Page 3

Chapter three

Riley: Fire or Ice

T he sound of skates and testosterone echoed off the cold rink walls. I didn’t want to be here. Not at practice, not anywhere near Colton Hayes.

But Ryan had pulled the family card that morning. “Riley, you need to come to practice today,” he’d said, voice firm and unyielding. “Colton’s got a media interview after, and you’re supposed to keep him out of trouble, remember?”

I groaned into the phone. “Ryan, I have a job. A real one. I can’t just drop everything to babysit your charming disaster of a friend.”

But that’s the thing about being me—I’m always the one people count on to clean up the messes. At the shelter, home, and now here, making sure Colton Hayes didn’t ruin his life.

Again.

“It’s just for a couple of hours,” he’d said, his tone softening. “Please, Riley. I need your help.”

That was how I ended up standing in the cold, echoing rink of the Silver Ridge Arena.

Home ice for the Silver Ridge Icehawks. Instead of barking dogs, I am surrounded by the sounds of skates slicing across the ice and sticks clacking against pucks.

The air smelled like sweat and Zamboni fumes. I feel entirely out of place.

The arena was smaller than I’d expected. Faded banners were hanging from the rafters. And a handful of spectators were scattered in the stands. It was a far cry from the roaring NHL arenas Colton was used to.

I couldn’t help but glance at him, wondering how he felt about the downgrade. Was it humbling? Infuriating? If he had any strong feelings about it, he didn’t show them. But I knew Colton well enough to recognize when he was putting on a front.

I turned to Ryan, who stood beside me, arms resting on the top of the boards as he watched practice. "Has he said anything about playing here?"

Ryan shook his head. "Nope. Just laced up his skates and got to work."

I frowned, watching Colton skate. "Typical. Always pretending nothing gets to him."

Ryan shot me a look. "And you think you’re any different?"

I scoffed but didn’t answer. Maybe he had a point.

Colton was on the ice, effortlessly weaving through cones during a drill. Even I had to admit he looked good out there—strong, fast, and entirely in his element. It was infuriating, in a way. How could someone mess up that badly and still move like the ice belonged to him?

The other players laughed and joked with him, clearly drawn to his easy charm. It made me roll my eyes. Of course, everyone loved him. He was the golden boy, even in exile.

“Hey, sis,” he called, skating over to the boards where I stood. His grin was infuriatingly wide. “You here to cheer me on?”

“I’m here because Ryan made me,” I said flatly. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He chuckled, leaning on his stick. “You know, you could try to have a little fun. It won’t kill you.”

“Fun?” I raised an eyebrow. “Watching you skate in circles isn’t exactly my idea of a good time.”

He smirked, clearly enjoying himself. “You’re missing out. But hey, stick around. Maybe I’ll grow on you.”

“Like a fungus,” I muttered under my breath.

As he skated away, I couldn’t help but notice the way the other players looked at him. He was still their leader, even here in the minors.

I nudged Ryan, unable to keep the irritation from my voice. "Does he always get this much attention?"

Ryan smirked. "That’s Colton for you. People follow him. Always have."

I folded my arms. "Yeah, well, maybe they shouldn’t."

Ryan shot me a look. "And yet, here you are watching him just as much as they are."

I opened my mouth to argue but shut it just as quickly. Instead, I crossed my arms and looked back at the ice, watching Colton weave effortlessly between players. "I just don’t get it," I muttered. "Why does everyone still act like he’s some kind of legend?"

How did Colton do it? How did he manage to make everyone like him, even when he was screwing up?

Maybe there was something about him—beyond charm—that people naturally gravitated toward. I couldn’t shake the thought, which was inconvenient because it was a lot easier to hate him when he was just a cocky mess.

After practice, Colton insisted on introducing me to some of the team. “Guys, this is Riley,” he said, slinging an arm around my shoulders like we were old friends. “She’s my… what do you call it? My handler.”

I shrugged his arm off, shooting him a glare. “I’m not your anything. I’m just here to make sure you don’t embarrass yourself.”

The guys laughed, clearly amused by our dynamic. One of them grinned at me. “Good luck with that. Colton’s a handful.”

“Tell me about it,” I said dryly.

Colton, of course, took it as a challenge. He spent the next 30 minutes being his usual, insufferable self. He turned on the charm for the female reporters and cracked jokes with the team. He slipped into the role with the ease of someone who’d done it a thousand times before.

But then, for a second—so fast I almost missed it—his jaw tensed. His eyes flicked up to the faded banners like he was remembering where he used to be. Then, just as quickly, the cocky grin was back, and he skated out like he owned the place. A perfect performance.

I shook my head. Maybe I was imagining things. Or maybe Colton Hayes wasn’t as unaffected as he wanted everyone to believe. It was maddening.

At one point, he leaned over to me during an interview, his voice low. “You know, you could smile a little. You’re making me look bad.”

“You don’t need my help for that,” I shot back.

He laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I like you, Riley. You’re not like other girls.”

“And you’re not like other guys,” I said sweetly. “Most of them have a sense of shame.”

He grinned, clearly enjoying the banter. “Touché.”

As the interview wrapped up, one of the reporters turned to me. “And you are?” she asked, her tone polite but curious.

“Riley Carter,” I said, forcing a smile. “I’m just here to ensure Colton stays out of trouble.”

