25

MAYA

“Move your feet, Chad! Dogfang will eat you alive if you stall on the blue line!”

Coach Vance’s voice echoed through the freezing arena, sharp and demanding. His silver whistle hung from a black lanyard around his thick neck, gleaming under the bright halogen lights.

Sitting in the third row of the metal bleachers, my hands buried deep into the pockets of my oversized coat. Frost clung to the plexiglass separating the stands from the rink. Down on the pristine white surface, the Westbridge hockey team ran full-contact drills. Tomorrow night was the main event. Tomorrow night, they faced Nathan.

My gaze drifted away from the puck and locked straight onto the team captain.

Davies moved like a dark missile across the ice. He wore his black practice jersey, the fabric stretching over his broad shoulders with every powerful swing of his stick. Sweat dripped from the edge of his helmet. He barked orders at Julian, setting up a brutal offensive play that left the defensemen scrambling. His skates carved deep, aggressive grooves into the frozen water, kicking up a mist of white snow.

Watching him work, a dangerous, terrifying flutter sparked in my chest.

Heat rushed to my cheeks. The vivid memory of last night flashed behind my eyes. The solid weight of his body pressing me against the dorm room door. The rough desperation in his voice. The way his massive hands memorized every single curve of my skin. My core gave a sudden, involuntary throb just thinking about the raw power he unleashed between the sheets.

Snapping my eyes shut, a harsh breath pushed past my lips.

This was a massive mistake. Falling for him was the one rule I promised myself I would never break.

Opening my eyes, the harsh glare of the arena lights offered a cruel reality check. I needed to wake up and stop acting *delulu*. This whole thing started as a business transaction. A simple, cold contract signed in ink. He needed to clear his toxic playboy reputation to secure a spot in the professional draft. I needed cash to keep my mother breathing.

We made a deal. Deals end.

Once the scouts made their picks and the season wrapped up, the contract would expire. Davies would pack his bags, sign a multi-million dollar contract with Detroit or Boston, and leave this freezing college town behind. He would go on to live the life of a sports god.

Meanwhile, I would go back to being a broke student juggling classes and part-time jobs.

Biting down on my lower lip, a bitter taste flooded my mouth. Developing real feelings for a guy who viewed our relationship as a PR stunt was a fast track to a destroyed heart. Nathan shattered my trust into a million jagged pieces. Surviving another heartbreak, especially from a guy as intense as Davies, would literally kill me.

"Look at her sitting there like she owns the place."

A high-pitched, annoying whisper drifted from the row right beneath mine.

Glancing down, Tiffany sat with two other girls wearing tight leggings and full faces of makeup. They clutched oversized iced coffees, pretending to watch the drills while glaring daggers at my boots.

"She is such a downgrade," one of her friends muttered, loud enough to make sure her voice carried. "Davies kicked Tiff out of the Sigma party for this basic chick. Makes zero sense. Must be some pity charity case."

"No cap," Tiffany snorted, flipping her blonde extensions over her shoulder. "He is just using her to piss off Nathan. Once the tournament is over, she is getting ghosted. Guaranteed."

Anger spiked in my veins. My fingers curled into tight fists inside my pockets. A sharp, venomous insult sat ready on my tongue, begging to be unleashed.

Before a single word could escape my mouth, a loud crack echoed across the rink.

Davies slapped the puck with terrifying force. It sailed past the goalie’s mask, smashing into the top right corner of the net. The water bottle resting on top exploded, sending a shower of drops raining down over the crease.

Instead of celebrating with his boys, Davies skated straight toward the plexiglass boards right in front of our section.

He stopped short, his skates spraying ice dust against the clear barrier. Pushing his helmet up, his dark, intense eyes locked onto my face. He ignored the three puck bunnies sitting a few feet away. He ignored the rest of the arena.

Lifting his thick, gloved hand, he tapped the glass twice, pointing a finger right at my chest. Then, he flashed that devastating, cocky smirk that made my knees weak.

Tiffany and her friends fell dead silent.

A genuine smile fought its way onto my face. I gave him a small, sarcastic salute in return.

He chuckled, pulling his helmet back down, and skated back to the center circle.

