Page 19 of Second Chance with the Enemy CEO (Second Chance Hockey Players #1)

Chapter fourteen

Liam

W hy can’t I just escape her?

Why did she have to come to the rink today, and why did she?

Well, technically, this is the only public rink in the town, but still.

It is supposed to be unavailable today, which is why I came here.

I needed someplace quiet, an empty space where I could just focus.

I could have gone to the Avalanche training center, but I did not want to take my chance with my peace.

But here she is.

Her laugh echoes across the rink, carried by the cool air.

I stop mid-skate, eyes narrowing. She glides across the ice with a natural grace, effortless, like it is second nature to her.

I cannot help but watch, my mind flicking back to when we were younger, when it was just us on the rink, skating for hours, sharing everything.

I do not want to think about that.

But my eyes will not leave her. I cannot stop myself.

I watch her, and my jaw tightens when I see her laughing and smiling... then my stomach twists when I catch the mention of a guy. Josh. A guy she apparently was seeing. A guy who, - she says - can skate.

I try to push the thought away. Why should it matter? We are done. She has moved on. But something about it stings. Did she cheat on me with him, too? I don’t even know why it bothers me. It is in the past but hearing that... it does not sit right.

I stop skating, the chill of the rink biting at my skin as I drag myself to the bleachers. My bag is tucked in the corner, and I make my way over, slumping down onto the metal seat. I pull my water bottle out and take a long swig.

I drag a hand through my hair. I do not think she can see me where I am sitting, but I’m watching her every move.

After a few minutes, her friends finally skate over to her. They exchange a few words, laughing softly before each of them hugs Hazel in turn. I watch them leave until it’s just Hazel. Alone.

I watch her skate for a bit longer; her movements are slower now, almost like she is lost in thought. Just a few minutes later, I push myself off the bleachers and head back to the rink.

I skate toward her, not fast, but enough to make my presence known.

"Not bad," I say, my voice low, "but not good either."

She stops mid-skate, turning sharply in my direction. Her head snaps up, her wide eyes locking on me. For a moment, there is a genuine surprise on her face. Then, just as quickly, the surprise disappears, replaced by something I know all too well - a fiery, defiant look.

It is the same look she used to give me when we were younger, back when we’d go at it on the ice, testing each other’s skills. She cocks her head, one brow arching. "Oh, I’m sorry, did I ask for your expert opinion?"

"Didn’t need to. It’s written all over your form."

"My form is fine," she snaps, skating toward me.

I shrug, "You’re the one out here trying to look impressive. Just saying since your form isn’t okay, it’s not working."

"Excuse you? I wasn’t trying to impress anyone."

I smirk, skating a slow circle around her. "Sure, you weren’t."

Scoffing, she pushed off and skated past me.

"Your edges are sloppy," I call after her.

She groans, spinning around to face me, hands on her hips. "Do you always give unsolicited advice, or am I just lucky?"

"Only when it’s this painful to watch," I reply, crossing my arms.

“What do I need to do for you to stay away from me, huh? Do I need to get a “Keep off, Liam” sign?”

“Seriously, do I need to have a “Do not approach me, Liam” sign wherever I go?”

"Depends.” I skate up beside her, matching her pace as she starts moving again. "Tell me something," I say. "Can you still play hockey?”

Her expression darkens, and for a second, I think I have hit a nerve. "I could play circles around you," she says sharply.

"Is that right?" I raise an eyebrow. "Care to prove it?"

She does not answer immediately, her jaw tightening again. I can tell she is debating whether or not to take the bait.

"You don’t want to embarrass yourself," I add casually, giving her one last nudge.

That does it. She narrows her eyes at me, her voice low and steady. "Fine. Game on."

“To make it interesting, let’s make a bet,” I say before I can rethink it.

She raises an eyebrow, curiosity sparking in her gaze. “A bet?”

I nod, letting the grin tug at my lips. “First one to get the puck through that makeshift goalpost three times wins. Loser does whatever the winner says..., four times.”