The reporter laughed, glancing at Colton. “Good luck with that.”

“She doesn’t need luck,” Colton said, his tone teasing. “She’s got a glare that could freeze the rink.”

I rolled my eyes, but the reporter seemed charmed.

“Well, it was nice meeting you, Riley. Colton, good luck with the season.”

“Thanks,” he said, flashing his trademark grin. “I’ll need it.”

We left the rink, and I kept telling myself not to get my hopes up.

He wore that smirk like armor, all charm and deflection. But I’d seen his eyes flick to those faded banners. That look had cracked something open. There was something underneath it all. Something he was working hard to bury. That gave me some hope.

We walked out of the arena together.

He glanced over. “Did you walk here?”

I nodded.

He pulled out his keys and hit the unlock button. “Come on. I’ll give you a ride.”

Wow. Colton is showing some awareness of others. That is a good sign.

“I’d hate for you to miss a chance to scold me.”

And just like that, the flicker I’d seen in him vanished. And I was reminded of exactly who I was dealing with.

“You know, it’s amazing how little self-awareness you have. Do you ever stop to think about how your actions affect other people? Or is it all just one big joke to you?”

He glanced at me, his expression unreadable. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you could be mentoring rookies and showing people you have more than raw talent. You’ve got a platform people would kill for. You could use it to support a charity. But no, you’re too busy making headlines. And not the good kind.”

For a moment, he looked like he might argue. But then he just shrugged, his usual smirk returning. “Maybe I like making headlines.”

“Maybe you’re an idiot,” I said, climbing into the passenger seat.

He laughed, starting the car. “You’re not wrong.”

As we drove through Silver Ridge, I couldn’t help but notice how different our worlds were.

The town was quiet. Its streets are lined with locally owned shops and weathered brick buildings.

It was the kind of place where people stopped to chat on the sidewalk.

It was a stark contrast to the fast-paced, high-profile world Colton had come from.

I glanced at him, wondering if he felt it too—the shift, the weight of being somewhere that didn’t quite fit.

Did he miss the flashing lights, the screaming fans, and the rush of being at the center of it all?

Or was he just biding his time until he could escape this place, back to where he belonged?

“So,” he said, breaking the silence. “What’s the plan for this whole babysitting thing? Am I supposed to follow you around like a lost puppy?”

“Actually,” I said, “you’re supposed to come to the shelter every day and help out for an hour. Consider it community service.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Community service? What am I, a criminal?”

“You tell me,” I said dryly.

“You’re something else, Riley James.”

He pulled up to the shelter and shifted into the park, but didn’t turn off the engine. “I’m just going to go back to my apartment to change. Then I’ll come back,” he said casually. "Promise not to get into any trouble or make any headlines while I’m gone."

He smirked, and I rolled my eyes before slamming the door behind me.

When Colton returned to the shelter, it was clear our earlier conversation had annoyed him. “You know, this whole babysitting setup is a little much,” he said, his voice sharp. “I don’t need to be—”

He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes landing on me as I struggled to lift a 50-pound bag of dog food. My arms were shaking, and my face was set in stubborn determination, but I wasn’t about to ask for help.

Without a word, Colton stepped forward, grabbing the bag effortlessly. “You’re doing it all wrong,” he said, his tone still exasperated. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

I glared at him, but he was already carrying the bag to the storage room. “I had it under control,” I said, following him.

His sleeves were pushed up, revealing strong forearms, and I hated that I noticed. Hated even more the way my stomach did a weird little flip. Nope. Absolutely not.

“Sure you did,” he said, easily setting the bag down. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

I shifted my weight and tapped my fingers against my thigh, trying to ignore the fact that he’d just helped me without hesitation. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

“You didn’t have to,” he said, his voice softer now. “I’m not a complete jerk, you know.”

I noticed the way his brow furrowed when he was serious. I was distracted by his hands, calloused from years of holding a hockey stick.

We stood there for a beat. He wasn’t smirking. I wasn’t snapping. It wasn’t nothing, but I didn’t know what it was. And I wasn’t about to overthink it.

Instead, I forced myself to look away, pretending the moment hadn’t happened.

“Thanks,” I said grudgingly.

He smirked, the moment passing as quickly as it had come. “Don’t mention it, sis.”

I cleared my throat and pointed toward the row of metal water bowls. “If you’re trying to be useful, they all need fresh water before closing.”

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. Just grabbed the jug and got to work.

I kept going about my end-of-day tasks—stacking bowls, wiping down counters—but I kept finding myself glancing his way.

He moved from kennel to kennel with surprising care.

At one, he crouched low and read the name off the placard.

“Daisy,” he said. “You look more like a Niblet to me.” He scratched behind her ears, then poured in the water. “There you go, Niblet. Stay hydrated.”

Another dog barked at him through the bars. Colton grinned. “Chill out, champ. It’s just water, not steak.”

He talked to every single one of them. And not for show—there were no cameras, no audience. No one to see this version of Colton Hayes. Just him, crouching and murmuring to dogs like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He was supposed to be the screw-up—the one who only cared about himself. But the way he treated the dog surprised me.

I had a bad feeling this wasn’t the last time Colton Hayes would surprise me. And I wasn’t sure I liked that at all.