Chapter 1
Holly
I didn’t want to come back here.
Crestwood held too many ghosts, and the biggest one still lurked in the shadows—Damien Sinclaire. I had promised myself that I’d leave him behind when I packed up for summer. But here I was, on campus in July, forced onto the planning committee for Crestwood’s annual charity hockey game.
The sun blazed overhead, casting long shadows on the cracked sidewalks of campus. Bright flowers dotted the edges of the paths, but they couldn’t distract me from the memories that clung like a heavy fog. The vibrant greens of summer made everything look deceptively cheerful, yet my heart felt as grey as a winter sky.
I glanced toward Pandora's Box, the on-campus ice rink. The sound of blades slicing through ice echoed in my mind, a haunting reminder of the last time I was at a rink with Damien. He’d been electric then—full of life and charm—but also chaos that had pulled me under before I even realized it. Now, I focused on the empty bleachers, hoping he’d choose to stay away this time.
“It’s fine,” I muttered under my breath, forcing myself to breathe through the tightness in my chest. “He has no reason to bother me anymore.”
At least, that was what I hoped.
I had just finished my freshman year at Crestwood, and so far, he hadn't bothered. Not even when my best friend started dating his older brother.
And I wanted it to stay that way.
As I crossed the quad, students strolled by with carefree laughter, unaware of my internal battle. Some were soaking up rays on blankets spread out across the grass; others huddled over laptops at outdoor tables like they were solving world issues instead of cramming for summer midterms. A few upcoming second years tossed a frisbee back and forth, their energy infectious yet foreign to me now.
I approached Pandora's Box, standing tall like a glistening jewel against the summer sky. Its sleek, modern design made it look almost out of place among the older brick buildings of Crestwood. The glass facade shimmered, reflecting the vibrant greens of the surrounding trees, but all I could focus on was the dread curling in my stomach.
The moment I stepped inside, a rush of cool air greeted me, contrasting sharply with the heat outside. The scent of freshly cut ice filled my lungs as I moved past the entrance. It was a clean space—bright lights illuminated the rink, casting sharp shadows across the smooth surface that beckoned to be skated upon. The bleachers wrapped around like an embrace, painted in deep blue and adorned with the Crestwood logo proudly displayed at center ice.
The rink itself sparkled under the fluorescent lights, each blade mark etched into its surface telling a story. A single player could command this space, their movements a dance—a rhythm I once understood intimately when I watched Damien played. My fingers brushed against the cool metal railing as I stepped closer to the edge, memories rushing back unbidden.
I recalled those winter nights when we had huddled together in our thick jackets after late-night practices. Damien's laughter echoed in my mind, wild and carefree, while my heart raced just being near him. He’d toss his head back and let loose with that cocky grin that always drew me in, making it hard to remember why it was best to keep my distance.
As I walked past the rink, that familiar sound cut through the air—bodies colliding with the glass. The sharp crack echoed like thunder, jolting me back to winter nights filled with adrenaline and raw energy. Too violent for a summer scrimmage.
I should keep moving, just keep my head down and walk away. But the sound—each thud and crash—pulled me closer.
With each step, I could feel the energy swirling around me. It wasn’t just noise; it was a heartbeat, pulsing beneath my skin. The scent of ice mixed with sweat and the metallic tang of blood hung in the air like a heavy fog. Memories surged forward like waves crashing against rocks, threatening to pull me under.
I paused at the entrance, torn between safety and that exhilarating rush I used to crave. The heat of unrestrained aggression washed over me as I caught sight of players on the ice—black jerseys clashing against white ones, their movements swift and powerful. They danced a dangerous waltz, weaving in and out like they were both predators and prey.
The sharp screech of skates slicing through ice resonated in my ears, reminding me of every moment I’d spent watching Damien dominate this very rink. He’d glide effortlessly across the surface, fierce determination etched on his face as he fought for every inch.
I stepped closer to the glass, my breath fogging up the cool surface as I peered inside. A player slammed another into the boards hard enough to make them bounce back like a ragdoll; laughter erupted from those on the benches, wild and uninhibited. It should have turned my stomach, but it ignited something deep within me—a longing that felt dangerous.
I shook my head slightly, pushing back against it. No matter how intoxicating this was, I didn’t belong here anymore. I had chosen a different path—the one that kept me safe from chaos and heartbreak.
