Chapter Three: Cracks in the Ice

The tension from the locker room lingered like frost on the boards. Elias tried to shake it off as he and Elara stepped back onto the ice for their afternoon session. The rink felt smaller now, divided awkwardly between the graceful lines of figure skaters and the raw power of the hockey team sharing the opposite end.

Coach had split the ice with imaginary lines, figure skaters claiming the smoother, central portion for programs and elements, while the Jonas hockey players ran drills along the far boards and neutral zones. But the shared space meant constant awareness: the whoosh of skates, the crack of sticks against pucks, and the occasional shouted command bleeding across the divide.

Elias focused on his edges, carving deep outside curves that flowed into a smooth transition. His body remembered the choreography even when his mind wandered. The birthmark on his lower back still prickled from Jax’s cruel words in the shower. Princess. Fairy tattoo. Cock-hungry slut. The taunts had been vicious, targeted. Elias wasn’t naive—he’d faced homophobia before, especially when elite skating circles overlapped with more traditional sports worlds. But this felt different. Personal. Like the hockey player had looked straight through him and seen something he shouldn’t.

“Head in the game, Noir,” his coach called from the boards. “Run through your short program elements. Clean landings today.”

Elias nodded, pushing off into his routine. He built speed with powerful crossovers, then launched into a triple Lutz–triple toe loop combination. The rotation was tight, the landing solid on his outside edge. Elara cheered softly from nearby as she worked on her own spins. “That’s the stuff! Nationals is going to eat that up.”

But as Elias glided into his footwork sequence, quick turns, choctaws, and intricate steps, he felt eyes on him again. Across the ice, Jax Thorne dominated a passing drill with his teammates. Pucks flew in crisp one-timers, bodies crashing into boards during battle drills. Jax moved like a force of nature: aggressive forechecks, powerful strides that ate up the ice, and a slapshot that echoed like thunder.

Their gazes locked for a split second when Elias executed a camel spin. Jax’s expression hardened, jaw clenching visibly even from distance. He turned away sharply, barking at a teammate over a missed pass.

Elias’s stomach twisted. Why did that stare feel so familiar? The club night was still a hazy blur, flashes of heat, hands on skin, overwhelming pleasure, but nothing concrete. Just an ache that matched the soreness in his body this morning.

Practice intensified. The hockey coach shouted instructions for a 2-on-1 drill: forwards attacking defensemen in tight spaces, practicing gap control and quick releases. Sticks clashed. Bodies collided. One puck sailed wide, skidding dangerously close to the figure skaters’ area.

“Watch it!” Elara snapped, dodging the errant puck with a graceful step.

Jax retrieved it, skating over the invisible line with deliberate slowness. He stopped near Elias, stick tapping the ice. “Careful there, princess. Wouldn’t want you to slip and break a nail while you’re twirling.”

Elias straightened from his spiral position, breathing steady despite the rising irritation. “Keep your pucks on your side of the ice, Thorne. Some of us are actually trying to work here.”

Jax’s smirk was cold. “Work? This ain’t work. This is dancing with knives on your feet. Real athletes check bodies, not each other’s asses in the locker room.”

A few hockey players chuckled, some laughing nearby. Elias’s hands tightened into fists at his sides. “You really can’t let it go, can you? What’s your problem? Scared one of us might actually be better at handling pressure than you?”

Jax glided closer, towering over Elias even on skates. His voice dropped low, venomous. “My problem is sharing ice with guys who probably spent last night on their knees. Bet that little mark on your back gets a lot of attention from your ‘friends.’ Does your daddy know his perfect son likes taking it from real men?”

The words landed like a body check. Elias’s face burned with anger and something sharper, confusion. How did this asshole know about the birthmark? He’d seen it in the shower, sure, but the way Jax spoke… it felt too intimate. Too knowing.

“Shut your mouth,” Elias growled, skating forward until they were chest to chest. “You don’t know anything about me or my family. Keep pushing and we’ll see how tough you are without your stick and pads.”

Jax’s eyes darkened. For a moment, the aggression faltered, something raw and conflicted flashing behind the mask. Then it hardened again. “Big talk for a little fairy. Maybe I should drag you into the boards and show you what pressure really feels like.”

Elias shoved him. Jax barely budged, but the contact sent a spark through both of them, electric, unwelcome. Jax grabbed Elias’s jersey, yanking him closer.

“Enough!” Their coaches shouted almost in unison.

Elara skated in fast, wedging between them with surprising force for her smaller frame. “Back off, Thorne! Touch him again and I’ll file a complaint so fast your entire team gets banned from this rink.”

The hockey coach blew his whistle sharply. “Thorne! Focus on your drills. Save the aggression for the game.”

Jax released Elias slowly, his grip lingering a fraction too long. Their eyes met one last time, Jax’s filled with storm clouds of denial and unwanted heat, Elias’s bright with defiance and that nagging sense of recognition.

“Stay out of my way,” Jax muttered before skating back to his side.

Elias watched him go, chest heaving. Elara placed a hand on his arm. “Ignore him. He’s just a bully with daddy issues written all over that scowl. You okay?”

“Yeah,” Elias lied, forcing his focus back to his program. “Let’s finish this.”

The rest of practice dragged. Elias nailed his spins and jumps, but his mind kept circling back to Jax. The height, the build, the intensity in those dark eyes. Fragments teased at the edges of his memory: a strong hand pinning his wrists, a deep voice growling against his throat, the overwhelming stretch and fullness that had left him boneless.

He shook it off. It couldn’t be. No way that arrogant, homophobic prick from the locker room was the same guy who had devoured him so completely the night before.

On the other end, Jax slammed pucks with more force than necessary during a shooting drill. Each crack of his stick was punishment—for himself. The birthmark had confirmed it. Elias was the one from the club. The one who had moaned so sweetly under him, ridden him with fluid grace, taken everything Jax had given and demanded more.

And Jax had loved every second. Had come harder than he had in months, losing himself in a way that terrified him.

Now he was trapped. Sharing ice. Sharing lockers. Sharing space with the living proof of his secret.

He couldn’t let anyone see. Couldn’t let Elias remember. So he’d push. He’d mock. He’d make Elias despise him so thoroughly that the truth stayed buried forever.

Even if it meant burying his own desire along with it.

As practice ended and the groups headed off the ice, Jax lingered near the boards, watching Elias glide toward the exit with Elara. The elegant lines of the skater’s body, the confident set of his shoulders—everything called to the part of Jax he kept chained down.

“Get it together,” he muttered to himself, gripping his stick until his knuckles whitened.

But as Elias disappeared into the hallway, Jax felt the first real crack form in his carefully constructed walls.