Page 12

Chapter 12

Ryker

I woke up with a pounding headache, remnants of last night's confrontation with Paige echoing in my mind. My body ached for release, so I headed to the rink. Ice was the only place where things made sense.

Stepping onto the cold, smooth surface, I felt a semblance of peace. The chill in the air bit at my skin, but I welcomed it. I skated to the center, letting my muscles stretch and my mind clear. The weight of my father's expectations hung heavy, a shadow I could never quite shake.

The familiar sound of pucks hitting the boards caught my attention. Rowan Blackwell and Weston Cole were already there, taking shots at Kellan Bishop. Rowan, built like a tank with scruff that gave him a wild look, was one of our vets. His intensity matched his appearance. Every slapshot he took reverberated through the rink.

Weston Cole was different—a man with a wicked grin and eyes that gleamed with mischief. His presence was magnetic, drawing people in despite the underlying danger he exuded. He shot with precision, each movement calculated and smooth. Another vet, and just as deadly.

Kellan Bishop stood in goal, his wild hair and manic expressions earning him the nickname Venom. Despite his eccentric appearance, he was one of the best goalies I'd ever seen. His reflexes were cat-like, and he stopped shots that seemed impossible.

I skated over to join them. Rowan acknowledged me with a nod, his eyes focused on the puck.

“Kane,” he grunted, “need to blow off some steam?”

“Yeah,” I replied, grabbing a puck and setting it up for a shot.

Weston’s grin widened as he watched me. “Rough night?”

“Something like that,” I muttered before launching the puck toward Kellan.

Kellan barely flinched as he caught it with ease. “You’re gonna have to do better than that if you want to get one past me.”

The tension in my shoulders eased slightly as we continued shooting pucks at Kellan. Each hit felt like chipping away at the frustration lodged deep within me.

“What’s got you so worked up?” Rowan’s voice broke through my thoughts.

“Nothing important,” I lied.

Weston laughed softly, shaking his head. “Sure doesn’t look like nothing.”

I didn’t respond, focusing instead on another shot. The puck sailed past Kellan’s glove this time, hitting the back of the net with a satisfying thud.

The ice offered no judgment or rejection—just pure, unfiltered relief.

Weston leaned against the boards, arms crossed, watching me intently. “Fuck, Kane, fucking going off on a fan in public? What the fuck did you think was going to happen?”

I sneered, my grip tightening on my stick. “I’m not a rookie, Cole.”

His grin didn’t falter. “You might not be a rookie, but even vets can screw up.”

Rowan fired off another shot, shaking his head. “He’s thirty, for fuck's sake.”

"A kid, far as I can see," Weston chimed in.

"Fuck off, old man," I said, though my heart wasn't in it. These two were guaranteed Hall of Fame inductees, both with exemplary careers. I looked up to them.

“For fuck's sake,” Rowan muttered again, his voice a low growl as he readied another puck.

I couldn’t help but twitch my lips. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Kellan’s wild hair bobbed as he nodded in agreement. “You know they’re right, though. That kind of stuff sticks around.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said, waving them off. “I’ll handle it.”

Weston’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Handle it by not decking another fan?”

Rowan chuckled darkly. “Or maybe just deck them where there aren’t any cameras next time.”

We all laughed at that. The tension in my shoulders eased a bit more as the camaraderie between us filled the rink.

“You got any advice that doesn’t involve breaking more rules?” I asked Weston.

He shrugged. “Keep your fucking cool and let the girl do her fucking job.”

“Adams,” I muttered, more to myself than anyone else.

Rowan raised an eyebrow. “The new girl? She seems sharp.”

“That's one way of putting it,” Kellan chimed in, his manic grin softening just a touch.

“Doesn’t mean she can fix everything,” I countered.

Weston sighed dramatically. “Man, you’re fucking hopeless sometimes.”

Rowan lined up another shot and glanced at me. “You know we’ve got your back, right?”

“Yeah, I know.” I skated over to grab another puck.

Weston’s tone turned serious for a moment. “Just don’t make it harder than it needs to be, kid.”

I looked at him and saw genuine concern behind the mischief in his eyes. “All right, all right. I’ll play nice.”

Rowan smirked as he took his shot. “For once?”

“For once,” I agreed with a nod.

We continued shooting pucks and trading jabs, the easy banter reminding me why I loved this team despite everything else going on in my life.

The rink echoed with laughter and the sharp crack of pucks hitting the boards or finding their mark in the net. For now, at least, everything felt right.