But standing there, staring into that world where Damien thrived amidst all the madness made my resolve waver just a bit more with each body slam against the glass.
I pressed my hands against the glass, feeling the chill seep through to my fingertips. The scrimmage unfolded before me, a chaotic ballet of bodies moving in unison, each clash echoing off the walls like thunder. This was supposed to be a warm-up for charity—a friendly match to raise money for Hockey Is For All, an organization dedicated to bringing hockey to intercity youth. But here, on the ice, all pretense fell away.
Damien Sinclaire skated like he had something to prove. He darted across the rink with an intensity that took my breath away. His silver-blond hair glinted under the harsh lights as he moved, sharp and calculated—faster than anyone else on the ice. He didn’t just play; he hunted. I could feel it in my bones—the way he commanded attention without saying a word, his presence suffocating yet magnetic.
With each pass and check, he drew all eyes toward him, leaving behind trails of chaos and confusion. I swallowed hard as I watched him weave through defenders, carving out space as if he owned it all. But it wasn’t just his speed; it was how he made everything feel like a fight—a war unfolding in front of me.
Then I saw him—Logan Hartley—his dark jersey standing out against the ice like a target painted bright red. The rival team’s golden boy smiled at me, completely oblivious to what was coming.
Just a week ago, Logan had been texting me, sharing snippets of his life and asking about mine in that sweet, unassuming way that made me believe maybe I could find normalcy again after everything with Damien.
But now? My heart stopped as Damien set his sights on Logan with predatory focus.
“No,” I breathed out before I could stop myself.
The icy surface felt even colder as Damien bore down on Logan with alarming speed, muscles coiling like a spring ready to snap. There was no hesitation in his movements—only raw power and intent written across his face.
The thud of bodies crashing against one another echoed louder than any cheering crowd could muster. My chest tightened as anxiety surged through me; I couldn’t just stand here watching this play out.
The moment hung heavy in the air as Damien approached Logan with unyielding determination—a force of nature intent on wreaking havoc right in front of me.
I could hardly breathe as I watched Damien surge toward Logan. It felt like everything around me blurred into a haze. Time slowed down as I saw him coiling like a snake, every muscle in his body tensed for the strike.
Damien didn’t like normal. Normal was boring; it suffocated him. He thrived on disorder, and in this moment, he embodied it completely.
Then it happened. With a sickening thud, Damien collided with Logan in a vicious check that sent Logan sprawling across the ice. The crack of bone against ice echoed through the rink, sharp and jarring. Logan’s body slid to a halt against the boards, his face contorted in shock and pain.
The whistle blew immediately, piercing through the arena’s tense atmosphere, but Damien remained rooted to the spot. He stood over Logan like a hawk surveying its prey. His stormy blue eyes locked onto Logan’s, an icy glare that seemed to say everything without uttering a single word.
Logan lay there gasping for breath, stunned beneath Damien's imposing presence. I held my own breath as tension crackled between them—Damien's aura was electric and volatile, ready to erupt at any moment.
“Get up,” Damien challenged quietly, his voice low yet potent enough for me to hear from where I stood at the glass.
I knew he didn’t mean it in any encouraging way; it was more of an order than anything else. He wasn’t done yet—his stance radiated defiance as if daring Logan to rise back up and fight him again.
My heart raced, pounding against my ribcage as I wrestled with conflicting emotions. Part of me wanted to rush out there—to drag Damien away from this primal showdown—but another part of me couldn’t look away from the spectacle unfolding before my eyes.
Logan tried to push himself up but faltered, clearly shaken by what had just happened. And the thing was, Logan was a big guy.
He had that rugged charm that made him effortlessly appealing, with his strong jawline and tousled hair that seemed to defy gravity. His broad shoulders were built like a fortress, and even now, lying flat against the ice, he exuded a raw masculinity that made him both intimidating and captivating. The flicker of vulnerability in his hazel eyes as he stared up at Damien revealed a different side—one that contrasted sharply with his usual bravado. Logan's muscles rippled beneath his dark jersey and pads, making it clear he was no stranger to physical confrontation; even now, as he struggled to regain his composure, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was more than just an opponent.
Damien loomed over him, an unyielding force of nature with fury crackling around him like electricity. I stood frozen against the glass, torn between instinct and desire—wanting to leap onto the ice to protect Logan but also aware that intervening could mean stepping into Damien’s chaos.