The brief interaction shut the gossip down fast. The girls gathered their bags and scrambled out of the bleachers, their faces flushed with sheer embarrassment. Winning the petty battle felt good, but the victory remained hollow.

Tiffany was a mean girl, but her logic was not wrong. She just spoke my darkest fears out loud.

Standing up from the cold metal bench, a heavy sigh left my chest. The practice had another hour left, and sitting here analyzing his every move was driving me insane. I needed a distraction. I needed an anchor to ground my spinning thoughts.

Pulling my phone from my pocket, a quick text to his number took two seconds.

*Heading to the hospital. Crush them tomorrow.*

Turning my back on the ice, my boots carried me up the concrete stairs. Every step away from the rink felt like pulling a magnet away from a chunk of solid steel. The resistance was physical. Ignoring the pull required every ounce of willpower my brain possessed.

*****

Autumn wind whipped through the city streets, biting at my exposed neck. The sun dipped below the horizon hours ago, plunging the busy avenues into dark shadows. Yellow streetlights flickered to life, casting long streaks of light across the cracked pavement.

Pushing through the automatic sliding doors of the local medical center, the warm air hit my frozen cheeks. The familiar scent of bleach, stale coffee, and chicken broth flooded my senses.

Walking past the front reception desk, a tired nurse gave a brief wave. I nodded back, my pace quickening as the elevator doors dinged open.

Room 412 sat at the end of a quiet corridor.

Pushing the heavy wooden door open, a wave of pure relief washed over my stressed mind.

Mom sat up in her bed. She was not lying flat, looking like a frail ghost anymore. The sickly gray pallor that clung to her skin for months was gone. Warm color flushed her cheeks. She held a thick paperback novel in her hands, reading by the glow of a small reading lamp. The loud, annoying beep of the heart monitor sounded steady and strong.

"Look who decided to grace me with her presence," Mom joked, closing her book with a soft thud.

"Hi, Mom." Walking over, my arms wrapped around her thin shoulders. Her hug felt stronger today. The fragile weakness seemed to evaporate more with every passing hour.

Sitting down in the cheap plastic chair beside her bed, a real smile stretched my lips. "You look amazing. The color in your face is back."

"The chemo is doing its job," she hummed, adjusting her thin blanket. "Dr. Aris came in this morning. He looked at my charts and actually smiled. Can you believe it? The man has teeth. He said my white blood cell count is climbing fast."

"That is incredible news!"

"It gets better," she leaned forward, her dark eyes sparkling with excitement. "If the numbers keep holding up, they are talking about a discharge date. End of the month, Maya. I get to go home."

Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. A massive, crushing weight lifted off my shoulders.

All the stress, the late-night shifts, the terrible deal with Davies—it all culminated in this single moment. She was going to live. We were going to survive this nightmare.

"I cannot wait to have you back in our kitchen," my voice cracked, betraying the raw emotion swimming in my chest.

"Me neither," she smiled, reaching out to squeeze my hand. "Hospital food tastes like boiled cardboard. I need real seasoning before my tastebuds give up and die."

She paused, tilting her head. Her gaze scanned my face, narrowing with sudden suspicion.

"So," her tone shifted into a playful, taunting lilt. "Where is my chocolate supplier?"

Heat rushed straight to my ears. "Davies is at hockey practice. They have a massive tournament game tomorrow night."

"A tournament," she repeated, raising a skeptical eyebrow. "Is that why you look like a flustered teenager? Your cheeks are bright red, Maya. You have that ridiculous glow about you. Do not lie to me."

"I am not lying! The wind outside is freezing. It gave me windburn."

"Windburn," she scoffed, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling tiles. "Sure. And I am the Queen of England. I told you the other day, that tall boy is a keeper. The way he looked at you in this very room? Men do not look at casual friends like that. He looks at you like you hung the moon in the sky."

"Mom, stop."

"I will not stop!" She pointed a finger at my nose. "You spent years letting that toxic rat Nathan drag you down. Now you have a guy who pays my medical bills, brings me imported sweets, and holds your hand like you are a literal prize. You better not fumble him, Maya."

"You do not understand the situation!"

"I understand human anatomy and basic chemistry," she fired back, refusing to drop the subject. "You slept with him, didn't you?"