She crosses her arms, a playful smile creeping onto her face. “Whatever?”

“Whatever,” I confirm.

Hazel raises a brow, her curiosity clearly piqued. “Four times? That is oddly specific.”

I shrug, keeping my expression neutral. “Adds stakes. One request might be a fluke, but four? That is commitment.”

“Four’s a lot…, two requests,” she says.

“Three. No more, no less.”

“Three it is.” Her eyebrow raises as she tilts her head. “And what kind of things are we talking about here? Like, ‘go fetch me coffee’ or ‘stand outside in the cold for ten minutes?”

“Could be,” I say, tilting my head, “could also be something worse.”

She narrows her eyes at me, suspicious. “Define worse.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” I reply, skating backward, letting the puck rest under my stick.

“That’s not reassuring,” she says.

“Back out if you’re scared,” I teased, smirking.

I can see the wheels turning in her head, that spark of competitive fire lighting up her eyes. Her smile widens, and I know I have hooked her. “Alright,” she says, the fire in her eyes still burning. “You’re on.”

“Better,” I say, my voice steady, already moving toward the puck. “You’re going to regret this.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” she says, skating after me, her confidence radiating as the game begins.

I toss the puck onto the ice and skate over it, my stick tapping lightly against its surface. The sound echoes across the rink, and Hazel is already in position, her eyes locked on the puck like a predator sizing up its prey.

“No mercy,” I say, gripping my stick tighter.

“Didn’t ask for any,” she quips, her smirk sharp enough to cut glass.

The moment I move, she is on me. I skate to the left, trying to fake right, but she anticipates the move, her stick darting out to block my path. Impressive. She used to be good at reading plays, but I did not expect her to remember how to counter mine.

“Not bad,” I mutter, switching gears, my strides longer and faster now. The puck glides ahead of me, and I chase it down, my muscles humming with the familiar rhythm of control.

“Not bad?” She echoes, skating hard to catch up, “I just stopped you in your tracks.”

“You’re going to have to do a lot more than that,” I say, turning sharply and cutting across the ice. She mirrors my move, her skates carving clean arcs as she tracks my movement.

I pivot suddenly, spinning out of her reach and heading straight for the makeshift goal I set up earlier. Hazel isn’t far behind, but I am faster. With a sharp flick of my wrist, I send the puck flying into the net.

“First point,” I say, smirking as I slow down.

“Don’t get cocky,” she says, already resetting for the next play.

This time, she takes the puck. She is fast, and I’ll give her that; her skating is smooth, and she turns sharp. She weaves across the ice with surprising confidence, and for a moment, I hesitate, watching her.

“Come on, Liam,” she calls, her voice teasing. “Or are you too scared to keep up?”

That does it. I charge forward, cutting into her path. My stick snaps against hers as I try to steal the puck, but she is ready for me, angling her body to shield it.

“Nice try,” she says, skating backward, her moves effortless.

She pivots sharply, her hair whipping across her face as she pushes the puck ahead. I close the gap between us, my reach longer, my stick darting out to hook the puck away. But instead of panicking, she fakes left, then right, her skates slicing against the ice as she dodges me.

I lunge forward, but she pulls off a spin move, twisting away from me with the puck still under her control.

“Damn,” I mutter under my breath.

She lines up the shot and, with a quick snap of her wrist, sends the puck flying into the net.

“Score!” She shouts, throwing her arms up.

“One to one,” I say, skating over. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

“Too late,” she fires back, grinning.

“Okay, show-off,” I say, skating up to her, “that makes us even. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

“Don’t be such a sore loser,” she says, her grin pure mischief.

“Not losing yet,” I reply, grabbing the puck for the next round.

I charge down the ice, my focus narrowing as I zigzag to throw her off. She is right on my heels, her stick darting out in an attempt to intercept, but I keep the puck tight, my control precise.

“Let’s see you stop this,” I say, winding up for a shot.

But before I can strike, she dives in, her stick connecting with the puck and stealing it away.

