Page 15

SEBASTIAN

M id-game, and I can’t fucking focus.

The puck slips off my stick like it’s greased, and I miss a block I could’ve nailed in my sleep. Kane shoots me a look from across the ice, one that says get your shit together, but it’s like my body and brain are skating in different directions.

Coach benches me halfway through the second period.

He doesn’t say a word—just jerks his thumb toward the bench and doesn’t look back. But the silence is louder than any curse he could’ve thrown.

I sit, helmet off, elbows on knees, trying not to crack my stick in half.

I can’t stop seeing Olivia’s face—flashing through my head like a replay I didn’t ask for.

I haven’t seen her since that day in her office. Word is she’s been out sick. But I know better. She’s avoiding me.

By the time the final buzzer sounds, I’m still sitting there—hot under the collar but cold in my chest, marinating in useless guilt.

Back in the locker room, the silence wraps around me like a noose.

Coach waits until everyone’s halfway through changing before letting loose. “Wilde. You’ve been off. Distracted. I don’t care if your dog died or your house burned down—you play like that again, you’re out of the lineup next week.”

Heads turn. Nobody says anything. But I feel the looks.

“Got it,” I mutter.

He gives me one last glare, then walks off.

I head for the showers. Let the water hit me until my skin’s raw and the shame sinks deeper.

When I come out, Blake and Kane are waiting near my locker.

Blake’s arms crossed. Kane’s leaning forward now, elbows on his knees, watching me like he knows I’m one breath away from self-imploding.

“You want to tell us what the hell that was?” Blake asks.

I grab my towel. “A bad game.”

Kane snorts. “Try ten bad games. You’ve been playing like your skates are made of cement.”

I don’t answer. Just yank on my briefs, shove my legs into my jeans, and zip up fast—like the sooner I’m dressed, the sooner I can get out of here. Out from under the weight of their stares.

“You gonna keep stonewalling, or are you finally gonna talk?” Blake presses.

My hands ball into fists at my sides before I even register the movement. My breath flares, jaw tight enough to ache.

“What do you want me to say?” I grit out.“That I fucked up? I did. Happy?”

“Fucked what up?” Kane asks, voice quiet but firm—like he’s giving me one chance to be straight. No judgment, just concern. And somehow, that hits harder.

"Olivia," I mutter.

"Hart?" Blake asks, brow raised.

I nod, jaw grinding, throat dry. I drag a hand over the back of my neck, fingers digging in like I can scrub the memory off my skin.

“Said some shit I shouldn’t have.” My voice drops. Rough. Like it hurts to say it.

I stare at the floor for a beat. Then let the rest of it out.

“Accused her of cheating,” I say, the words scraping out like they’re made of rust and regret.

“Thought she was married. She was wearing a goddamn wedding ring, and my brain just—” I drag a hand down my face, laugh once, dry and bitter.

“Fuck. I don’t even know how I got there. Just saw red. Snapped.”

The memory hits like a punch to the ribs. I swallow hard.

“Took everything I’ve been dragging around and threw it at her like it was hers to carry.”

I shake my head, jaw clenched so tight it hurts.

“Then she tells me her husband’s dead. And I just stood there. Like a goddamn asshole. Like the biggest fucking prick on the planet.”

Silence.

Then Blake lets out a low whistle, sharp and disbelieving. “Jesus, Wilde. That’s messed up.”

“Yeah.” I nod once. “It is.”

My throat feels raw. Like the guilt’s lodged so deep it’s tearing me up on the way out.

“She looked at me like I’d ripped something open in her,” I say, quieter now. “Like I took something already broken and shattered it again.”

Kane watches me, jaw tight. Doesn’t speak yet.

I don’t tell them about the kiss.

About how, for one fucking second, she kissed me back like she meant it. Like she needed it. Like the hunger wasn’t just mine.

I keep that part buried.

Because it doesn’t matter now.

Because I ruined it before it ever had a chance to mean anything.

Probably for the best.

She deserves better than a guy like me—someone who doesn’t just carry baggage, but drags the whole damn plane wreck behind him.

The silence stretches.

Then Blake claps his hands once, sharp. Stands.

“Alright. Enough self-pity. Let’s go.”

I frown. “Go where?”

“Ironclad.” He jerks his chin toward the door. “Team’s heading out. You’re coming.”

“I’m good.”

“You’re not.” Kane finally speaks, pushing off the locker like he’s done giving me space. “You look like shit. You’ve been playing worse. And if you sit here any longer, you’re gonna crawl inside your own head and stay there.”

I open my mouth to argue.

“Don’t.” Blake cuts me off. “You don’t have to talk. You don’t have to smile. But you’re showing up. You need to.”

I hesitate, jaw tight.

Kane shrugs. “Look. You can sit here marinating in guilt, or you can come be miserable around people who’ve already seen you fall on your ass.”

I don’t laugh. But I don’t say no either.

Because they’re not wrong.

