Page 21

Chapter fifteen

She’s in my head and on my mouth

Chase

I should’ve kissed her back like it meant nothing.

Should’ve smirked, shrugged, maybe tossed in a line about how I’ve had better. Instead, I drove off with my brain wiped clean and replaced with static.

Now I’m sitting in my kitchen, elbows on the counter, watching ice melt in my whiskey and hoping it might settle the riot in my chest. One cube cracks and splits down the middle, and I flinch like it’s a warning shot.

Zoe Carlson kissed me again tonight. Not drunk and impulsive in a photo booth this time. Not hidden behind a curtain, not something she could laugh off the next morning or blame on too many drinks and not enough sense.

This time, she kissed me in front of the press. In front of the cameras and probably half the damn league. She pulled me in with both hands and kissed me like she meant it, like there was no one else in the world but me. And I kissed her back like I really meant it.

Because I did.

And now I can’t stop fucking replaying it. The way she fit against me, the way she smiled against my mouth like the joke was on both of us. The way her fingers curled in my jacket, not ready to let go.

The second she stepped away, I watched her slide the mask back on. Cool and composed, because the whole thing was just strategy.

Because I was just strategy.

But I wasn’t strategizing, not for a damn second. And that’s the problem. Because she thinks this is fake, and I’m stuck somewhere between fantasy and free-fall.

She kissed me like it meant nothing, and I kissed her like it meant everything.

And it’s not just about the kiss. It’s her. It’s the way she laughs with her whole chest when she thinks no one’s watching. The way she gets quiet when she’s overthinking. The way she rolls her eyes and still lets me orbit her world as if I belong there.

My phone buzzes against the counter, the sharp vibration dragging me out of the spiral. I don’t even have to look to know who it is.

Sticks out for the boys ????

Ryan: Well, well, well look who’s in love

Logan: Goddamn it I was in a meeting and missed it live. someone send the clip

Jake: 10/10 kiss, chaz. excellent form. good hand placement. a little eager but we’ll let it slide.

Ryan: he def moaned into it

Eli: MOANED?

Jake: yeah man. the footage is right there. manhandled, blushed, then moaned. tragic

Me: I hate all of you

Logan: but you love Zoe…

Me: blocked.

Eli: so how long has this been going on exactly?

Me: this? the bullying? my entire fucking life?

Reid: no, dumbass. you being in love with Zoe.

Me: I’m not in love with her, we’re just dating

Logan: the nile is a river…

I stare down at my phone, thumbs hovering over the screen, knowing I should reply and fire something back, because that’s what I do.

But tonight, I don’t have it in me because for the first time, it’s not a joke. Not a crush. Not something I can laugh off.

My heart thuds once as I let myself think the one thought I’ve been denying since the beginning, and I blow out a slow breath, expelling the truth into the air, hoping maybe it’ll land somewhere safe.

I’ve been in love with Zoe for years.

Quietly. Pathetically. In that aching, too-scared-to-act-on-it kind of way. And tonight was the moment I realized she’s going to break my fucking heart.

Not on purpose, but because she’s pretending this whole thing is fake, while I’m struggling to pretend it’s anything but real after just one kiss.

Which is really fucking inconvenient considering we’ve got cameras watching, fans commenting, a whole fucking storyline being written about us, and she’s still treating it like a game.

Fuck.

I run a hand down my face and scrub at the back of my neck hoping that’ll ease the ache building behind my ribs.

I feel like I’ve been holding my breath since she kissed me at that damn wedding.

Since I felt the exact moment it turned real when I slid inside her, mapped her skin with my hands and my teeth and my mouth.

I should go to bed. Sleep it off. Chalk it up to adrenaline and whiskey and wishful thinking. But I already know what’s waiting for me in the dark—memories, silence, that damn lake.

I used to chase the noise. The bars, afterparties, girls I’d never call again. Anything to keep from sitting in the stillness too long. Drown the static in noise and neon and cheap tequila.

But I’m dating Zoe now, even if it’s fake.

