Page 16

Chapter 16

Ryker

I stared at my phone, willing it to buzz with a message from Derek. Anything to get rid of Paige. I scrolled through our last conversation, the irritation building in my chest like a storm. Nothing new.

After what happened between us, I couldn't think straight. My fists clenched at the memory. Her defiance, her bringing up what had happened that night—it infuriated me. She didn’t know her place, didn’t respect the hierarchy we had.

Why did she get under my skin so easily? I hated losing control around her, hated how she made me feel. Vulnerable, exposed—two things I vowed never to be again. I could still feel the heat of her skin under my fingers when I grabbed her throat, her pulse quickening beneath my grip. The way she looked at me, not with fear but with something else... it unnerved me.

I tossed my phone onto the desk and ran a hand through my hair. The team was already dealing with enough crap without adding this tension between us. Weston’s disagreement over the potential Crowder acquisition had left the locker room in a mess, and now Paige was a constant thorn in my side.

The sun had barely risen, casting a muted gray light over my apartment as I pulled on my jacket. My mind was a tangled mess of thoughts about Paige, the team, and the looming trade issues. I grabbed my keys and headed out the door, determined to focus on the day ahead.

The drive to the rink was routine but offered a momentary escape. The city streets were still waking up, with only a few cars sharing the road. I navigated through downtown, watching as coffee shops opened their doors and early commuters hustled along the sidewalks. The hum of the engine and the rhythmic click of the turn signal provided a soothing background noise to my scattered thoughts.

As I approached the rink, the familiar structure loomed into view. I pulled into my usual spot and cut the engine. The air was crisp as I stepped out of the car, taking a moment to collect myself before heading inside.

Walking through the player entrance, I felt a sense of calm wash over me. This place had always been a sanctuary, a space where everything else faded into the background. The smell of ice and faint echoes of skates cutting across it filled me with purpose.

“Ryker,” called a voice from down the hall.

I turned to see Sandra, one of the secretaries, approaching with an unusual look on her face.

“Your father’s here for you,” she said, her words hitting me like a punch to the gut.

I stopped cold, every muscle in my body tensing. “Where is he?” My voice came out harsher than I intended.

She hesitated for a moment before answering. “He seemed to recognize Miss Adams. He’s in her office.”

For a second, everything around me blurred. My father here? Of all days? I swallowed hard, trying to push down the memories that threatened to resurface.

Nodding curtly at Sandra, I turned on my heel and made my way towards Paige’s office, each step feeling heavier than the last.

My pulse quickened as I approached Paige’s office, a knot tightening in my gut. What could they possibly be talking about? The thought of my father, with his polished charm and calculated words, conversing with Paige sent a shiver down my spine.

I pushed the door open without knocking. My father stood there, all smiles and smooth edges, leaning casually against Paige’s desk. Paige sat behind it, her face illuminated by the morning light streaming through the window. She wore a fitted blazer that accentuated her shoulders, her hair neatly pulled back into a ponytail. Her eyes sparkled as she returned my father’s smile, her lips curving up in a way that made something inside me twist painfully.

“Ryker,” my father greeted, his voice dripping with the kind of warmth I knew was reserved for his public persona. “I was just catching up with Miss Adams here. You didn't tell me you worked together.” There was a warning in his tone, an accusation.

Paige glanced at me, the smile lingering on her face but faltering slightly at my presence. “Mr. Kane was just sharing some stories about your and Brendan's childhood,” she said, her tone light but cautious.

I hated the look on his face, hated all of it. The ease with which he charmed people, the way he always seemed to know exactly what to say to make someone feel special. I couldn’t stand seeing him here, invading my space, making himself comfortable in my life where he didn’t belong.

“Stories,” I echoed, barely able to keep the bitterness out of my voice.

Paige’s eyes flickered with something I couldn’t quite read—pity? Curiosity? It didn’t matter. I focused on my father’s smug expression instead.

"What do you want?" I asked, my voice cutting through the tension like a knife.

My father straightened up, his polished demeanor never wavering. "Now, son," he began, his tone measured and patronizing. "After what happened this summer, I came to see what's gotten into you."