Even if it won’t fix shit, sitting alone sure as hell won’t either.

I drag my hoodie on, grab my phone, and follow them out.

One foot in front of the other.

Even if my chest’s still burning like hell the whole way.

Ironclad’s packed when we get there—dim lighting, hardwood floors scuffed from years of foot traffic. We get a table in the back, a little away from the noise. Some of the guys are already there—Tyler, Branson, a few others. They nod at me but don’t push.

I order a beer. Not whiskey. Not tonight.

Whiskey burns too close to the surface. Makes shit rise I’m not ready to feel. Beer’s safer—dull around the edges.

Kane gets a soda.Blake orders something dark and overpriced.

Nobody asks questions. But I can feel them watching when they think I’m not looking.

Tyler’s laughing too loud. Branson’s already halfway through a basket of wings, licking sauce off his fingers like he hasn’t eaten in days.

Someone’s retelling a story from an away game in Montreal—the one where half the team ended up butt ass naked in a snowbank.

The punchline hits, and the table erupts.

It’s stupid. Juvenile.

But it’s noise. And noise is better than silence.

I lean back in my chair, sip my beer, and let the edges blur. Try to forget the way Olivia looked at me after I kissed her.Cheeks flushed. Eyes confused—then angry. Like she didn’t know whether she wanted to slap me…or kiss me again.

My jaw tightens. I swallow hard.

Doesn’t help.

None of this really does.

But I’m here.

When Blake gets up to talk to Branson, Kane shifts in his seat, keeping his voice low.“That wasn’t the whole story, was it? About you and Olivia.”

I stiffen.

The bar noise fades to a dull hum in my ears. I stare down at the condensation on my glass like maybe it’ll give me the words I can’t seem to find.

My jaw works. Once. Twice. Then I exhale, sharp and quiet.

“I kissed her.”

Kane doesn’t react right away. Just nods slowly, like he figured as much. Like he was waiting for me to say it out loud.

“She kiss you back?” he asks, voice unreadable.

I nod, barely.

Kane leans forward, arms braced on the table. "That’s a hell of a mess, Wilde. You ever think about what that could cost her?”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“She’s not just some woman. She’s the team counselor. You’re a player. That’s a line. And if Coach—or anyone upstairs—found out? She could lose her job.”

The bottom drops out of my stomach.

Fuck.

I hadn’t thought of that. Not really. Not in a concrete way. I’d been too wrapped up in my own guilt, my own mess.

Too fucking selfish to consider what this might do to her career. Her reputation.

I drag a hand down my face, suddenly feeling like the worst kind of asshole. “Shit.”

"You need to think about what you're doing. This can't be just about your dick.”

My head jerks up. The words hit like a punch I didn’t see coming.

“It’s not,” I say—too fast. Too loud. I scrub a hand down my face, breath catching in my throat. “It isn’t...it’s not like that.”

Kane raises a brow, waiting.

I shake my head, jaw clenched so tight it aches. “Fuck, I don’t know what it is. I just—” I lean forward, elbows on the table, heart thudding like I’m still mid-game.

“I mean—yeah, she's fucking gorgeous. But it’s more than that. It’s...fuck, I don’t know.”My voice drops, raw and uneven. “It’s like...I can’t get her out of my fucking head. Doesn’t matter what I do. She’s just there. Every goddamn second."

I blow out a breath through my nose, sharp. Drag my hand down my face like it might wipe her memory off my skin. "I close my eyes, she’s in my dreams. I wake up, and it’s worse. Like she’s fucking carved into the inside of my skull."

I shake my head, rub the back of my neck hard, like I can dig the tension out.

"And when I see her, it’s like something grabs hold of my fucking chest and doesn’t let go. Feel like I'm going insane."

Kane exhales through his nose, slow.“Jesus,” he mutters. “You’re falling for her.”

I freeze.

Don’t answer. Don’t breathe.

Because he’s right. And I don’t even know when the fuck it happened.

“You need to be careful,” he says. “Because if this blows up? You don’t just break her heart. You take her job down with it.”

My chest tightens like a goddamn vice."I'll stay away from her."

Kane lets out a low sound—almost a laugh, but there's no humor in it. Just something dry and resigned. Like he’s been here before. Like he already knows how this ends.

“Good luck with that, man.” He shakes his head. “From experience? Walking away from something like that’s a hell of a lot harder than it sounds.”

I don’t respond.

Because I know he’s right.

Every instinct I’ve got is already wired to go to her. Touch her. Hear her voice. Kiss her again.

“I’ll figure it out.”

It’s a lie. But I say it anyway.

Kane doesn’t call me on it. Just gives me that look—like he’s already seen how this ends.

I stare at the ring of condensation on the table. At the cracks in the wood. At anything that isn’t her face in my head.

She’s still there.

Under my skin.

In my ribs.

Right where I can’t reach, but feel every fucking second.

And no matter how much damage I’ve already done, part of me still wants more.