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Xander

T he atmosphere in Boston’s arena is always intense, but tonight feels different—heavier somehow, like there’s more at stake than just a regular-season game.

Shaking off the thought, I line up with my teammates to hit the ice.

The moment the announcer calls, “Carolina Red Wolves,” the crowd erupts in boos, and I grin.

The place I once considered home—the team I grew up rooting for—is now booing me and my teammates.

It’s perfect. Fuel to play harder.

The game starts, and I’m on the bench, laser-focused. Ready to jump when it’s our line’s turn.

Both teams are playing rough. Matt gets shoved hard against the glass, and I immediately start yelling at the ref closest to us. “Are you watching?”

The play continues. Cody loses his footing, and Boston scores.

Fuck.

“Shake it off, guys. It’s just the first period—we’ve got time. Stay focused,” Coach calls out.

The horn sounds, and we head to the locker room. The score is 1-0. Still plenty of time to turn it around.

As we walk off the ice, I look up at the bleachers. Sure enough, in a sea of black and yellow, three red jerseys stand out—my parents and Gramps.

I smile and wave my stick in their direction.

In the locker room, Coach gives us a rundown—talks about grit, focus, and winning every battle. I zero in on my own goal: the puck hitting the net.

“We gotta get out there and play like I know we can. Let the noise fuel us,” I say to Viktor and Nico, my linemates. “Let’s go and kick some ass.”

The boys nod. We tap our sticks together, ready for war.

The second period starts, and Coach motions for me to get on the ice.

I grin as I take my position.

Matt wins the face-off and gets control of the puck. I shift into motion, ready.

He sends the puck my way, and I sprint forward.

I spot one of their defensemen closing in fast. I slide the puck to the other side, knowing Nico is there.

He picks it up and passes it to Viktor, who’s immediately flanked by two Boston players.

I’m open—and Viktor sees it.

He sends the puck my way, and I don’t even think. I lift my stick and hit it hard.

The puck slices through the air.

When the siren blares, I thrust my stick high, triumphant.

Viktor’s the first to reach me, throwing his arms around me.

“Fuck, yes. We got this,” he says, and I smile—because I know he’s right.

The rest of the game plays out with the same intensity, and thankfully, Cody’s in the zone. He stops every one of Boston’s shots.

Final score: 3-1, Red Wolves.

I’m ecstatic.

Two more road games until I’m back home with my Cherry.

I wave once more at my parents and Gramps before heading to the locker room. They always wait in the media zone—it’ll be nice to chat for a bit .

A reporter approaches, mic in hand. “Hell of a game, González,” he says, patting my back.

“Yes, it was definitely a team effort,” I say. “We’re very happy with the outcome.”

He turns to the camera and starts listing stats. “González had one goal and one assist, and goalie Cody Ritcher stopped fifteen shots on goal—it was a phenomenal night for the Carolina Red Wolves.”

I wipe sweat from my brow, smiling at the camera, proud of my goal and assist.

“I don’t want to jinx you so early in the season,” the reporter continues, “but judging by these first few games, it looks like you’ve picked up right where you left off last season. Any comments on that?”

I nod, pausing a beat.

“Yeah, I’m beyond grateful to bounce back after last year’s season-ending injury,” I say, looking directly into the lens. “But I need to give credit where it’s due. A whole team of doctors, therapists, and psychologists made this possible. I wouldn’t be here without them—thank you.”

As I speak, my mind drifts to Serene Lookout. I hope Ruin, Dr. Gutierrez, Dylan, and everyone back in Azalea Creek are watching.

“That’s great,” the guy says. “I’m sure the entire Carolina fanbase is grateful too.”

He clears his throat. “I don’t want to keep you, so one more question: What’s your favorite snack these days? I’m sure everyone at home would like to know what their favorite Carolina forward is craving.”

I laugh.

This’ll either earn me unlimited brownie points with Rain or land me on the couch. But fuck it. I mean it.

“My favorite snack is Wild Cherry,” I say with a grin. “And she’s not for sale. She’s all mine.”

I wink at the camera and head for the locker room, hearing the reporter chuckling behind me.

I can’t wait to check my phone and see if I have a text from said Wild Cherry.

After showering and throwing on my suit, I finally grab my phone.

The second I read Rain’s text, a smile stretches across my face.

Rain : Holy shit, Hotshot! Did you just say I’m your favorite snack on live TV? I can’t wait to be devoured by you! Hurry home! *heart emoji* *cherry emoji*

Xander : Glad you approve. I thought it was only fair since you claimed me back at the bar in Azalea Creek. I love you!

I pocket my phone and exit the locker room.

We’re going back to the hotel tonight, and tomorrow we fly to Toronto, then Quebec.

I spot my parents and Gramps chatting with Matt and smile, excited to see them again.

“Xander.”

I hear my name and pause, scanning the hallway.

A guy is waving at me, someone I don’t recognize. I nod politely as he starts walking over.

The arena has mostly cleared out—just a few family members hanging around, waiting for Boston players.

“Xander, hi,” the guy says brightly. “So great to meet you—I’m a big fan.”

I smile, still having no idea who he is.

I study his face, searching for any hint of where we might’ve met.

He’s about five-eleven with a stocky build, crooked teeth, and brown hair slicked back with way too much gel.

His dark blue eyes seem relaxed, but when I look at his hands, his knuckles are white. That gives me pause.

Then I notice the Boston team logo stitched on his jacket.

He catches my glance.

“That’s right. Sorry.” He chuckles and offers me his hand. I shake it. “I work for Boston, but I’m originally from North Carolina. Still follow the Red Wolves. Huge fan.”

