The Ice Rink Enforcer

Marlo

The cold inside the ice arena was different from the freezing air outside. It was heavy, wet, and smelled like machine oil and damp rubber.

I took the long way around the sports complex after my afternoon class, trying to avoid the main quad where Jarrah had nearly choked a man to death two hours ago. My hands were still shaking inside my hoodie pockets. My mind was spinning out of control. J.V. The initials on the murder contract kept flashing behind my eyes. Every shadow on campus felt like a person waiting to drag me into an alley.

The hollow thud of a hockey puck slamming against thick glass echoed down the dim concrete corridor. I flinched, pulling my backpack tighter against my spine. I just wanted to get to my dorm, lock the door, and figure out my next move.

A tall figure stepped out from the home team locker room, blocking the hallway completely.

I stopped dead in my tracks.

Cal O'Shea was leaning against the painted wall, a damp towel draped over his broad shoulders. He was still wearing his team track pants and a grey sleeveless hoodie, his hair damp from the post practice shower. He looked relaxed, almost lazy, holding a warm paper coffee cup in one large hand.

"Whoa there, little bird," Cal said, flashing a wide, easy grin. "You look like you just saw a ghost."

His voice was smooth, carrying that rough, charismatic edge that made half the girls on campus swoon whenever he walked into the student union. He looked completely harmless. He looked like a star athlete who didn't have a single dark thought in his head but I knew better now. I had seen him standing in the dark at Jarrah’s estate. I had heard him take orders without blinking.

"I'm just going home, Cal," I said, keeping my voice as steady as I could. I tried to step around him toward the doors leading to the parking lot.

Cal shifted his stance, casually stepping right into my path. He didn't raise his hand. He didn't make a threat. He just used his broad frame to shut down my only exit.

"Walk with me for a second, Cleary," Cal said, taking a slow sip of his coffee. "Just a quick chat."

"I don't have anything to say to you," I whispered, my heart beginning its familiar, violent kick against my ribs.

"That's fine. You just listen," Cal replied, his tone remaining light and conversational. He turned and started walking down the empty corridor that ran alongside the dark, unused practice rink.

I stood still for a second, looking back toward the locker rooms but I knew there was nowhere to run. If Cal wanted to stop me, I wouldn't make it three steps. I forced my legs to follow him, keeping two full paces of distance between us.

The practice rink was completely empty. The large overhead lights were turned off, leaving only the dim blue emergency lights reflecting off the vast, smooth sheet of ice. The temperature dropped instantly. My breath bloomed in faint white clouds between us.

Cal stopped by the team bench, resting one heavy forearm on the top of the wooden dasher board. He looked out over the dark ice, his crooked smile fading just a fraction.

"Jarrah’s losing his mind, Marlo," Cal said softly, his voice dropping into a tone that was almost friendly. Almost caring. "He’s an absolute brilliant strategist when his head is clear. But right now? His head isn't clear. He choked a guy in broad daylight today in front of fifty witnesses because the guy looked at you the wrong way."

"I didn't ask him to do that," I snapped, anger flaring through the paralyzing fear in my chest. "I didn't ask him to follow me, or stalk me, or ruin my life!"

Cal turned his head, his eyes locking onto mine. The easy going charm was still there on the surface, but underneath it, I saw something icy and sharp.

"It doesn't matter what you asked for," Cal said quietly. "What matters is what's happening. You're a wildcard, Cleary. You're the one variable Jarrah can't control, and a man who can't control his variables gets himself killed."

He stepped closer to me, his boots making no sound on the floor. The smell of cedar soap and cold air washed over me.

"I've known Jarrah since we were twelve years old," Cal continued, his voice dropping to a low, rough rumble. "I've bled for him. I've covered up his bodies. I'm the one who sweeps the perimeter while he sleeps. My job is to keep him alive and right now, you are the biggest threat to his survival."

My stomach tightened. The emotional weight of everything hit me all at once the betrayal of my aunt, Jarrah’s terrifying fixation, and now Cal, standing in front of me like a polite executioner.

"Are you threatening me?" I asked, forcing myself to look him directly in the eye.

Cal chuckled softly, shaking his head. He reached out and gently tapped two fingers against the side of my head. "I'm giving you advice, little bird. Stay out of his inner orbit. Stop digging into things you aren't supposed to know. Walk away before you drag him down with you."

"I can't walk away!" I cried out, my voice echoing in the vast, cold space of the rink. "Siobhan wants me dead! Jarrah won't let me go!"

Cal’s smile disappeared completely. For a split second, the mask dropped entirely, revealing the cold, lethal enforcer hidden beneath the charming athlete.

"Then let me make this very clear," Cal whispered, leaning down so his mouth was right next to my ear. "Jarrah thinks he's keeping you safe from Siobhan. But if your presence puts his life or our operation at risk, I won't wait for Siobhan to finish the job. I'll put a bullet in your head myself, and I'll make sure Jarrah thinks your aunt’s men did it."

A cold shudder ran straight down my spine. This wasn't protection. This wasn't even loyalty to Jarrah. Cal was playing his own game, managing Jarrah from the shadows just as much as Jarrah was managing me.

Cal pulled back, his easy, boyish smile snapping instantly back into place as if nothing had happened. He reached into his track jacket pocket, pulled out a small, heavy key, and tossed it into the air. He caught it effortlessly and held it out to me.

"Jarrah left this for you," Cal said, his tone light again. "It opens the private locker room under the north stands. He wants you to wait for him there after six."

My hand trembled as I took the key from his palm.

Cal turned and began walking back down the hallway toward the showers, tossing his paper coffee cup into a trash can without looking back.

"Oh, and Marlo?" Cal called out over his shoulder, pausing at the corner.

"What?" I choked out.

Cal didn't turn around. "Before you go to that room, you might want to check the lock on your backpack."

My heart stopped. I yanked my backpack off my shoulders and brought it around to my chest. The front pocket the secret compartment where I had hidden the five decoded cipher letters was unzipped by two inches.

I shoved my hand inside.

The letters were gone. In their place was a folded slip of yellowed paper that hadn't been there twenty minutes ago.

With shaking hands, I unfolded it under the dim light of the rink. It was a police evidence tag from ten years ago the night my parents died and printed across the bottom line in crisp, official ink was the list of evidence seized from the crime scene:

Item 4B: One blood stained hockey glove, recovered from the back seat of the getaway car. Property of: Cal O'Shea.