I crossed my arms over my chest, leaning against the doorframe. "And what exactly do you think has gotten into me?"

He took a step closer, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Your behavior has been erratic, to say the least. The outbursts, the attitude—it's not how I raised you."

"Maybe I'm tired of playing by your rules," I shot back, feeling the familiar burn of anger rise within me.

He shook his head, a disappointed sigh escaping his lips. "This isn't about rules, Ryker. This is about responsibility. You've been given an opportunity most people would kill for, and you're squandering it."

"Squandering it?" I repeated, incredulous. "I'm doing my job. The team is performing well. What more do you want from me?"

"It's not just about the team," he replied, his voice growing sterner. "It's about how you carry yourself. Your image reflects on more than just you—it reflects on the family, on everything we've built."

I could feel Paige's eyes on me, watching our exchange with a mix of curiosity and concern. Her presence only added fuel to the fire.

"And here we go," I muttered under my breath.

My father ignored my comment and pressed on. "Your outburst at the bar last month? With a fan? Completely unacceptable. You embarrassed yourself and this family."

"That was a misunderstanding," I argued. "I'm handling it."

"A misunderstanding that could cost your team significant donors," he countered.

I clenched my jaw, trying to keep my temper in check. "So this is all about money to you."

"It's about reputation," he corrected sharply. "It's about maintaining the standards we've set."

"Your standards," I spat out.

He raised an eyebrow, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Standards that have gotten us where we are today."

I felt my fists clench at my sides, the urge to lash out almost overwhelming. But Paige's presence kept me grounded.

"Look," my father said after a moment of silence, his tone softening slightly as if he could read my thoughts. "I'm not here to fight with you. I'm here because I care about your future. You're capable of so much more than this self-destructive path you're on."

"Self-destructive?" I scoffed. "It was one fight. One."

"Yes," he replied firmly. "You push people away, refuse to let anyone in—how long do you think you can keep that up before it all falls apart?"

The words hung in the air between us like a challenge, daring me to respond.

"I'm just glad Paige is here to clean up your mess," my father continued.

Paige's eyes widened a fraction before she composed herself. "Actually, sir, Ryker's been doing a great job," she interjected, her voice steady. "The team respects him, and he's been handling the pressure remarkably well."

I turned to her, my patience snapping like a brittle twig. "I don't need you defending me," I snapped. "Stay out of this."

Her expression tightened, but she held her ground, refusing to look away.

My father stepped in, his voice low and dangerous. "Ryker, that's no way to speak to a colleague," he admonished. "Especially one who's standing up for you."

I felt the blood rush to my face. "This is between us," I insisted, my voice rising despite myself. "Paige doesn't need to be involved."

"On the contrary," my father said, his tone icy. "It speaks volumes about your character how you treat those who support you. Paige is right—you have been doing well professionally, but your attitude leaves much to be desired."

I opened my mouth to argue but shut it again, words failing me. The room felt stiflingly small with Paige and my father both staring at me, judgment clear in their eyes.

Paige shifted slightly in her chair, breaking the tense silence. "Mr. Kane," she began carefully, "Ryker's under a lot of stress right now. Maybe we could all take a step back and try to understand where he's coming from."

My father gave her an approving nod before turning back to me. "See? Even now she's trying to help you navigate this situation," he said pointedly. "You could learn something from her approach."

The urge to punch something surged through me again, but I swallowed it down. My father's words echoed painfully in my mind— self-destructive path —and for a moment, I saw myself through his eyes: angry, lost, pushing everyone away.

But instead of responding with more anger or defensiveness, I forced myself to take a deep breath and nod stiffly.

"Fine," I muttered through gritted teeth.

"Brendan's disappointed in you too," my father said, his voice cutting through the room like a knife. "What kind of role model are you being for him?"

I felt a jolt of anger at the mention of my brother. The one who always did everything right, who never screwed up, who was always the golden child. My father's favorite.

"Don't bring Brendan into this," I growled.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Paige flinch at Brendan's name. Her fingers moved to her wrist, a subtle, almost unconscious gesture that caught my attention. What was that about?

My father didn't miss a beat. "Why not? He's looking up to you, Ryker. Do you really want him to follow in your footsteps right now? You think he's proud of how you're handling things?"

