Chapter Two: Shattered Denial

The blades of Elias’s skates carved clean arcs across the ice as practice wound down. His muscles burned in that familiar, satisfying way, quads tight from repeated jumps, shoulders warm from the intricate arm movements his coach demanded. Elara skated beside him, executing a synchronized spin that drew approving nods from their coach. The hockey players, however, turned the far end of the rink into a battlefield of sticks and checks, their shouts echoing off the high ceiling.

“Focus, Noir!” Coach barked. “Nationals won’t wait because we have guests.”

Elias nodded, pushing harder into his edge work. But his gaze kept drifting. That tall hockey player, the one with the intense stare, was watching him again. Not the casual glances the other jocks threw at the figure skaters, but something sharper. Personal. It made the hair on the back of Elias’s neck prickle.

Practice ended with the coach’s whistle. “Shared facilities, gentlemen. Be civil. Figure skaters first in the main locker area, hockey team can use the overflow if needed. Let’s keep it professional.”

Elias glided to the boards, stepping off the ice with Elara close behind. His legs felt heavy as they made their way to the men’s locker room, skates slung over one shoulder. The space smelled of rubber mats, sweat, and the faint metallic tang of the ice. Benches lined the walls, lockers stood in neat rows. A few of his fellow skaters were already stripping down, heading for the showers.

“God, my calves are screaming,” Elara complained as she peeled off her practice jacket in the adjacent women’s area, voice carrying through the open doorway. “You were killing that camel spin today.”

Elias managed a tired smile. “Thanks. You weren’t so bad yourself, potato.”

He dropped his bag on a bench and began unlacing his skates, mind still half on the ice. The night before lingered like fog, flashes of heat, strong hands, the ache that still sat low in his body. But the face attached to those sensations remained frustratingly blurred. A stranger. A good stranger, apparently, but one who had slipped away before sunrise.

The door to the locker room swung open again, letting in a rush of cooler air and the heavy tread of hockey players. Jax Thorne entered last, towering over most of his teammates at 6’3. His dark hair was damp with sweat, jaw set in that perpetual scowl that seemed carved into his features. He carried his gear with easy dominance, shoulders broad under the team hoodie. His eyes scanned the room once, then locked on Elias.

Elias felt it like a physical touch.

He ignored it, stripping off his damp practice shirt and tossing it into his bag. The cool air hit his skin, raising faint goosebumps. He grabbed a towel and headed toward the showers, the three small dots on his lower back, a birthmark shaped like a tiny triangle, barely visible as he moved.

Jax watched him go, something dark flickering behind his eyes.

The shower area was tiled in white, with multiple heads spaced along the wall. Elias chose one near the end, turning the water on hot. Steam rose quickly, soothing his sore muscles. He tilted his head back, letting the spray cascade over his face and chest, trying to wash away the strange tension that had followed him from the rink.

Jax entered a minute later, claiming the showerhead two down from Elias. He kept his back turned at first, stripping off his gear with efficient movements. Water pounded against his muscular frame, powerful shoulders, defined back tapering to a narrow waist. He soaped up aggressively, as if trying to scrub something off his skin.

Then he turned slightly, and his gaze dropped.

There it was.

Three small dots, aligned like a perfect triangle, just above Elias’s lower back, right where the curve of his spine met the swell of his ass. The mark was unmistakable under the streaming water.

Jax froze.

Fragments slammed into him like body checks against the boards.

The club. The VIP section. That elegant figure moving on the dance floor. Drunken laughter. The hotel room. Soft moans turning raw. The way Elias had arched beneath him, wrists bound by Jax’s own belt. The heat, the tightness, the way Elias had ridden him later, eyes glazed with pleasure. The way Jax had lost himself completely, for one night forgetting the careful lies he told the world.

Jax’s stomach twisted. His cock twitched at the memory before he could kill the reaction. No. Not here. Not ever again.

He was Jax fucking Thorne. Star forward. Son of a man who would rather ship him off to some conversion camp than accept the truth. His father’s voice still rang in his head from the last “disappointment” lecture: Real men don’t bend over for other men. You want to ruin this family? Keep it up and I’ll make sure you never see the ice again.