I skated over to the boards, leaning on my stick. "What about you guys? Why are you here in the summer? Don't you have couches to sleep on, Denny's to visit?"

Rowan snorted. "Denny's? Really, Kane? You think I eat that crap?"

Weston grinned, his eyes twinkling. "He’s just jealous ‘cause he’s not invited.”

Kellan laughed from the net, his wild hair bouncing. "I’d kill for some pancakes right now."

I smirked. “See, Venom gets it.”

Rowan rolled his eyes. “We’re here ‘cause we care about this team. And ‘cause we can’t let you hog all the ice time, pretty boy."

Weston’s grin widened. “Plus, it’s fun watching you blow off steam.”

I shot another puck at Kellan, who deflected it with ease. “You guys are a real support group.”

Rowan chuckled. “Just trying to keep you from doing something stupid.”

“Too late for that,” Kellan muttered, earning a laugh from the rest of us.

I sighed, leaning against the boards again. “You know what’s really stupid? Thinking this PR stuff is gonna fix everything.”

Weston shook his head. “It’s not about fixing everything. It’s about showing you give a damn.”

“I do give a damn,” I said through gritted teeth.

Rowan’s eyes softened for a moment. “Then let her help.”

Kellan nodded in agreement. “I'd sure as shit let her help me with all my problems. Seems more than capable.”

"You have too many fucking problems," Weston put in. "She doesn't have time for 'em all."

“Capable?” I scoffed, though my heart wasn’t in it.

Weston skated closer, his expression serious for once. “You’re not a fucking island, asshole. We’ve all got our shit to deal with."

“Yeah?” I asked, meeting his gaze.

“Yeah,” he said simply.

Rowan shot another puck, and we all watched as it sailed past Kellan and hit the back of the net with a satisfying thud.

"What's your problem with her, anyway?" Kellan asked. "If this were elementary school, I'd say you want to fuck her."

I clenched my teeth, the muscles in my jaw tight as steel cables. My problem with Paige? Where the hell to start?

But the thing was, I remembered that night. The night I tried so damn hard to forget. Wrapped up in her, deep inside of her, I thought I had my fill. I stayed away when she and Brendan were dating out of respect for my brother. Kept my distance, buried the desire.

And when she left him, it became so damn easy to channel all my anger at her. Made her the villain in my story because it simplified things. Black and white. Good and bad.

Until I saw her again.

Kellan's question hung in the air like smoke, impossible to ignore. "Well? Do you?"

"Do I what?" I asked through gritted teeth.

"Want to fuck her?"

Like he was asking about the fucking weather.

Rowan laughed, but it was a rough sound, almost bitter. "Kid’s got a point."

Weston shot me a look that felt like a punch to the gut. “So? What’s your problem with her?”

My grip tightened on the stick until my knuckles turned white. My problem with Paige? I still fucking wanted her.

Seeing her again ripped open wounds I thought had long since healed. Her laugh with Leo grated on me.

Fucking Leo.

She was fire and ice, tearing through my defenses without even trying. She knew how to get under my skin and stay there.

“Doesn’t matter,” I muttered, shooting another puck with more force than necessary.

Rowan caught my eye, his gaze piercing through my shit. “Bullshit, Kane.”

Kellan deflected the puck effortlessly, not missing a beat in our conversation. “You think we can’t see it?”

Weston skated closer, lowering his voice so only I could hear. “She's been here, what, a week, and she's already got your panties in a twist."

Kellan leaned against the goalpost, his grin wicked. "I'd like to see what her panties look like on my floor."

"Fuck off, Kellan," I snarled, my voice a low growl that echoed through the empty rink.

He smirked, eyes narrowing slightly as he took in my reaction. The bastard knew exactly how to push my buttons.

Rowan’s shot hit the back of the net with a loud thud, drawing our attention. He looked over at me, concern etched into his rugged features. “Ease up, Kane. Fuck, it's never this easy to rile you. What's going on with you?”

I clenched my jaw, skating over to the boards and leaning on my stick for support. The cold from the ice seeped into my bones, grounding me somewhat. But the irritation still simmered beneath the surface.

Weston skated closer, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “Yeah, man. You’ve been on edge since she got here.”

“I’m fine,” I muttered, not meeting their gazes.

“Bullshit,” Rowan shot back again, setting up another puck for a slapshot.

Kellan pushed off from the goalpost and skated toward me, his smirk still in place. “You know we’re just trying to help.”

