Page 35

SEBASTIAN

T he crowd’s thinner than usual. Away game. Mostly home fans. Scattered boos when our lineup gets called.

I don’t hear them.

Not really.

The second my skates touch the ice, I’m somewhere else. Somewhere meaner.

I play hard. Sharp. Faster than usual, and maybe too much contact.

One hit crosses the line, and I know it the second my shoulder connects.

Gloves drop before I even think. I take a punch to the jaw and land one in return.

Two minutes in the box, blood on my tongue, and adrenaline still flooding my veins.

I should’ve let it go.

But I didn’t want to.

By the time the final buzzer sounds and we’ve pulled off a win, my body’s humming with leftover adrenaline and something darker. My gloves come off. Helmet too. I drag a hand through my sweat-soaked hair, jaw clenched so tight it hurts.

I should feel good. I played like I meant it.

But all I feel is twisted up.

Because all I can think about isthe fucking car.

The wreckage didn’t surprise me. Not the shattered glass. Not the paint slashed across the hood like a signature carved in rage. But the words—they stuck.

Asshole. Snake. Die.

Whoever it was, they wanted it personal.

Could’ve been Elise’s husband. Wouldn’t be the first time he came at me.

But after all these years?

It doesn’t track. Doesn’t feel like him.

And yet...it still hit.

Still shook something loose.

Maybe because part of me still feels like I deserve it.

The beatdown. The destruction. The message spelled in spray paint like a fucking billboard of my past. Maybe because it dragged me right back to who I was back then—the man who didn’t care who he hurt.

Who fucked a married woman and didn’t stop even when he knew better.

I hate that version of myself.

Hate how close he still is to the surface.

The hallway outside the locker room feels too loud, too bright. Kane falls into step beside me.

“You still sulking about your car,” he says, “or you down to grab a drink?”

I should say no.

Usually do. Nights like this, I’d rather sit in the dark with a bottle and nothing but static in my head. But tonight…the thought of being alone makes my skin crawl.

Maybe it’s the fight still pounding in my veins.

Maybe it’s Olivia. The way I left her. Snapped at her. Like a fucking asshole.

“Yeah,” I say. “Sure.”

Outside, the air cuts sharp against my face. My breath fogs. I pull out my phone.

I press her name. Let it ring. Voicemail.

I hang up before the beep.

The way she looked at me this morning—careful, quiet, worried in that soft way that guts me—made it worse.

Because she saw it.

The crack.

The part I try to keep sealed shut.

And I didn’t let her in. I shut her out like it meant nothing. Like she didn’t matter.

But she does.

I don’t want to be that man anymore. The jackass who shuts people out before they get too close. Who lashes out. But I felt like him today—angry and reckless, too full of noise to let anything good stay.

The lounge hums with music and laughter. A distraction. I welcome it.

We slide into a corner booth, the leather worn to shit, the table sticky in places. Kane orders three whiskeys before I can say a word. “Blake’s on his way.”

I stare down at my phone. Thumb out a text.

Sorry about this morning. Hope you had a good day.

It’s stiff. Too formal. But it’s all I’ve got.

I fucking hate texting.

What I really want is to hear her voice. Something real. Something that anchors me.

Blake slides into the booth a minute later, grinning like a goddamn idiot.

“Kiley’s pregnant again.”

Kane lights up. “That’s great. Congratulations, man.”

“Yeah,” I echo. “Congrats.”

Blake glows like it’s Christmas and every gift under the tree’s got his name on it.

I take a slow sip of whiskey and try to ignore the flicker in my chest. The part of me that wonders what it would feel like to have that kind of life. Something steady.

The second drink goes down easier than the first.

Kane starts in on a story about his kid climbing into bed every night and kicking him like he’s training for the World Cup. Blake jumps in with something about his daughter trying to name the new baby “Bluey.”

They laugh. It’s real. Easy.

Two women drift over. Dressed like they knew what bar we’d be at.

“You guys celebrating?” one asks, voice too sweet to be genuine.

Kane lifts his hand. “Married.”

Blake shows his too. “Taken.”

She turns to me.

“What about you, handsome?”

I don’t hesitate. “Not interested.”

Her smile drops. They walk off.

Blake arches a brow at me. “Since when do you turn that down?”

I shrug and take a sip of my drink. “Not in the mood.”

Kane doesn’t say anything. Just leans back with that look—calm, unreadable, but knowing. Like he's waiting to see what I’ll give away.

Blake catches it. “Okay, wait—am I missing something here?”

I exhale. Long and quiet. We’ve had two drinks. I don’t owe him shit. But Blake’s not the kind of guy who runs his mouth. And Kane already knows too much.

So I say it.

“There’s someone.”

“Holy shit.Didn’t know ‘serious’ was in your vocabulary.”

"Fuck off," I mutter.

Kane leans back farther, arms crossed like he’s been waiting for this. There’s a stupid smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Blake pushes, "So what's she like? How'd you meet. Details, man."

“It’s..." I rub the back of my neck, tugging at my hair. "Complicated.”

Blake grins. “Isn’t it always?”

Kane nods once.

“What’s her name?” Blake asks.

I hesitate. Catch Kane’s gaze. He lifts a brow—quiet, steady—like he’s leaving it up to me, but he’s watching.

Blake looks between us, brow furrowed. “Okay...what the hell am I missing?”He leans in, elbows on the table. “You two doing telepathy now, or is someone gonna clue me in?”

I lean back. Voice low. “I’ll tell you, but don’t make it a thing.” I point a finger at him. “And you don’t breathe a word. I fucking mean it.”

Blake’s expression shifts, more serious now. “Alright. Okay.”

I look down once, then say it.

“It's Olivia.”

Blake blinks. “Olivia?”

Then it hits.

His eyes go wide. “You mean Olivia Hart? Our therapist?”

I glance around. “I said don’t make a big deal out of it.”

Blake shakes his head, hands raised. “I’m not. I won’t. But...shit. That is complicated.”

I nod once. “I’ve dealt with it. But I still can’t have the whole fucking world knowing yet.”

Blake tilts his head. “Yet?”

I meet his eyes. “Yeah.”

His mouth twitches. “So it’s serious.”

Before I can answer, my phone buzzes on the table.Olivia’s name lights up the screen.And everything else just fades.I’m already sliding out of the booth.

Blake chuckles as I walk off, and says loud enough for me to hear, “It’s about fucking time.”

I push through the side door, out into the cold.

The air hits sharp against my skin. I don’t flinch.

I lean one shoulder against the brick wall,and swipe to answer, voice lower than it should be.

“Hey.”

“I saw you called,” she says. Her voice is careful. Like she’s waiting for the ice to crack.

“I just…wanted to say I’m sorry. About this morning.”

“You were upset. Every reason to be.” A pause. Then, “You played well tonight.”

“Yeah.”

The silence stretches. Not uncomfortable. Just…loaded.

“I should let you go,” she says softly. "It's late."

I almost ask her not to.

Almost.

“Okay,” I murmur. “Sleep well.”

“You too, Sebastian.”

Call ends. And I just stand there. Cell in hand. Breath caught in my chest.I tuck the phone into my pocket, press my back to the wall, and close my eyes.

Still wired from the fight.

Still shaken from the message on my car.

Still trying to be someone she could maybe love.

And fucking terrifiedI won’t be.