"Brendan's not perfect," I snapped back, my voice rising despite myself. "He's got his own issues."

"At least he's not lashing out at everyone around him," my father retorted. "He's working hard, trying to make something of himself. And he's worried about you."

"Worried?" I scoffed. "Or just waiting for me to screw up so he can gloat about it?"

"That's not fair. You're always such a victim, aren't you, Ryker? It's always everyone else's fault. Brendan cares about you."

"You don't know him like I do," I shot back, the words harsher than intended.

Paige opened her mouth to say something but then closed it again, her fingers still resting on her wrist.

My father stepped closer, his expression hardening. "This isn't about Brendan or anyone else," he said firmly. "This is about you and how you're handling things. You need to get it together before it's too late."

I clenched my fists at my sides, the urge to argue boiling just beneath the surface. But looking at Paige and seeing the worry etched on her face gave me pause.

My father took a step back, his eyes shifting from me to Paige. "I'm sorry you had to witness that, Paige," he said, his voice laced with false regret. "I wanted to speak with Ryker privately, but apparently, he can't be bothered." He reached out and squeezed her shoulder, the gesture meant to be comforting but only succeeding in making my blood boil.

My eyes narrowed at the touch. Fury welled up inside me, a molten core threatening to erupt. He always had a way of turning everything into a performance, manipulating people with his smooth words and calculated actions.

Paige's face betrayed a flicker of discomfort at the contact, but she remained composed. I could see her struggling to maintain her professionalism despite the awkwardness of the situation.

My father turned back to me, his expression hardening once more. "Remember what I said, Ryker," he said, his tone dripping with condescension. "Get it together before you lose everything."

With that final cutting remark, he turned on his heel and walked out of the office, leaving an oppressive silence in his wake. The door clicked shut behind him, and I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.

I stood there for a moment, breathing heavily, trying to collect myself. The tension in the room was palpable, and Paige's presence only made it more intense.

Finally, I looked at her, trying to read her expression. "What was that?" I asked quietly.

She shifted in her chair, her eyes flicking from the door to me. "What do you want me to do?" she shot back, a sharp edge to her tone. It took me by surprise, the bite in her words, but at the same time, I felt a flicker of respect for her. She wasn’t going to back down.

"What do I want you to do?" I echoed, my frustration bubbling over. "I want you to stay out of it! You don’t know him like I do."

She stood up, her eyes narrowing. "And you think I had a choice? He came in here looking for you, Ryker. What was I supposed to do, ignore him?"

"Yes!" I snapped. "Anything would’ve been better than letting him get—" I stopped. Get near her? Why the fuck did I care? It wasn't like she didn't already know him because of her relationship with Brendan.

But still.

I didn't want my father anywhere near her.

Paige crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at me. "You don’t get it, do you? He wasn’t just here for you; he was here for the team. He knows how important this team is to you."

"My behavior?" I scoffed. "He’s always been more concerned about appearances than anything else."

"Maybe because those appearances matter," she shot back. "To the team, to the sponsors—to everyone who’s invested in this organization."

The anger surged through me again, but before I could respond, something caught my eye. A bruise on her wrist, barely visible but unmistakable. My anger shifted instantly into concern.

I grabbed her wrist without thinking, pulling it closer to inspect the mark. Paige tried to pull away, but I held firm.

"What is that?" My voice was low and dangerous.

"It’s nothing," she said quickly, trying again to free herself from my grip.

"Don’t lie to me," I growled. "How did you get that?"

Her eyes widened slightly before she looked away. “It’s none of your business.”

My grip tightened involuntarily before I forced myself to let go. The anger simmered just beneath the surface as I watched her rub her wrist.

"It is my business," I insisted, struggling to keep my voice steady. “You’re—” I clenched my teeth. I refused to finish that sentence.

Paige looked back at me, a mix of defiance and something else in her eyes—something vulnerable. The sight made my heart clench unexpectedly.

“Just let it go,” she whispered.

But I couldn’t let it go. Not when everything inside me screamed for answers.

"No." I shook my head once. "I'm not leaving until you answer me: Who did this to you?"