Not that Logan needed my protection at all.
The guy could clearly protect himself. I had watched a few games back in April when the U of M team came over and played Crestwood. Logan was… captivating.
This was more than hockey; this was Damien Sinclaire in his rawest form—a storm about to unleash its fury on anyone foolish enough to challenge him.
Logan shoved off his helmet as he stood up, hair falling into his eyes as he glared up at Damien. The intensity in that moment could have ignited the entire rink.
But Damien didn’t flinch; he was already turning his head. My heart skipped, anticipation tightening my chest like a vice.
His stormy blue eyes locked onto mine.
Everything stopped. The shouts from the benches faded, the buzzing energy of the game dulled into silence. It was just him and me in that electric moment—like I was standing at the edge of a cliff, ready to fall.
He still wore his helmet, but I felt the weight of his obsession bearing down on me. It was an invisible tether that wrapped around my chest, squeezing out every breath I tried to take.
I wanted to move, to break free from that piercing gaze that seemed to unravel every barrier I’d carefully constructed around my heart. My feet felt glued to the floor as memories crashed through me—his laughter, the way he could make everything feel wild and alive one minute and chaotic the next.
But this wasn’t about nostalgia; this was about survival.
And yet...
Damien lifted a gloved hand. The movement was slow and deliberate, almost languid in its mockery. He waved at me.
That simple gesture felt like a taunt, echoing in my mind long after it left his fingertips. A part of me wanted to scream back at him to stop—to cut through this surreal connection that bound us together in such a painful way.
But there I stood, paralyzed by that wicked smile hidden beneath his helmet—a smile that promised chaos wrapped in charisma. The air buzzed with tension, crackling with unspoken words and feelings I had buried deep down for far too long.
Logan got back on his feet beside Damien’s towering figure, but my attention remained locked on Damien's mocking wave—an invitation wrapped in a challenge I couldn’t refuse even if I wanted to.
He knew.
He knew I was dating Logan.
That was the only explanation.
I felt my heart thud against my ribcage, caught between the pull of the ice and the weight of Damien's gaze. It was as if he reached out with invisible fingers, wrapping around my thoughts and squeezing tight.
He had always had that effect on me, drawing me into his world without warning or hesitation. But this time felt different—charged with an energy that made every nerve in my body hum.
I could almost hear his voice cutting through the noise: I'm watching you.
The reality sank in like ice water pouring over me; I had walked back into his world without even realizing it. The rush of adrenaline from earlier vanished, replaced by an unsettling warmth creeping up my spine.
And there he stood—my stormy-eyed tempest—still watching me with that unyielding intensity that could melt glaciers or ignite fires.
What was I supposed to do? Turn away? Walk back out the door? But something tethered me here, pulling at threads long since unraveled, threads that bound me to Damien Sinclaire in ways I didn’t fully understand.
I risked another glance at Logan, who glared daggers at Damien, anger radiating off him in waves. The tension thickened between them like smoke after a fire—a dangerous dance unfolding before my eyes.
Damien took a step closer to Logan, challenging him with a fierceness that left no room for doubt about his intentions. His smirk twisted like a knife aimed straight for my heart; it was more than just arrogance—it was a statement: he was still here, still waiting for something only he could define.
And somehow, I stood paralyzed—a silent spectator in a game that felt all too familiar yet impossibly distant.
Damien’s presence filled the rink like an approaching storm; it swallowed everything else whole and left only him standing there, challenging me to remember who we once were.
What we…
No.
I wasn't doing that again.
I turned, approaching the planning committee’s meeting room, a modest space tucked between a couple of admin rooms. I needed to focus. The smell of fresh paint lingered in the air; they’d just renovated it for our summer session. At least one thing hadn’t changed—the walls still felt like they were closing in around me.
“Hey Holly!” Daphne called out from inside as I pushed open the door. She was going to be a third year. I had seen her around a few times. She had freckles on her face and always wore an infectious smile.
“Yeah?”
“Ready to dive into all things hockey?” Her grin was wide and sincere, a welcome distraction from my spiraling thoughts.
I plastered on a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes. “Sure.”
As I stepped inside, part of me still lingered outside—half-hoping Damien wouldn’t show his face while another part wondered if he ever would again.
When it came to Damien, I never knew what I wanted… and that scared me the most.