ICE CLASH

MELISSA'S POV

 “Brown! MOVE YOUR FEET!”

 Coach’s voice split through the ice.

 I didn’t flinch.

 Skate. Pass. Drop shoulder. Cut left. Blow past number fourteen.

 “Oh my gosh!,” someone from the French bench muttered as I slipped through their defense like a damn shadow.

 “Melissa!” Xavier barked.

 I ignored him. Of course he was yelling again. That guy never shut up.

 “Back right!” he shouted.

 I already knew. I flicked the puck backwards without looking.

 His stick caught it with a loud clack, and a second later, the crowd screamed.

 Goal.

 I didn’t celebrate. I never did.

 Instead, I skated back to center ice and waited for the puck drop.

 Xavier coasted over to me, grinning like a devil.

 “You’re welcome,” he said, smirking.

 I didn’t look at him. “You mean I passed you the puck.”

 “Teamwork, baby.”

 I glared at him. “Don’t call me baby.”

 He laughed. “You’re so grumpy when we’re winning.”

 “I’m always grumpy.”

 He winked. “Hmm, right.”

 I didn’t respond. The whistle blew again.

 Next play. Focus.

 By the third period, the score was 4–1. England was crushing it.

 Coach screamed. Fans roared. The commentator kept yelling my name over and over, like he finally learned how to pronounce it right.

 "Melissa Brown with another clean steal!"

"Unbelievable! She's slicing through the French defense like a damn blade!"

 Xavier tossed me a look. "You're showing off now."

 "I'm winning," I shot back.

 "You like playing with me, admit it."

 I rolled my eyes and skated past him.

 But he wasn’t wrong. We did play well together. Too well.

 His fire and my ice.

 No one could touch us when we clicked.

 The final buzzer blasted.

 We’d won.

 I didn’t smile. Just lifted my stick once and skated off.

 Behind me, Katrina was screaming from the bleachers. “GO, BABY! THAT’S MY MAN!”

 I heard Xavier chuckle.

 He pulled off his helmet, hair dripping with sweat, and jogged toward her.

 She met him halfway. Kissed him right there in front of everyone like it was some damn movie.

 I kept walking. I didn’t care.

 I really didn’t.

 The locker room smelled like sweat.

 I unzipped my jersey and tossed it onto the bench. My chest still heaved from the last play, but my mind was already shutting down.

 “Yo, Mel,” Liam grinned, yanking off his pads. “Saw you drop that guy in the second period. Damn near cried.”

 “He elbowed me in the gut,” I muttered.

 “Still,” Brandon added, shaking his head. “Never seen a girl check someone like that. That was cold.”

 I shrugged.

 “Someone tell her to smile,” Jay said, laughing. “We just won!”

 “Melissa? Smile?” Liam scoffed. “She’s basically a stone. Emotionless.”

 I rolled my eyes and pulled off my socks.

 “Come on, Brown, say something cocky. You earned it.”

 “I’m the best,” I said flatly.

 Everyone laughed.

 “You're such a little shit,” Brandon grinned.

 “You all love me,” I said, deadpan.

 They did.

 They might joke, but I was one of them. 

The only girl. And still the best.

 They didn’t let me in at first.

 Said it was too dangerous. Too aggressive. Said I’d get hurt.

 I proved them wrong. Over and over again. 

Youngest player to join the national league.

 Fastest skating time on record. 

More assists than half the team combined.

 They let me stay because they had no choice.

 Dinner was in the hotel ballroom. Fancy setup. Long tables, velvet chairs, silverware that clinked too loudly. Everyone looked too clean.

 I sat near the middle, beside Jay and across from Connor, our goalie.

 Xavier was farther down the table next to Katrina, who had on one of those tight mini skirts and his England jacket thrown over her shoulders.

 She was laughing too loud. Holding his hand like she owned him.

 He didn’t look bothered.

 I stabbed my fork into the roasted chicken on my plate. 

“Hey,” Connor said, tapping the table near me. “You okay?”

 “Fine.”

 “You were insane today,” he said. “Seriously. That pass in the third—genius.” 

“Thanks.”

 He leaned closer. “You ever—uh—go out after tournaments?”

