Chapter 3 The Ice And The Eyes

The cold inside Chelsea Piers wasn’t like the freezing air outside. It was a sharp, artificial cold that smelled of fresh ice, wet hockey gear, and sweat.

The arena was completely packed. St. Jude’s gold and black banners hung from the steel rafters, vibrating every time the crowd roared. I sat near the top of the bleachers, pulling the collar of my oversized thrift store coat up to my chin. I shouldn't have been here. I had a pile of homework waiting for me in Queens, and the subway ride back would take over an hour.

But I told myself this was an investment check. Jaxon Montgomery was my five-hundred-dollar meal ticket, and if he got himself benched or injured tonight, my secure escrow funds would vanish. I needed to see him deliver.

Down on the ice, the game was brutal. The rivalry between St. Jude’s and Brooklyn Prep was legendary. The players slammed into each other like they were trying to knock each other down.

At the center of it all was number 17.

Jax moved like a shadow on the ice. He was shockingly fast for his size, dodging defenders with an ease that made it look like the puck was glued to his stick. When a Brooklyn Prep player tried to slam Jax against the glass below where I was sitting, Jax saw it coming. He quickly stepped aside, and the other player crashed hard into the boards.

The St. Jude's crowd went wild, banging against the glass.

I watched his every move, my chest tightening slightly as the referee blew the whistle, calling a tense timeout. The players skated back to the bench, their heavy breathing making small clouds in the cold air.

Jax pulled off his helmet, his dark hair damp with sweat and sticking to his forehead. He leaned against the boards, taking water from a plastic bottle. But he wasn't looking at his coach, who was furiously drawing plays on a whiteboard.

Jax was looking up at the luxury VIP boxes.

I followed his gaze. In the center box sat a man in a tailored charcoal suit, staring coldly down at the ice. He wasn't cheering. He wasn't even smiling. He just checked his gold watch, looking entirely unimpressed. Julian Montgomery. The billionaire tech mogul who threatened to ruin his son's life over a GPA.

Jax’s jaw tightened. He lowered his head, a heavy, vulnerable shadow falling over his face. For all his arrogance in the hallways, right now he just looked like a kid trying desperately to prove he was worth something.

Suddenly, as if feeling the weight of my stare, Jax lifted his head. His stormy gray eyes scanned the regular bleachers, moving right past the cheering students, until they stopped.

Dead on me.

My breath caught. We were about thirty feet apart, with a thick glass wall between us, but his eyes locked onto mine so intensely that the loud crowd seemed to disappear. I froze, gripping my phone tightly in my pocket. Did he know? Could he tell that “V” was standing right in front of him?

The referee’s whistle blew, breaking the spell. Jax tore his eyes away, jammed his helmet back on, and skated back out onto the ice.

Two periods later, St. Jude's won. The final buzzer sounded, and the crowd poured into the arena hallways, celebrating loudly. I quickly threw my backpack over my shoulder and headed for the exit, hoping to catch the train before the crowd got there.

"Vance!"

The sharp, booming voice stopped me right near the dark, concrete hallway leading to the locker rooms.

I turned around. Jax was walking toward me, still wearing his bulky hockey pants and his padded under-armor shirt. He was sweating, his chest heaving, and he completely towered over me in the narrow corridor. Several passing students turned to look, whispering to each other.

"What are you doing here?" Jax asked, stepping into my path and blocking my route to the exit. His gray eyes were piercing, still riding the high of the game's adrenaline.

I forced my expression into a mask of pure boredom, hiding the frantic hammering of my heart. "It's a public arena, Montgomery. I didn't know I needed your permission to watch a game."

"You don't," he murmured, taking a step closer. The scent of ice and winter air rolled off him. "But you were sitting at the top of section four. And you didn't cheer once. You just watched me. The whole time."

I swallowed hard, keeping my chin lifted. "I was evaluating my project partner. I wanted to see if you actually possessed any focus, or if you were going to be a liability to my English grade."

Jax stared down at me, his eyes narrowing as if trying to solve a complicated puzzle. A slow, annoying smile spread across his face. "Right. Your English grade. Is that why you stayed until the final buzzer?"

"I like to see things through to the end," I shot back smoothly. "Now if you'll excuse me, some of us actually have to commute back to reality."

I stepped around his broad shoulder, my heart pounding against my ribs as I hurried toward the exit doors.

"See you Monday, partner!" he called out behind me, his rough voice echoing in the concrete hall.

I didn't look back. I pushed through the glass doors into the freezing Manhattan night, pulling out my phone the second I hit the pavement. My fingers were shaking slightly as I opened the GhostGrad app.

I needed to see if he had messaged "V" before the game, or if I had successfully kept the boundary line intact. The screen loaded, and my breath hitched.

A single pending message from User7742 was glowing in the dark.