Chapter 15
The sight hit me likea blindside check.
I was doing my pre-game skate, the familiar routine of loops behind the net, the cold air burning my lungs in a good, clean way.I was trying to focus, to lock in, to be the player I was supposed to be.The player Henry had claimed to admire.
Then I looked up.
There, in the owner’s box, behind the pristine glass, was Henry.And tucked against his side, a vision in sleek white wool and a smile that could sell anything, was Kira.
My skates dug into the ice, stopping me dead.The world narrowed to that little rectangle of glass.She was laughing at something he said, her hand resting lightly on his forearm.He was leaning down, his head tilted toward hers in that intimate way I knew too well.He looked relaxed.He looked...appropriate.
The breakfast.The soft kisses.The quiet promise in my sunlit kitchen.It all curdled in my stomach, turning into something toxic and sharp.
It was a business meeting.Don’t be dramatic.
Right.A business meeting that required her to be here, now, touching him, on the most public night of my week.
The first period was a disaster.I was a step behind every play.I fumbled a pass so badly it led to a breakaway goal against us.Coach’s roar from the bench was a distant buzz in my ears.All I could see was her hand on his sleeve.All I could hear was the phantom echo of his voice saying “You are mine.”
Mine.But who was he, up there in his glass castle with a supermodel on his arm?
The second period wasn’t much better.I took a stupid penalty, slashing a guy out of pure frustration.In the box, I stared at the ice, but my eyes kept drifting up.They were still there.Now she was pointing at the ice, and he was nodding, explaining the game to her.The perfect, patient billionaire.
The horn sounded for the second intermission.We were down 2-1.The locker room was a tomb, Coach’s furious silence worse than any shouting.I couldn’t stay in there.I pushed out into the hallway, needing air, needing to move, needing to break something.
And I ran right into him.
Henry stood in the sterile corridor, alone for once.He looked out of place, a king in the servant’s quarters.His eyes found mine, and for a second, I saw something flicker in them—concern, maybe.Guilt.
It was all the invitation I needed.
“What the hell is this, Henry?”My voice was a low, shaking thing.I stepped into his space, not caring who saw.
“Charlie.”He held up a placating hand.“It’s not what you think.”
“You brought her here?To my game?After everything?”The hurt was boiling over, scalding my throat.“What did you archive your goal of fucking a hockey player?”
“Stop it,” he said, his voice hardening into that controlled tone I hated.“It’s for optics.To quiet the gossip before it starts.If I’m seen publicly with her, the narrative resets.It protects you from becoming a headline.”
“Protects me?”A jagged laugh tore out of me.“From who?No one knows about us!Not the press, not the team—just my two best friends who would rather die than sell me out.So what you're saying is bullshit, Henry.Complete, polished, billionaire bullshit.”
For the first time, he looked unsettled.A crack in the marble.“It’s not that simple.Rumors spread.People talk.This is about controlling the narrative—”
“And what’s our narrative, Henry?Huh?”My voice cracked, betraying me.“The one where you fuck me in private and parade her in public?What am I, your dirty secret?Was I just...convenient?”
“That is not what this is,” he said, his jaw tight.
