Chapter Five: Fractured Breakfast

Morning light filtered through the heavy drapes of the Thorne family dining room, casting long shadows across the polished mahogany table. The air smelled of fresh coffee, scrambled eggs, and the faint metallic tang of tension that seemed to linger in this house like a permanent resident. Jax Thorne sat at one end of the table, broad shoulders hunched slightly over his plate, pushing food around with his fork more than actually eating it. At twenty-two, he was built like the hockey player he was, tall, solid muscle from years of brutal drills and checks, but in this room, he felt smaller.

His father, Mr. Marvel Thorne, a stern businessman in his late fifties with salt-and-pepper hair and a perpetual scowl, speared a piece of sausage and brought it to his mouth. “I heard about the party you went to the other night,” he said between chews, his voice carrying that familiar edge of suspicion. “Hope you didn’t do anything stupid.”

Jax’s jaw tightened. He didn’t look up. The “party” his father referred to was the club night, the one where everything had spiraled. Where he had lost control for a few reckless hours and ended up in a hotel room with a figure skater whose face he couldn’t forget no matter how hard he tried.

Mrs. May Thorne, Jax’s mother, sat across from him. She was softer in appearance, with kind eyes and neatly styled auburn hair, but the years of navigating her husband’s temper had etched quiet lines around her mouth. She rolled her eyes subtly at her husband’s tone and offered Jax a gentle, reassuring look, silently urging him to stay calm.

Jax didn’t reply. He kept his gaze fixed on his plate. Ever since his father had caught him in the garage with his cousin months ago, both of them half-naked, hands and mouths exploring in a clumsy, desperate rush fueled by too much beer and hidden curiosity, Marvel had become unbearable. The incident had been brief, awkward, and quickly ended when the garage door opened unexpectedly. But it had shattered whatever fragile trust remained between father and son. Marvel now watched Jax like a hawk, constantly probing for any sign of “deviance.”

“I asked you a question, son,” Marvel said, his voice rising as he slammed his fork down on the table with a sharp clatter that made both Jax and May flinch.

Jax’s control snapped. He shoved his chair back and stood abruptly, towering over the table. “I didn’t, okay? I didn’t do anything!” he shouted, his deep voice echoing off the walls. Anger and frustration boiled over, years of hiding and pretending bubbling to the surface. “Seems like you don’t want me to eat. Bye, Mom. I’ll go get ready for practice.”

He stormed toward the stairs without waiting for a response. It was too early for practice, barely past seven, but anything was better than sitting there under his father’s microscope. May didn’t try to stop him; she knew when her son needed space, especially when Marvel was being a dick.

As Jax’s footsteps faded upstairs, Marvel turned to his wife, voice dripping with disapproval. “See the way you are raising him, May? Spoiling him, letting him run wild.”

May scoffed, setting her coffee cup down with more force than necessary. “Don’t you start with me. If you had been a good father to him, maybe he would be more open with you instead of shutting down every time you open your mouth.”

Marvel let out a cold chuckle, leaning back in his chair. “Oh, you mean more open about him bending over for his fellow men? Like that little incident in the garage with his cousin, both of them fumbling around like confused boys who didn’t know what they were doing.”

May’s face tightened, but she held her ground. “He’s your son, Marvel. Our son. And if you keep pushing like this, you’re going to lose him completely.”

Marvel stood, wiping his mouth with a napkin before tossing it onto the plate. “If you still want to keep seeing your precious boy around here, you better warn him to straighten up. And we will be having dinner with the Jeremy family tonight. Discuss your son getting engaged to his beautiful daughter. It’s time he started acting like a real man. settling down, building the right image for the family name.”

With that, he grabbed his briefcase and headed for the door, the sound of it slamming behind him reverberating through the house like a final punctuation mark.

Upstairs, Jax stood in front of the full-length mirror in his bedroom, towel in hand as he dried his damp hair. His jaw was clenched so tightly it ached, muscles standing out along his neck. The reflection staring back at him looked every bit the confident athlete, dark hair tousled, powerful build honed from endless hours on the ice, but inside, everything felt like it was cracking. The argument downstairs played on repeat. His father’s words about the garage incident, the casual cruelty in mentioning it, the threat of an arranged engagement to some girl he barely knew. It all pressed down on him, heavy as shoulder pads during a full-contact drill.

He tossed the towel aside and began dressing for practice: compression shorts, athletic pants, a fitted team hoodie that stretched across his broad chest, and his favorite pair of sneakers. Every movement was mechanical, driven by the need to escape the house. He grabbed his hockey bag, slinging it over one shoulder, the weight familiar and grounding. Before heading down, he paused at the window, staring out at the manicured backyard where he had once played street hockey as a kid, back when things were simpler, before secrets and expectations turned everything sour.

Downstairs, May was clearing the table when Jax reappeared. She looked up, her expression softening with maternal worry. “Jax, honey…”

He crossed the room quickly and kissed her cheek, the gesture brief but sincere. “I’ll be fine, Mom. Just… don’t let him push too hard today.”

She nodded, squeezing his arm. “Be careful out there. And call me if you need anything.”

Jax offered a tight nod and headed for the garage. He slid into his sleek black SUV, the engine roaring to life with a deep rumble that matched his mood. As he backed out of the driveway and pulled onto the quiet suburban street, the estate’s luxury homes blurred past, large properties with gates and perfect lawns that hid all kinds of family fractures. His own home was no exception.

The drive to the rink gave him time to think, though he wished it didn’t. Elias’s face kept flashing in his mind, the elegant skater with the defiant eyes, the one who had moaned so beautifully that night in the hotel, body arching under him in perfect rhythm. Jax gripped the steering wheel harder, knuckles whitening. He couldn’t afford to remember. Not when his father was already sniffing around for any weakness. Not when the team expected him to be the aggressive, straight-shooting forward who chased girls and crushed opponents.

He turned up the music, loud, aggressive rock, to drown out the thoughts. By the time he reached the arena parking lot, his expression had settled back into the cold, unreadable mask he wore like armor. He grabbed his bag and headed inside, the familiar chill of the rink air hitting him as he pushed through the doors.

The facility was still quiet this early. A few maintenance staff moved about, but the main ice surface was empty except for the faint echo of his own footsteps. Jax changed in the shared locker room, the space reminding him uncomfortably of yesterday’s confrontation. He laced up his skates with sharp, efficient movements, then stepped onto the ice alone for an early warm-up. Each powerful stride helped burn off some of the frustration from breakfast. He practiced hard crossovers, sharp stops that sprayed ice shavings, and a few slapshots that cracked loudly against the boards.

But even here, on the ice where he felt most in control, Elias lingered at the edges of his thoughts. The way the skater had pushed back yesterday, unafraid and composed. The graceful way he moved, so different from the brute force of hockey. It irritated Jax how much space the other man occupied in his head.

As more players and figure skaters began arriving, Jax kept to his end of the ice, focusing on drills. When Elias eventually showed up with Elara, gliding onto the ice in that effortless style, Jax felt the familiar pull-and-push war inside him. He wanted to shove the memory away. He wanted to pull the other man closer and see if the heat from that night still burned.

Instead, he channeled everything into aggression, checking harder during team drills, shouting louder at teammates who missed passes. His father’s threats echoed with every slapshot: straighten up… engagement… real man.

Practice hadn’t even officially started, but the ice already felt thinner, more dangerous.

Jax Thorne was skating on the edge of his own secrets, and one wrong move could send everything crashing through.