Page 9

Chapter 9

Ginny

I sit quietly on the bleachers, keeping myself hidden just out of sight. Neither my father nor the guys can see me, and that’s how I want it. I just needed to see them, my guys—no, that’s not right, they're not my guys anymore. The need to watch them move across the ice, playing the sport they love with a grace that rivals even the finest figure skaters, was too great. The rink feels alive, the scrape of skates on ice echoing like music, the puck snapping sharply from stick to stick. It’s mesmerizing—but something is off.

Even from here, I can feel it. Sure, they’re playing well. There are no arguments, no glaringly obvious mistakes, but the passion—the heart that binds a team together—is missing. It’s especially noticeable between Blake and Chase. Carter was right when he said we need to fix the rift between them, and fast, before it goes so long that it can never be repaired.

Carter and Chase move as though they share one mind, their synchronicity a testament to their twin bond. Meanwhile, Blake is in the net, commanding his space like no other goalie I’ve ever seen before. His focus is razor sharp, his body moving with precision as he blocks every puck hurtling his way. But then, when Chase gets close, it all unravels, and he becomes a bumbling mess.

Chase seems to be Blake’s kryptonite, pulling his attention just enough to throw him off. I see the frustration in Blake’s body language—the way his shoulders stiffen, the way his movements grow sharper and more aggressive. He hates the mistakes Chase draws out of him, and it’s clear the tension between them is festering.

My thoughts drift as I watch them, memories of the four of us together flooding back. The laughter, the stolen moments, the love we shared—it all crashes into me, overwhelming and bittersweet. My chest tightens as I try to shove the emotions back behind the invisible door I’ve constructed to keep them at bay. It’s the only way I’ve been able to function each day since leaving them.

I can’t face those feelings; not now. My father made it clear long ago that I would never be allowed to have a relationship with anyone on his team. When I was old enough to notice the opposite sex as more than just skating partners, he shipped me away. And even if he were to accept the idea of me dating one of his players, he would have a coronary if he ever discovered the truth—that I wasn’t seeing just one of them, but three.

No. I refuse to be responsible for my father’s untimely demise.

I reach into my gym bag, pulling out my phone. Unlocking it, I scroll through a hidden album of photos—pictures of the four of us during happier times. Each image feels like a dagger to my chest, yet I can’t bring myself to delete them. I’ve tried, but every attempt ends the same: tears streaming down my face, my hand frozen, unable to press the delete button. Erasing those photos feels like erasing the love we shared, and I’m not ready to let that go.

“Since when do you enjoy hockey?” Antony’s voice startles me. It’s low and close, the heat of his breath brushing along my ear. My heart jumps as my phone slips from my hand, landing in my lap just before it could hit the concrete floor.

Quickly, I close the photo album, my eyes darting to the rink to make sure no one else has noticed me. My father and the team are still practicing, oblivious to my presence, and I exhale in relief.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, trying to steady my voice.

“Oh, just checking on some things,” Antony replies, climbing over the seats to sit beside me. His arm brushes mine, sending a wave of unease through me. “But why are you avoiding my question?”

“I’m not avoiding anything,” I say, leaning away from him slightly. “My dad’s the coach. I’m staying here now, so I’ll probably be going to some games. Just thought I’d check out practice and see him in action.”

“It wouldn’t have anything to do with the guys who approached you, would it?” Antony’s fingers brush the back of my hand, a deliberate touch that I quickly pull away from without giving him the satisfaction of seeing how much it unsettles me.

“I think you’re letting your imagination run wild,” I reply, shifting my body, attempting to put more space between us. “Why does it matter to you, anyway?”

He smirks, the expression dark and calculating. “I’ve invested too much time in our partnership for you to throw it away over some fucking cocks. I saw your phone, Geneva. Three men? Really? I wonder what your dad would think about that.”

His words hit like a slap, his tone dripping with venom. He stands, stepping back over the seats, leaving me frozen in place.

My heart races, my mind spinning. What the fuck do I do now?

I glance down at the ice, catching one of the players staring up at me. Through the helmet, I can’t see the face clearly, but something tells me it’s Carter.

Grabbing my bag, I leave the rink, the cold air outside biting against my skin as I pull my jacket tighter. My mind races with a storm of thoughts. I need to fix things between Blake and Chase—that’s priority one. But I also need to deal with Antony. There’s no way I can keep skating with him, not after what he’s become.

Settling into my car, I turn on the heat, my fingers trembling as I pull out my phone. Antony’s latest message flashes on the screen:

AntMan: Don’t make me tell your father what a slut you are. We’re going to the Olympics, then you’re free to go.

My grip tightens as I scream into the empty car, slamming my hands against the steering wheel. I need a plan—a way to take back control.

Scrolling through my contacts, I hover over a name I never thought I’d reach out to again. I don’t even know why I put them in my new phone other than I needed to have them, just in case. They didn’t have this number. It’s not like they could text me. There would be no waking up to a good morning message or a sweet I love you from them. But having it in my phone gave me some type of security. It gave me the choice to message them one day if I wanted to, and today is the day.

Carter.

My heart pounds as I type out a message:

Me: Hey Carter, it’s Ginny. This is my new number. We need to talk. You’re right. We need to fix Blake and Chase. When can we meet? We just have to make sure my dad and Antony don’t find out.

I hit send, exhaling as the message leaves my phone. Step one is in motion. Now, I just have to figure out the rest.

I wait for a moment, anxious for a reply, until it hits me like a freight train. He’s at practice. God, I feel so stupid right now. Antony has my nerves so rattled, I’m not even thinking straight. Dropping the phone into the console, I shift the car into gear and pull out of the parking spot. I need coffee with at least four shots of espresso in it.