“Oh, come on!” I yell, spinning around to chase her.

She laughs, skating hard toward the goal. I am faster, closing the distance quickly, but she pulls another move - a quick backhand pass to herself - that catches me off guard.

She lines up her shot, and despite my best effort to block her, the puck sails past me into the net.

“Two to one,” she says, her smile triumphant. “Yippee”

“That’s cute,” I say, grabbing the puck for the next round. “But playtime’s over.”

I take off, and my strides are longer and more aggressive now. She tries to keep up, but I am faster and more precise. I fake left, then cut sharply to the right, sending her skidding to adjust.

Before she can recover, I fire the puck into the net.

“Tied,” I say, skating back to her.

She rolls her eyes, resetting for the final round.

“This is it,” she says, her tone defiant.

“You’re going down,” I reply, and we are off.

She charges first, but I am ready this time. I block her path, forcing her to veer off course. She tries to spin away, but I anticipate the move, stealing the puck and taking off toward the goal.

“Not today,” she says, chasing me down.

I feel her right behind me, but I do not let it stop me. My focus narrows, the goal in sight, she lunges, her stick colliding with mine, but I hold it tightly.

With one final push, I wind up and fire the puck straight into the net.

“Game over,” I say, slowing to a stop as the puck clinks against the back of the net.

She skates up to me, her cheeks flushed from the effort. “You’re still as obnoxious as ever,” she says, but there is a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

“And you’re still as competitive,” I reply, leaning on my stick.

For a moment, we just stand there, the frigid air between us filled with the sound of our breathing.

“Good game,” she finally says, holding out her hand.

“Good game,” I reply, shaking it, though the smirk on my face probably ruins the gesture.

She straightens, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face as she looks at me with those sharp, calculating eyes of hers. "All right," she says, crossing her arms. "You won. So, what do you want? That was the bet, wasn’t it?"

I grin, straightening up. “I’ll save it for later.”

She raises an eyebrow, her skepticism almost palpable. “Oh, come on. That wasn’t the deal. What is it?”

I shrug, keeping my tone casual. “I’ll let you know when the time’s right.”

She crosses her arms, clearly unimpressed. “That sounds ominous.”

“Maybe,” I say, grabbing my water bottle from the bench. “But fair’s fair, Hazel. You agreed to the terms.”

She huffs but does not argue further, unlacing her skates. “Whatever. Are you done here?”

“Yeah,” I reply, pulling off my gloves. “Are you ready to leave?”

She nods, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

“Come on, I’ll give you a ride,” I offer, casually throwing it out there.

She stops in her tracks, her expression shifting instantly. “No, thanks. I will call an Uber.”

I frown, not understanding her hesitation. “Why? We live in the same place. It is no big deal.”

Her jaw tightens, and she shakes her head. “It’s a big deal for me.”

I pause, her words hanging between us like frost in the air. There is something heavy in her tone, something I cannot quite put my finger on.

“Hazel,” I say, lowering my voice, “it is just a ride. You do not have to make it complicated.”

“It’s not complicated,” she snaps, her voice sharper than I expected, then, softer, “I just…, I can’t.”

I stare at her for a moment. “Why are you being so…,?” I stop myself, exhaling sharply. “It is late. I am just trying to help.”

“Well thanks,” She shakes her head, her jaw tightening. “I do not need your help, Liam. I have not for a long time.” That one stings more than I want to admit. I force a laugh, though it comes out hollow. “Right.”

“Just because we played a game doesn’t change anything.”

“Of course, it doesn’t.” I grab my bag and sling it over my shoulder. “Alright, have it your way.”

“Thanks,” she says flatly, brushing past me toward the exit.

I watch her go, my grip tightening on the strap of my bag. The sound of her skates clicking against the floor fades, leaving me standing in the hollow silence of the rink.

I should be so used to this by now - Hazel walking away. But damn, it never gets easier.

With a sigh, I grab my things and head for the door. If there is one thing I have learned, it’s that some distances can’t be closed, no matter how many steps you take.