Chapter 9

Caleb's POV

The ice felt good under my blades. Clean. Simple. The kind of thing that made sense when everything else was fucked.

Alex came at me hard, stick handling like he had something to prove. We'd been at it for two hours—third set of one-on-ones—and neither of us was backing down.

I read his move before he made it. Cut him off at the blue line. My shoulder connected with his chest, body on body, and I felt the impact travel through both of us. The puck squirted loose. I scooped it up, flicked a backhand pass to our winger.

The shot went high glove. Goal.

"Fuck," Alex panted, doubled over his stick. Sweat dripped off his chin onto the ice. "You're dialed in today."

I dragged my glove across my forehead. My jersey was soaked through, sticking to my shoulder pads. My lungs burned.

Good. Better than thinking about last night. Better than remembering how I stood outside her door like some pathetic asshole, trying to find words that didn't exist.

"Slept fine," I said.

I was getting used to this. Telling more lies. Actually, I stared at the ceiling for three hours thinking about Emma. The way her voice cracked when I apologized. The way I wanted to push that door open and—

"Bullshit," Alex said, but he was grinning. He rolled his right wrist in slow circles, wincing slightly.

I noticed. "Wrist still bothering you?"

"Nah, it's fine. Iced it for thirty minutes yesterday. Swelling went down." He flexed his fingers, testing the range of motion. "Tyler caught me weird during drills. Coach pulled me early just to be safe."

"Tyler needs to learn the difference between aggressive and reckless."

"Tell me about it." Alex grabbed his water bottle from the bench. "But hey, speaking of yesterday—you're not gonna believe what happened after I got back to the locker room."

I took a long drink. The cold water hit my throat, but it didn't do shit for the heat still crawling under my skin. "What?"

"Puck bunny. In the locker room."

I almost choked. "What?"

Alex nodded, checking over his shoulder like he was worried someone might hear. The rink was empty except for us—one of the perks of training at Denver's facility before dawn—but old habits died hard.

"Yeah. Found her hiding behind the laundry bins. Scared the shit out of me. One of the crazy puck bunnies I believe."

Puck bunnies. The girls who hung around hockey players like we were walking ATMs and Instagram content. Some were just fans—harmless, eager, annoying but tolerable. Others were hunters. They'd do anything to get close to a player. Sneak into locker rooms. Steal jerseys. Take photos for clout. A few had even sold stories to tabloids when they didn't get what they wanted.

Most guys on the team ate that shit up. Loved the attention. The validation. The easy access.

I'd never seen the appeal. Too messy. Too public. Too much risk for someone like me, who needed to keep his shit locked down tight.

"What'd she look like?" I heard myself ask.

My fingers tightened around the water bottle. The plastic crackled.

"Young. Brown hair. Short—maybe five-three, five-four." Alex shrugged. "She looked terrified. Not like the usual ones, you know? They're all confidence and tits. This girl looked like she wanted to disappear into the floor."

Brown hair. Short. Terrified.

My brain connected the dots before I could stop it.

Emma?

"I thought she was there to steal something," Alex continued. "Or take pictures. You know how they are. So I asked her what the hell she was doing in a restricted area." He paused. "She just stammered something and bolted."

The bottle crumpled in my grip. The sound was loud in the quiet rink.

I wanted to ask more. Wanted to know exactly what she'd said, how she'd looked, whether she'd been wearing those goddamn glasses that made her look like some kind of nerdy fantasy I had no business having.

But I couldn't. Because asking meant caring. And caring meant explaining. And I couldn't explain Emma to anyone without exposing everything I'd spent four years trying to bury.

"You good, man?" Alex was watching me. His eyes were sharp. Too sharp. "You look weird."

I forced my face back to neutral. Loosened my grip on the bottle before it split completely. "Fine."

"You know her?"

"No."

The lie came out smooth. Easy. I'd been lying about Emma since the day Mom sat me down and told me David had a daughter. Since I'd seen her picture and felt something twist low in my gut that had no fucking right to be there.

Alex studied me for another second, then shrugged. "Weird. She didn't seem like the usual type. But whatever. I told security to keep an eye out."

"Yeah," I managed. "Good call."

Before Alex could push further, a voice echoed across the rink.

"BOYS!"

I didn't have to look to know it was Tyler. The guy had one volume setting: obnoxious.

He came barreling through the tunnel like a golden retriever on cocaine, gym bag swinging from one shoulder, face split in a grin so wide it probably hurt.

"Tonight's on me!" he announced, dropping his bag on the bench with a thud. "Drinks, wings, whatever you want. My treat!"

Alex's mouth curved into a smirk. "Let me guess. You got laid."

Tyler threw his arms wide like he was accepting an award. "Bingo! I fucking knew you'd figure it out, Cameron. You're like a sex psychic or some shit."

I felt my jaw tighten. "Coach said no distractions during training camp."

"Relax, Cap." Tyler waved me off, still grinning. "It was a one-night thing. Girl wasn't even from school, I think. No strings, no drama, no impact on my game. Scout's honor."

He held up three fingers in a mock salute.

Tyler moved closer, leaning in like he was about to share some big secret. Then he sniffed.

Actually sniffed the air near me.

"Dude," he said, eyes widening. "Did you change your body wash or something? You smell different."

I stepped back. "Get the fuck away from me."

Tyler laughed, throwing his head back. "Whoa! Touchy! I'm just saying, man. You usually smell like... I don't know, ice and sadness. Today you've got this whole—"

"Drop it, McRae."

But he wasn't listening. He'd already moved on, turning to Alex with that same manic energy.

"Seriously though," Tyler said, lowering his voice like we were in a locker room full of people instead of an empty rink. "That girl? Her perfume was fucking insane. Like... I don't even know how to describe it. Sweet but not too sweet, you know? Vanilla-ish maybe? And she was tiny—like I could practically pick her up with one hand. Brown hair, glasses..." He grinned. "Not my usual scene, but damn, she was into it. And that smell got all over my sheets and now every time I smell it I just want to—"

He made an obscene gesture, hips thrusting forward.

Alex shoved him. "Keep that shit to yourself, man."

"What? I'm just saying!" Tyler grinned, undeterred. He moved toward Alex like he was going in for a hug.

Alex laughed and pushed him away. "Don't put your horny ass on me, McRae."

They were both laughing now, shoving at each other like kids on a playground.

But I wasn't laughing.

Because my brain had just replayed last night in perfect, excruciating detail.

Emma walking past me in the hallway. The smell of vanilla and soap and something underneath. Something that smelled like sex and sweat and—

Tiny. Brown hair. Glasses.

Emma and Tyler?

My hands curled into fists. The tape on my knuckles pulled tight. My breathing went shallow.

No. No fucking way.