 I didn’t look up. “No.” 

“Just wondering,” he said quickly. “Figured maybe sometime we could grab a drink.”

 Jay snorted beside me.

 “Good luck, man,” he said. “Melissa doesn’t date.”

 Connor ignored him. “Just one drink. You don’t even have to talk.”

 “I’m not interested.”

 He blinked. “Oh. Okay. Yeah. Cool.” 

Jay laughed again. “Told you.” 

I kept eating.

 “Why are you so scary?” Jay asked after dessert. 

“I’m not scary.” 

“You’re terrifying.”

 “Maybe you’re just soft.”

 He raised a brow. “Are you saying I’m weak?”

 “Compared to me? Obviously.”

 He shook his head, grinning. “You’re actually evil.” 

“Only on ice.”

 Connor mumbled something, but I didn’t hear. I was too busy watching Xavier across the room.

 He looked at me.

 Just once.

 

******

I couldn’t sleep.

 Everyone else was probably knocked out from dinner and drinks, but my mind wouldn’t shut up. It never did after games. The win didn’t settle me. It itched.

 So I threw on a hoodie, laced my sneakers, and slipped out the hotel room.

 The rink wasn’t far. The hotel was connected to the stadium by a private underground corridor, meant for athletes and VIPs. I knew the way.

 I just needed the ice. Alone.

 No yelling coaches. No cameras.

 Just me.

 I pushed open the side door, stepped inside—and froze.

 Because there he was.

 Xavier Kesh. Center of the rink. Alone. Shirt damp with sweat, hockey stick in hand, flicking pucks one by one into the empty net.

 Clack. Clack. Clack.

 He didn’t see me.

 He looked… different.

 Just him. Focused, breathing heavy and his jaw tight.

 I watched him for a second too long.

 Then he turned.

 Our eyes locked.

 He didn’t look surprised. 

“You always sneak into rinks past midnight?” he asked, voice echoing.

 “It’s…you know what, yes, I need silence.”

 He smirked. “Guess you’re out of luck.”

 I stepped forward slowly. “What are you even doing here?”

 “Same thing as you, I bet.” He tapped a puck with his blade. “Trying to breathe.”

 I stayed by the edge of the rink, arms crossed.

 He skated toward me.

 I hated that he was good. Really good. Even off-game, even off-script.

 He stopped a few feet away. “Didn’t peg you for the sentimental type.”

 “I’m not.”

 He raised a brow. “So why sneak in at midnight? Missing the ice already?”

 I didn’t answer.

 He leaned on his stick, studying me. “You don’t talk much, huh?”

 “I only talk when people say useful things.”

 “Ouch.”

 I shrugged. 

“Still mad I called you baby on the ice?” he teased.

 I gave him a look. “Say it again and I’ll break your teeth.”

 He laughed. “There she is.”

 I hated how easy his laugh was.

 I hated how it echoed in my chest.

 “So,” he said after a beat, “is it weird?”

 “What?” 

“Playing with guys. Being the only girl.” 

“No.”

 “Never?”

 I met his eyes. “Not when I’m better than all of you.”

 His mouth twitched. “Cocky.” 

“Confident.”

 He nodded. “Fair.”

 We stood in silence for a moment.

 Then he did something stupid.

 He took off his shirt.

 I blinked. “Are you serious?”

 “It’s hot,” he said casually and stepped onto the mat beside me. “You never smile.”

 “Because there’s nothing funny.”

 “You ever have fun?”

 “Fun doesn’t win championships.”

 “You sound exhausted.”

 

Gosh, he was so close now. Smirking.

 I could smell the sweat on his skin.

 He wasn’t just some loud-mouthed forward anymore.

 Not Katrina’s boyfriend.

 Not my teammate.

 Not the idiot who winked during faceoffs.

 He was—

 I stepped back too fast and hit my head on the metal door frame.

 “Shit,” I muttered, gripping the back of my head.

 “You okay?” he asked, reaching out.

 “Don’t touch me,” I snapped.

 He paused. Smiled again. “You’re blushing.”

 “No, I’m not.”

 “Yes, you are.”

 I glared at him.

 Then turned and walked off.

 What the hell was that.