“By talking about her like that?” I snapped.

Weston sighed dramatically. “Man, you need to calm the fuck down.”

Rowan’s next shot ricocheted off the post and zipped past us. “Seriously though, what’s the deal with you and Paige?”

“Just... drop it,” I said through gritted teeth.

Rowan’s eyes softened slightly as he skated closer. “Look, I don't do emotional bullshit, but if you won't talk to us about it, shut the fuck up and stop being a goddamned pussy."

"He means you can tell us, fucker," Kellan said.

“Even if you are being an asshole,” Weston added with a grin.

I let out a bitter laugh despite myself. They were right; I was being an asshole. But admitting that meant confronting feelings I’d buried deep for so long.

Kellan gave me a serious look for once. “Maybe talk to her instead of snapping at us?”

“Easier said than done,” I muttered.

Rowan slapped me on the shoulder. “Just think about it.”

“Yeah,” I replied half-heartedly as we resumed our drills.

I scoffed but didn’t deny it. “I already said it's complicated.”

Rowan snorted. “Isn’t everything?”

“Yeah,” I said quietly.

Weston’s eyes softened for a moment. “You gotta deal with your shit, Ryker.”

I nodded but didn’t trust myself to say anything more.

We continued our shots in silence after that, the unspoken understanding settling between us like a weighty fog.

My problem with Paige? She was still under my skin, still in my head.

And maybe part of me didn’t want to let her go.

Rowan shot the puck again, just out of Kellan's reach.

“That’s how it’s done,” Rowan said with a grin.

I couldn’t help but smile a little. Despite everything, these guys had my back.

“Thanks,” I muttered.

Weston lined up another puck, his eyes narrowing with focus. “Plus, with asshats like Soric and Lawton on the fucking team, Adams has her work cut out for her. The shit those two are going to give her?—”

I cut in, pointing my stick at him. “And what about you two? You got into it with a bartender last week, and you,” I pointed to Rowan, “nearly put Burt fucking Michaels in the hospital last season.”

Rowan shrugged, his muscles rippling under his gear. “I didn’t hear you complaining after he took that dirty swing at you.”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. The weight of being a Serpent pressed down on me like a physical force. “Being a Serpent is no fucking cake walk.”

Weston nodded in agreement. “Why do you think everyone is jumping ship except the assholes?”

“Is that what we are?” I asked, a bitter edge to my voice. “Assholes?”

Rowan’s eyes gleamed with something like respect. “I didn’t think you were one. In fact, I thought you were a pussy until I saw that video of you. Fuck, you can hit. Why the fuck am I fighting for you when you can fight for yourself?”

A twitch pulled at my lips despite myself. The raw honesty in Rowan’s words hit harder than any slapshot.

“It’ll blow over,” Weston said casually.

I didn’t respond, my thoughts churning too fast to grab hold of any one thing.

“Kane!” a voice called from the door.

We all turned to see John Barrett standing there, looking every bit like a fucking cowboy—weathered but commanding, his presence filling the room.

“Let’s go,” he said, voice firm. “Meeting now.” He glanced at the others. “You boys getting ready before today’s practice? I just don’t want you dropping dead on my ice. I’m not in the mood for more paperwork.”

Weston grumbled under his breath, “Fucking meetings.”

Kellan shook his head, his wild hair flopping around even encased in his goalie mask. “Just when we were getting warmed up.”

Rowan slapped me on the back as we skated off the ice. “Come on, Kane. Time to face the music.”

We walked towards Barrett, who watched us with a mix of scrutiny and something akin to fatherly concern. The weight of what lay ahead pressed on me again, but for now, I pushed it aside and followed him out of the rink.

Being a Serpent meant dealing with this shit head-on—no matter how much it sucked.

What could another fucking meeting be about?

I glanced at Barrett, a sense of dread creeping in. The lines on his face were deeper than usual, his jaw set in that way that meant serious business. This wasn’t about practice schedules or team dynamics. No, this had the stink of something worse.

The footage. It had to be.

Fucking hell.

I trailed behind Weston, Kellan, and Rowan, my thoughts a tangled mess of anger and frustration.

"You have ten minutes to change, Kane," he said. "And don't fucking test me right now. This is your shit we're dealing with."

I wanted to argue, but bit back a retort. Instead, I followed the others to the locker room, trying to figure out what the fuck I was going to do about this. The press conference was supposed to put out the fire. Instead, it seemed to have fanned the flames.