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Chapter thirty

Liam

T his girl’s a dangerous habit—tight, wrecked, soaked in everything I couldn’t say.

And I fucking ghosted her.

Left her tangled in the aftermath, skin flushed, lips swollen from saying my name—while I slipped out like it was nothing.

Now I’m skating like a man with something to outrun—and every second, I feel it pulling me back to her.

The rink’s cold. Too cold. It bites through layers of gear like it’s got something to prove. My blades cut the ice with the usual speed, but there’s no fire behind it today.

No focus.

Just motion.

Repetition.

Going through the drills like a machine with its wires crossed.

Coach’s voice sounds like it's coming from underwater. The echo of pucks slamming against boards mixes with the shout of plays and cuss words in passing, but none of it sinks in. I’m not really here.

I’m still back in her bed.

Or more accurately—standing over it like a goddamn coward while she slept, curled around a memory I didn’t have the balls to stay and make real.

I should’ve kissed her shoulder. Brushed her hair off her face. Whispered some half-ass promise I didn’t even know I meant yet.

Instead, I watched her like a thief and slipped out the door like one too.

The drills blur together. My timing’s off. I miss an easy pass. I barely react to a slapshot that skims too close to my skate. When Coach finally blows the whistle, his glare is hard enough to crack glass.

“Liam! Get your fucking head in the game!”

I don’t answer. Just skate to the side, jaw tight. I yank off my gloves, flexing my hands like that’ll get rid of the tension coiled in my chest.

It doesn’t.

Nothing does.

Not the ice. Not the noise. Not the endless loop of last night—her gasping my name, her nails raking down my back, the way she shook underneath me

Aiden’s waiting by the boards when I finally make my way off the ice. He’s got that laid-back posture that always makes him look like he owns the world without needing to prove it.

“Thought you were gonna knock your own teeth out on that last rush,” he says.

I shrug. “Wasn’t trying to impress anyone.”

“Good. ’Cause you didn’t.” He falls into step beside me, eyes cutting over me like he’s trying to read a game plan I haven’t written yet. “You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

“I slept.”

“Then I take it you didn’t like what you woke up to.”

I stop walking. “What do you want me to say?”

He holds up his hands. “Nothing, if that’s what you need. But you look like a guy about to break something, and I’d rather it not be my face.”

I exhale hard, dragging my hands down my face. “It’s Katarina.”

Aiden doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t raise a brow. Just waits.

“I left,” I admit, the words cutting their way out. “She was asleep. I just… couldn’t do it. I panicked. It was all feeling too real. Too fucking much.”

He leans against the wall. “You ever think maybe real’s what you’ve been needing and you just didn’t know it yet?”

“I don’t even know what it is. What we are.”

“You looked wrecked, man. Like someone gutted you and left you walking. So, figure it the fuck out before it eats you alive.” He grabs my shoulder. "I know what you need…"

This ride ain’t for fun. This was Aiden’s call—said I needed to shake the ice off my spine before Coach benched me for good.

Said I looked like I was skating with a noose around my neck.

He's not wrong. I'm not able to to take the bike out much, but when I do, it's mostly just because I need the wind to beat the fuck out of my thoughts.

Because I need to move before the pressure in my chest detonates and takes half the goddamn team with it.

Our engines rumble as we hit the open highway. Wind tears at my jacket, howls past my helmet. It’s not an absolution. It’s survival. The only thing keeping me from exploding.

Every time her face flashes in my mind—those storm-gray eyes, that wrecked whisper of my name—I throttle harder. The engine growls like it’s ready to tear pavement off the bones of the earth.

We fly past pine groves and open stretches of sunbaked asphalt, heat baking through our gear. It’s loud. Brutal. Everything I need.

I don’t want quiet. Quiet makes room for guilt.

We stop at a rest area near the coast. Aiden parks first. I follow, cut the engine, rip off my helmet, and sit.

“Still feel like running?” he asks.

I shake my head.

“Out with it.”

I drop onto the bench, knuckles resting on my thighs. “She looked at me like I belonged to her.”

“She’s not wrong... that's what this PR stunt was for, right?”

“I don’t fucking deserve her.”

“No one ever does, man. Doesn’t mean you don’t try.”

I blow out a breath. “Griffin saw the fucking photos. He aint just mad... he’s ready to scorch earth.”

Aiden cuts his eyes, “Yeah, well, I’ve gone toe-to-toe with that motherfucker more than once. He sees red when it comes to his sister.” He shrugs matter-of-factly. “You’ve got your work cut out for you.”

“He’s not just her brother, Aiden. He’s got clout. League contacts. Press buddies. He wants to ruin me and he can make it happen.”

“And what? You gonna let that stop you?”

I grind my teeth. “No. I mean, If he tries to drag my name through the mud, I’ll give him a reason to watch his fucking back.”

Aiden chuckles, dark. “Now that’s the rookie I know.”

“He thinks I’m using her. Like I’m trying to rub it in his face. Like I waited for this moment.”

“And did you?”

I look up, jaw set. “No. But I’m not backing down, either.”

He nods. “You shouldn't. This isn't just a PR stunt anymore. Anyone with eyes can see it. You’re in it.”

“Too deep.”

“Then swim, man. Don’t drown.”

We're back on our bikes. Up the coast. The sea wind bites at my skin, sharper now. My helmet hums with the sound of speed and resolve.

When we part ways near the edge of town, Aiden throws me a nod. “First game’s coming fast. You need to get your head in the game—on the ice and off.”

I nod. “I’m working on it.”

“Work faster.”

The road narrows as I take the long way home. Past the marina. Past her favorite cafe. Past every reminder that I walked away from something that felt like fucking home.

I park at a lookout. Kill the engine.

Griffin’s name coils in my chest like barbed wire—tight, cutting, impossible to breathe around. If he comes for blood, I’ll give him a reason to bleed first. He’s got this shit all wrong.

I didn’t fall into this. I didn’t plan it.

But I need her

That’s what messes with my head the most—how easy it is to fall. How hard it is to imagine climbing back out.

I pull out my phone. My thumb hovers over her name.

I don’t edit. Don’t overthink it.

Can we talk? —L

I hit send.

Because this time—I’m not backing down.

This time—I’m showing the fuck up.