CHASE IS ON THE CASE

THE ENTIRE RINK WENT DEAD SILENT AS SCOTT TURNED HIS BACK AND SKATED AWAY.

Coach’s face flushed a deep, furious red. He slammed his clipboard against the plexiglass wall, the sound echoing like a gunshot. "Lawrence! What the hell was that!"

The moment the captain ignored him, the rink erupted into total noise. The team's chirpy, welcoming energy vanished, replaced by sheer chaos. Some of the boys looked at me in complete confusion, their jaws wide open.

Others quickly skated off to follow Scott, screaming over each other, trying to demand answers for what he had just done.

Before I could even process the cold liquid dripping down my forehead, Bree ran up to me. Her eyes were wide with panic as she grabbed my arm and guided me out of the freezing arena.

"Oh my God, Chase, what the hell was that? Why did he do that?" she asked, her voice shaking as we hurried down the hallway.

My mind was completely numb. The sticky coffee was still dripping from my face, ruining the collar of my jacket. I couldn't wrap my head around it.

The boy from my childhood—the one who used to smile—had just treated me like garbage in front of everyone.

"Hey, come over here," someone called out to us.

I looked up to see one of the hockey players gesturing toward a side door. We followed him into the empty auxiliary locker room, away from the prying eyes of the rest of the team.

As soon as the door clicked shut, the player turned around, crossing his massive arms. "What did you do to piss Lawrence off like that?"

'I honestly don't know,' I thought to myself, but the words wouldn't leave my throat. I just shook my head, staring at the floor.

The player let out a low whistle, clearly not wanting to get caught in the crossfire. "Well, I wish you good luck," he said, shaking his head as he walked out, leaving just Bree and me.

Bree immediately grabbed some paper towels and started cleaning my hair, her expression a mix of anger and worry. "I just hope this stain will get off your shirt," she muttered, gently wiping the coffee from my neck.

Before I could answer, we heard heavy footsteps and raised voices coming closer down the corridor. The locker room door swung open, and there stood the coach and the captain.

"Apologize to her, Lawrence," the coach commanded, his voice strong with authority.

Scott didn't even come close. He stayed right by the door, leaning his massive frame against the frame, staring at me with a completely blank face. "She's fine, Coach. Why do I need to apologize?"

Coach looked absolutely crazy with frustration, his hands trembling.

I stood there, watching the power struggle, still not understanding what was going on. But then a cold realization washed over me. I needed to do well at this job.

I had transferred schools and cut off my family to build a future on my own. I couldn't let a feud with the team captain ruin everything I had worked towards on my very first day.

Stepping forward, I ignored Bree as she grabbed the back of my jacket, silently asking me what I was doing.

"Coach, it's just a misunderstanding," I said, forcing my voice to sound calm and steady. "It's probably nothing. Look, I'm one hundred percent fine. It was just a teammate thing, right? Like a hazing ritual?"

I looked directly at Scott, giving him an opening to play along. He just shrugged carelessly and turned his gaze away.

Coach looked between the two of us, letting out a long, heavy sigh. He looked exhausted. "We've got a good manager here, Lawrence. Treat her well. She's nice enough to let you go."

Scott finally looked back at the coach, and a mocking, smile broke across his face. "I suppose that's right," he said smoothly. He stepped into the locker room, his shadow completely covering me. "Let me give you a big hug and apologize properly."

"I am so sorry," he said aloud, bowing his head slightly so Coach could see.

But then he walked even closer, leaning down until his lips were right beside my ear. The warmth of his breath contrasted sharply with the freezing coffee still drying on my skin.

"Stay out of my way, Thomas, or I'll crush you like a bug," he whispered, his voice low and dangerous.

He pulled back, gave me one last cold glare, and then turned and walked out of the room.

Coach let out a breath, rubbing his temples. "Well, at least that didn't end in a total disaster. Thank you, Chase. He's not usually like this. I don't know what came over him but I'll make sure he respects himself and most importantly, you. And please, send your laundry bill to me. I'll clear it off."

With a tight nod, Coach left the locker room too.

Bree let out a breath she had been holding for five minutes. She quietly took my heavy gear bag from my hand, and we walked back to our campus apartment in total silence.

The warmth of our living room was a relief, but the tension was still there, thick and heavy and suffocating. Bree dropped my bag by the door and turned to me, her arms crossed.

"Is there history between you two?" she asked bluntly.

I looked down at my soaked boots. "Except the fact I had a massive crush on him when we were younger? No. Nothing." Bree didn't say anything about the crush and I appreciated her for not asking.

"Then why did he dump his coffee on you?" She started the conversation back to me soaking with coffee.

"It's a mystery I also want to find out," I whispered, the weight of the day finally pressing down on my shoulders.

Bree’s expression softened. She stepped forward, rubbing my arms. "Well, be safe in here. I'll go run you a hot bath." She placed a kiss on my forehead and walked away toward the bathroom.

Once I was alone, I dropped onto my bed. I reached into my desk drawer, pulled out an old photo from the junior championships years ago, and looked at it. In the picture, a younger Scott stood right next to me, smiling brightly.

Looking at his old smile made my heart beat erratically against my ribs.

What went wrong?