Jax had learned to play the game. Fake smiles at girls at parties. Crude jokes with the team. Pretend. Survive. His mother was the only one who knew the truth, and even she begged him to stay hidden.

And now this, this elegant little figure skater with the birthmark that matched the one burned into Jax’s memory, was standing naked ten feet away, completely oblivious.

Jax’s hands clenched into fists under the spray. Panic and anger surged hot through his veins. If anyone found out… if the team knew he’d fucked a guy, worse, that he’d wanted it so badly he still felt it in his bones, they’d turn on him. His father would hear. Everything would crumble.

He couldn’t let that happen.

Jax shut off his shower with a violent twist and grabbed his towel, wrapping it low around his hips. Water dripped from his hair as he stalked closer to Elias, who was still rinsing shampoo from his dark strands.

“Nice mark you got there, princess,” Jax drawled, voice low and dripping with mockery. “What is that? Some kind of fairy tattoo? Or did Mommy and Daddy get you a little gay pride stamp on your ass?”

Elias stiffened under the water. He turned slowly, eyes narrowing as he met Jax’s gaze. Water streamed down his lean, toned body—elegant muscle from years of precise control, not the bulk of a hockey player. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Jax stepped closer, towering over him. His lip curled. “Figure skaters prancing around in sparkly shit, bending over for each other in the locker room. Bet you love sharing showers, huh? Getting all close and personal with your ‘partners.’”

A couple of hockey players nearby chuckled, glancing over with interest. Elias’s jaw tightened. He was used to the occasional jab, sports worlds colliding, but this felt targeted. Personal. The guy’s eyes burned with something darker than casual homophobia.

“Careful,” Elias said coolly, shutting off his own shower and reaching for his towel. “Some of us actually have talent that doesn’t involve slamming people into walls like cavemen.”

Jax laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Talent? Spinning in circles while wearing tights? That’s not talent, that’s entertainment for bored housewives. Real men play hockey. Real men fuck women. Not whatever the hell you pretty boys do behind closed doors.”

Elias’s cheeks burned. He wrapped the towel around his waist, stepping forward despite the height difference. “You don’t know shit about me. And if you’ve got a problem with who I am, that’s your issue. Not mine.”

“Oh, I know exactly what you are,” Jax snarled, leaning in. His voice dropped, meant only for Elias. “A little cock-hungry slut who probably takes it up the ass every weekend. Bet you were out last night getting railed by some random, weren’t you? Walking around with that mark on your back like a fucking invitation.”

Elias’s eyes flashed with anger. The words hit too close, echoing the hazy night he couldn’t fully remember. His hands balled into fists. “Say that again, asshole.”

Jax’s smirk widened, but inside his chest was a storm. He hated the way Elias’s defiance made heat pool low in his gut. Hated how the birthmark taunted him. He needed to push harder. Make Elias hate him. Make sure no one ever suspected the truth.

“What’s wrong, princess? Truth hurt?” Jax stepped even closer, their chests nearly brushing. “Maybe I should bend you over one of these benches and show you what a real man feels like. Or are you too scared your little boyfriend over there will get jealous?”

That was the breaking point.

Elias shoved him, hard. Jax barely moved, but the contact sent a jolt through both of them. Jax grabbed Elias’s arm, grip bruising.

“You fucking—”

“Enough!”

Elara burst into the men’s locker area like a storm, her hair still damp from her own shower. She shoved between them, planting herself firmly in front of Elias. “Back the hell off, meathead. Touch him again and I’ll make sure your coach hears every word of your disgusting little tantrum.”

Jax released Elias slowly, eyes still locked on him. The other hockey players had gone quiet, watching the scene unfold.

Elara turned to Elias, voice softer but firm. “Come on. Let’s get dressed. We’ve got dryland training in twenty.”

She glared at Jax one last time. “And you, keep your homophobic bullshit in whatever cave you crawled out of. This is a shared space. Act like you belong in civilized company.”

Jax said nothing as they walked away. He stood there, towel clenched in his fist, heart hammering. The birthmark. The memory. The way Elias had felt under him that night, tight, eager, perfect.

He wanted to drag Elias back. He wanted to shove him away forever.

Instead, he turned and slammed his locker shut with enough force to rattle the entire row.

This was war.

And Jax Thorne was going to make sure Elias Noir never got close enough to uncover the truth.