

Thirty minutes later, security is still trying to restore order and the crowd is dispersing, heading out the exit doors.

As we're shuffling away,movement down the corridor catches my eye.

I look closer and see someone wearing a black cloak and a mask eerily similar to our ceremonial attire.

I tense immediately. "There." I point.

We all watch as the figure turns into a side hallway, away from the chaos.

"That’s not right," Aidric says, already moving.

"Stay with Callan," I urge Avery as I break off from the crowd and follow quickly. The second the figure reaches the far end of the hall, Aidric and I close in.

"Hey!" I bark, charging ahead.

The figure jolts and bolts, but not fast enough. Aidric grabs him by the collar and yanks him back. I rip the mask off…

"Noah?" I snap, staring at his flushed face.

He stumbles, breathing hard. "Jesus, man. What the hell?!"

"What the hell?" I echo, slamming my fist into his shoulder hard enough to make him wince. "What are you doing wearing this shit in public? Are you trying to get us all killed?"

"It’s not real!" he protests. "It’s a knock-off just for tonight."

Aidric grabs the edge of the cloak, inspecting the fabric. "It’s close enough to get you mistaken for someone who shouldn’t be seen. We have fucking rules for a reason."

Noah runs a shaky hand through his hair. "I didn’t think it’d matter." His voice drops, cracking. "But Julian…and the video," he stutters. "We’re screwed, aren't we?"

Aidric steps forward, slapping Noah across the face when he begins to full blown panic. "Fucking breathe, damnit. You’re not helping anything by losing your head."

He glances down the hall, jaw tight. "Go back to the house now. No detours and no questions. We’ll meet you there."

Noah nods frantically and takes off down the opposite hallway, ripping the cloak off as he goes.

As he disappears, I run my hand down my face. "This night just keeps getting better."

Aidric exhales beside me. "Something tells me this is just the beginning."

By the time Aidric and I make it back to the front of the arena, Avery is bent over Callan’s wheelchair, her arms wrapped tight around him.

"Can I come see you soon?" she asks softly, her voice barely audible over the noise of emergency crews and guests being ushered out.

Callan nods, eyes tired but clear. "Yeah. I’d like that."

Aidric and I step up beside them.

"We’ll keep you in the loop," I say, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

"Whatever this is, whoever did it, we’ll figure it out," Aidric adds.

Brogan joins us, pushing through the thinning crowd. "That’s enough," she snaps. "It’s probably best if you all keep your distance for a while."

Callan shifts in his chair, clearly uncomfortable. "Brogan, come on. It’s fine."

She doesn’t look at him. Her eyes are locked on us. "It’s not fine. Not when the last video people saw of you had these two idiots at your side, throwing punches and making threats. Then..." She gestures to the blood stain on the floor. "One of your teammates ends up dead at your own benefit."

"Brogan—" I start, but she cuts me off with a glare sharp enough to slice skin.

"We’ll talk later," she mutters before grabbing the wheelchair and rolling Callan away.

Callan looks over his shoulder, giving us a faint smile and a small wave.

I glance at Avery. Her face is pale, her eyes wide and unfocused like she’s still stuck in that moment with Callan.

I reach for her hand. "We need to get out of here."

She blinks, turning to me slowly. "What?"

"We need to go before someone starts asking the wrong questions to the wrong people."

"He's right. We all need to get the hell out of here," Aidric says as he takes out his phone and starts typing out a message.

A second later my phone dings and I know it's a message to the group chat. I don't even need to read it to know he's telling everyone to go back to the house.

Avery hesitates, but then nods, letting me lead her to the exit.

And to think I thought the night might end with me fucking Avery on the roof or in my bed. Instead we now have rumors spreading about us and a dead body on our ice. Not to mention Callan is starting to remember more and more.

I know I should be spending more time with him as his memories return. He shouldn’t have to go through it alone, and one of us should always be there with him.

Avery takes my hand when we get in the car; her gaze locked ahead, but when I scoot closer in the back, she leans in and part of me hopes that maybe she won’t pick Callan over me.

She didn’t run off with him like she probably could have.

Instead she came with me and her hand is in mine, squeezing it like I'm her anchor to life.

And maybe, just maybe, she might be starting to be mine.