And that means something. It means everything .

Enough to keep me grounded when every instinct wants me to run.

Enough to make sure I don’t reach for cheap distractions I haven’t even wanted since the night she crawled into my lap and undid me with one kiss.

And if I’m being honest, I haven’t looked at another woman since our one-night stand. Not really. There’ve been opportunities. Invitations. But all I see is her.

The sharp tilt of her smile. The way her voice drops when she’s about to say something she shouldn’t. The chaos and clarity she leaves in her wake.

So instead, I head for my home gym because I need to move. I need to sweat it out, burn through the tension coiled beneath my skin like a live wire. Because if I stay still too long, my mind drifts.

Better to fight my own body than my own head.

It’s a stupidly nice and fully stocked gym, because what else am I gonna do at two a.m. when I can’t sleep? Hockey keeps me moving, the team keeps me moving.

Zoe keeps me moving.

That’s why I was drawn to her in the first place.

Because she never let me get away with anything.

Because she’s so fucking bright , I don’t have to think about anything else when I’m near her.

I can let my brain shut the hell up for once and just breathe in the effervescence she doesn’t even notice she’s casting around her.

I’d toss out something cocky her way, and she’d roast me without even blinking. It was perfect. She kept me busy, kept me laughing. Kept me from drowning in it.

For years, it’s been enough. That push-pull, the tension, the banter so sharp it could draw blood. It was exactly the kind of connection we both thrived on.

Until we decided to get it out of our systems , and in the process, she ended up so deep in my system, I’ve got no shot of getting her out. And the worst part is, I don’t even want to.

I drop into a push-up, grinding my palms into the mat like I can burn the thought out of my body. Then another. And another. My arms shake, sweat stings my eyes, and my breath saws in and out of my lungs. But even now, straining and trembling with muscles on fire, I can still taste her on my mouth.

I tell myself it was just one kiss. One night, one headline. But the second I stop moving, I know it’s a lie. I could lose every game, take every hit this season, and none of it would wreck me like the thought of losing her.

Which is fucked, because she’s never been mine. Not really, not like that. And yet I’d take her any way I can get her. As a friend. A colleague. Her favorite target. Anything that gives me a reason to orbit her world a little longer.

I drop into another set, grinding it out as my arms burn and my chest aches in ways that have nothing to do with muscle. It’s not the pain that gets me, it’s the quiet. The way it unfurls after the noise fades, curling around my ribs. Nothing left but me and a brain that won’t shut the fuck up.

That’s when it creeps in.

The lake. The snap of ice beneath my feet. The scream Jordan let out when I slipped through the surface.

He didn’t hesitate. Just jumped in with strong arms, fast reflexes. He lifted me up first, but he couldn’t get himself up.

I ran for help barefoot. Half-frozen, blood dripping from my heel, lungs ripped raw and screaming for someone to do something .

They got him out eventually, but I hadn’t run fast enough.

Hypothermia. Frostbite. A couple of toes gone. And with them, every hockey dream he’d ever had.

He was fifteen. I was ten.

And even though no one ever said the words out loud, I’ve spent every year since knowing the truth. It should’ve been me. I was the one who fell through, he was the one who paid for it.

My mistake, his cost.

That’s why I never answer their calls. Why I didn’t tell them about the sex tape. Why I can’t look my mom in the eye when she video calls on my birthday.

Because no matter how many games I win, how many goals I score, how many headlines I make, I’m still just the kid who ruined everything for his big brother.

And Zoe’s the only thing that’s ever made the noise stop.

Now she’s in my head and on my mouth. Now I’m spiraling because she kissed me and didn’t mean it, but I did.

I haul myself off the mat, chest heaving and sweat slicking down my spine. My body is wrecked, so I head for the shower, dragging my heavy limbs across the tiles. I already know I won’t sleep tonight because I never sleep on nights like this.

Not when the world goes quiet, not when the silence gets too loud. Not when my brain remembers what I’m trying to forget.

And definitely not after tasting her and knowing I’ll never be able to pretend again.