He steps a little closer, lowering his voice. “Actually, I’d like to ask you a personal favor.”

I frown but stay quiet.

“This might sound awkward,” he says, glancing around, “but I need to speak with your girlfriend—Rain, right? I know her from way back. I’ve been trying to contact her with no luck.”

Every muscle in my body goes still.

My skin prickles.

My brain short-circuits at the thought—at the horrible suspicion forming in my gut.

“I’m sorry… what did you say your name was?” I ask, my voice tight.

He chuckles, like we’re old friends. “Oh—where are my manners? I’m Dennis Johnson. Director of Scouting here at Boston Hockey.”

The moment he says it, the ground tilts.

That sleazy bastard widens his smile like it’s going to charm me, but I recoil like he just pulled a weapon.

My confusion vanishes in a flash of heat.

“You!”

I take two hard steps forward, rage already surging in my chest.

He lifts his hands in front of him, like it’ll make a difference.

“You broke her, motherfucker.”

I grab him by the lapels and yank him off the ground.

He yelps, eyes wide in panic.

But I don’t care.

I’m snarling in his face, every inch of me vibrating with rage—for what he did to Rain. For the pain. For the damage he left behind.

“Xander, hey—let him go,” Matt says quietly, stepping closer.

“There’s no fucking way. This piece of shit hurt Rain, and now he wants to crawl back into her life.”

Dennis is squirming, trying to pry my hands from his jacket, but I’m stronger—and I’m not letting go.

“I know, man. I know,” Matt says, lowering his voice. “But if you hit him, there will be repercussions. You don’t want to be benched—or worse. He’s not worth it.”

He’s right. I know he is.

But letting this bastard walk away like it’s nothing? That feels impossible.

“Hijo, what’s going on?” my dad asks as he approaches. “Who’s this guy?”

The motherfucker has the nerve to speak. “Please, sir. Tell him to let go of me. I just want to talk to Rain. That’s all.”

I tighten my grip on his lapels, pulling him harder. He yelps again.

Dad shoots me a confused look.

“This asshole hurt Rain many years ago,” I say, voice low and shaking. “Now he wants to talk to her.”

Dad’s eyes widen. I nod.

He snaps. In a second, he’s beside me.

“Let him go, hijo. I got him.”

He pats my back.

I lean in, face inches from Dennis’s. He whimpers.

“Do not ever try to contact her. And if I ever have the misfortune to cross paths with you again, I won’t let you off so easily.”

I release him. He stumbles back and hits the floor.

He dusts off his jacket as he stands, already smiling at my dad—until Dad hauls him up and punches him square in the jaw.

Dennis crashes to the ground, face first.

“Xander, go. Before the police come. We’ll talk later,” Dad says.

I nod, jaw clenched.

Matt falls into step beside me.

Dad throws another punch.

Thanks, Dad.

Fucking hell. Is this how River felt when he punched that asshole?

Now I understand why he’s such a sour man.

If I had to carry what this fucker did to Rain for the rest of my life, I don’t think I could handle it. But I know if I tell her, she’ll spiral—and I’m not there to hold her hand.

I take off my uniform in a hurry, trying not to rip it apart.

In the shower, I let the water run down my head, hoping it’ll cool me off.

No luck. By the time I’m dressed and ready to go, I’m still seething.

“What the fuck was that, man?” Matt asks once we’re on the bus .

“That asshole was Rain’s boyfriend in high school,” I say, still staring out the window. “I can’t tell you the full story—it’s hers to share. But the damage he did? Trust me, it was enough to make me lose it.”

Matt exhales hard, lowering his head. “Fuck.”

“Yeah. He’s an abusive piece of shit.”

I close my eyes.

Time to ground myself—just like Ruin taught me.

Five: The sound of the puck hitting the net. Sirens blaring.

Four: Rain’s smile on a sunny day. Her hair dancing with the wind.

Three: Rain cooking while I pretend to help, just to be near her.

Two: The way she licks her lips when she wants me. Drives me insane.

One: Rain’s face when she comes. Nothing tops that.

I release one last deep breath and open my eyes.

My pulse settles.

What the hell does he want with her after ten years?

I can’t let this asshole near her again.

My beautiful, carefree, smart, and determined woman doesn’t deserve to go through this again.

I laugh under my breath.

This must’ve been what she felt when he texted her.

How the tables have turned.

The rest of the bus ride flies by. Cody shouts something about meeting at the bar for a nightcap.

I shake my head in amusement as Coach stands and glares at him.

“Got it, Coach. No cap tonight,” Cody says, clearing his throat. “Maybe after Quebec?”

The bus explodes in laughter as Coach sinks back into his seat.

At the hotel, I make a beeline for the elevator. I need to hear her voice.

“How are you feeling?” Matt asks as we step inside.

“Better,” I say honestly. “I need to focus. Help the team get two more Ws on the road.”

Matt pats my back as we head to our room.

“Thanks, by the way. For keeping me from doing something stupid.”

“Don’t even mention it.”

He flops onto his bed and turns the TV on.

I strip off my suit, slide into bed, and flip my light off.

I just need to feel her close for a minute.

“If you need privacy, let me know,” Matt mutters.

I chuckle. “Thanks, man. I just want to hear her voice.”

He smiles like he gets it, then grabs his phone and starts typing.

I stretch out in bed and pull up my phone. A rush of anticipation spreads through me.

“Hotshot!” Rain shouts, her voice bright.

I smile immediately as she launches into how proud she is of the game.

I fucking love her.

And I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her.