My jaw hit the floor. The sheer audacity of her question left me stunned into silence.

"Oh, my God!" Jumping out of the plastic chair, my hands flew to cover my burning face. "I am leaving! You are an absolute menace today!"

Mom erupted into a fit of genuine, bright laughter. The sound echoed off the sterile walls, full of life and joy. "I knew it! Stay safe, kid! Tell my son-in-law good luck on his game tomorrow!"

"He is not your son-in-law!"

Grabbing my coat off the edge of the bed, a frantic retreat seemed like the only viable survival tactic. Hurrying out the hospital room door, her laughter followed me down the quiet hallway.

My face felt like it was on fire.

Hitting the lobby, my boots clicked fast against the polished linoleum floor. The teasing words bounced around my skull. She saw right through my defenses. Even a dying woman could spot the raging chemistry I tried so hard to deny.

Stepping through the sliding glass doors, the freezing night air acted like a bucket of ice water.

Taking a deep breath, the cold wind filled my lungs. The parking lot stretched out in front of the building, bathed in the sickly yellow glow of sparse streetlamps. My bus stop sat three blocks away, down a narrow path running behind the hospital's main parking garage.

Tucking my chin into my scarf, my pace settled into a brisk walk.

The path was deserted. Bare tree branches scraped against a brick wall, rustling loud in the harsh wind. The shadows stretched long and twisted across the concrete.

My mind wandered back to the rink. Davies was probably in the locker room right now, shedding his gear and joking with Julian. I wondered if he read my text. I wondered if he missed my presence in the stands.

A sharp crunch of gravel snapped my attention back to reality.

Footsteps.

They sounded heavy, matching my exact pace. If I sped up, the thud of boots behind me sped up too.

Fear coiled deep in my stomach, cold and primal.

Clutching my purse tight, my thumb located the sharp edge of my keys. My eyes darted around the empty path. There were no cars. No nurses taking a smoke break. Just dark brick walls and flickering streetlights.

"Hey," a gruff voice called out from the shadows.

Do not turn around. Do not stop.

Breaking into a jog, my boots pounded the pavement. The bus stop was only one block away. Just reach the main road. Just reach the light.

The footsteps behind me erupted into a full sprint.

Panic exploded in my chest. Opening my mouth to scream, a massive, rough hand clamped hard over my lips.

A violent jerk pulled me backward, tearing me off balance.

"Got you, b*tch," a voice hissed right into my ear.

Thrashing wild, my elbows swung backward, desperate to connect with a ribs or a jaw. My heel stomped down, aiming for a foot, but the attacker shifted his weight flawlessly. He was massive. Built like a brick wall.

"Hold still!" he growled.

Another hand wrapped around my waist, lifting my feet clean off the ground. My purse slipped from my shoulder, hitting the concrete with a dull thud. My phone slid across the gravel, the screen lighting up the dark ground for a split second before fading to black.

Kicking my legs, a muffled scream tore at my throat, blocked by the thick leather glove pressing against my mouth.

A sudden, harsh chemical smell flooded my nostrils.

It smelled sweet. Sickly. Like burnt sugar and rubbing alcohol.

A damp rag pressed firm over my nose and mouth, replacing the leather glove.

Fighting the urge to breathe was impossible. My lungs burned for oxygen. Taking a sharp, involuntary gasp, the toxic fumes rushed straight into my system.

The reaction was instantaneous.

My vision blurred, the yellow streetlights smearing into long, distorted streaks of bright color. The frantic pounding of my heart slowed into a thick, sluggish rhythm. The strength drained out of my kicking legs like water pouring from a cracked glass.

"Hello," the voice mocked, sounding far away. Sounding like an echo inside a long tunnel.

My eyelids fluttered, suddenly weighing a thousand pounds.

Trying to raise my arms, my muscles refused to obey the command. Numbness spread from my fingertips straight to my chest. The cold autumn wind faded. The rough grip around my waist dissolved into nothingness.

A single, terrifying thought flashed through my melting brain.

Davies.

The world tilted on a violent axis. The dim lights vanished completely.

Darkness rushed in, cold and absolute, swallowing me whole.