Chapter 4: A SUSPICIOUS INVITATION

The day after my cafeteria war with Ryder and his gang, I was buried deep in a microeconomics textbook in the quietest corner of the library, trying to get the image of his soaking-wet black T-shirt out of my head. I had spent the last twenty-four hours telling myself that he had probably forgotten about me by now and that my dramatic exit had bruised his fragile ego enough to make him stay away.

Then the chair across from me scraped loudly against the floor.

“Mind if I sit, sweetheart?”

My head snapped up. Ryder stood there, dropping his heavy gym bag onto the chair beside him. He was not wearing his varsity jacket or a jersey today. Instead, he had on a dark grey hoodie that fit closely across his broad shoulders and dark denim that sat low on his hips. Somehow, he still managed to look annoyingly good for a Thursday afternoon.

I dropped my highlighter onto the table and glared at him. “The entire library is empty, Cole. Find another table.”

Instead of listening, Ryder pulled out the chair and sat down, resting his forearms on the table between us. His hazel eyes stayed on me, calm and steady, like he was completely comfortable sitting there while I was already wondering how quickly I could pack my things and leave. “I wanted to talk to you,” he said. “About yesterday. In the canteen.”

I crossed my arms and raised an eyebrow. “Did your ego finally recover from getting waterboarded, or did you just run out of insults?”

A small smile appeared at the corner of his mouth. It was not the usual arrogant smirk I had gotten used to seeing on his face. This one was softer, almost genuine, and for some stupid reason, my stomach flipped. I immediately hated that it had.

“I deserved that,” Ryder admitted, which was the last thing I expected him to say. He ran a hand through his dark hair and let out a quiet sigh. “I acted like an ass. Yesterday was... a mess, and I should not have cornered you while you were eating. I came here to apologize, Ava.”

I stared at him for a moment, blinking twice. “Ryder Cole is apologizing? Did you hit your head on the ice during morning practice?”

“I am serious.” He chuckled and leaned a little closer. I caught the faint smell of cedarwood and clean laundry coming from him. “I want a fresh start. No attitude, no caf-fights. Let us just be... friends.”

Friends.

The word immediately made me suspicious. I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to figure out where the joke was hiding. Yesterday, he had looked at me like he wanted to squash me under his shoe, and now he was sitting across from me acting like some perfectly reasonable guy who had simply made a mistake. Something about it did not add up.

“Thanks, but I will pass,” I said, turning my attention back to my economics textbook. “My plate is full with my 4.0 GPA and staying away from drama. I do not need a hockey captain friendship.”

“Come on,” Ryder said. His voice became quieter, almost persuasive. “Let me make it up to you. We have a home game tomorrow night against Eastern. I want you there. My treat. VIP seats.”

“I am busy,” I lied without looking at him. “Friday night is my night to... wash my hair. Do laundry. Stare at a wall. Take your pick.”

“You are not busy,” a booming voice suddenly said.

I looked up in surprise. Two of Ryder’s teammates were standing behind him. Marcus and Caleb had apparently decided to join the conversation, both of them wearing matching grins that told me they had probably been listening for longer than I realized.

“Hey, Ava, right?” Caleb asked, leaning over Ryder’s shoulder. “Do not listen to him. He feels terrible about yesterday. Well, he felt terrible after we yelled at him.”

“Shut up, Caleb,” Ryder muttered, giving his friend a look that was supposed to be threatening but clearly was not.

“I am serious,” Marcus added, crossing his arms. “Ry never apologizes to anyone. Ever. The fact that he is sitting here begging you to come to his game means he actually gives a damn. Give the guy a break, freshie. It is Friday night. You cannot spend it staring at a wall.”

I looked from Marcus to Caleb, then back at Ryder. The whole thing felt planned. Way too planned. Three guys surrounding my table and trying to convince me to attend one hockey game? It felt like I had somehow walked into a conversation they had already rehearsed. Still, their combined persistence was starting to wear me down, and Ryder was watching me with that stubborn look in his eyes.

“Fine,” I finally snapped, throwing my hands up. “I will come to your stupid game. Satisfied?”

Ryder's face immediately broke into a wide grin. He reached across the table and held out his hand. “Friends, then? Shake on it to seal the deal.”

I looked at his hand. It was large, warm-looking, and calloused, and all I could think about was the way those same fingers had closed around my wrist yesterday. I pulled my hands back and tucked them into my lap.

“I will be in the stands, Cole. That is as far as this ‘friendship’ goes,” I said coldly, gathering my highlighters and shoving them into my bag. “Now leave me alone so I can actually study.”

I stood, slung my tote bag over my shoulder, and turned away from the table.

“Make sure you are actually there, Ava!” Ryder called after me.

His voice followed me through the quiet library, and I did my best not to look back.

---

By Friday night, Frostbridge Arena was packed. The place was loud before the game had even started. Bright stadium lights shone down on the ice, and the air smelled like popcorn, cold air, and whatever else thousands of excited students had brought into the building with them. Everywhere I looked, people were wearing maroon and white, waving foam fingers, shouting team slogans, and talking about the game.

I stood near the entrance to the front-row section, holding a cheap paper cup of lukewarm soda and wondering why I had actually agreed to come. Ryder had somehow gotten me a seat right against the plexiglass. It was so close to the ice that I would probably hear every time someone slammed into the boards.

“Watch out, freshman! You are in the splash zone!” a guy yelled as he squeezed past me.

I sighed and moved farther down the row until I found my seat. The girls around me were already excited, their eyes fixed on the tunnel where the players would soon come out. Some had their faces painted, while others were holding oversized foam fingers and shouting whenever the arena speakers played another song.

Then the lights suddenly dimmed.

Heavy bass filled the arena, and the entire crowd erupted.

“FROSTBRIDGE! MAKE SOME NOISE FOR YOUR WILDCATS!”

The players came skating out onto the ice one after another, their bodies covered in bulky protective gear. They moved quickly around the rink, sending small sprays of ice into the air as they warmed up, their sticks tapping against the boards.

Then number 10 came through the tunnel.

Ryder.

He was not wearing his helmet yet, and his dark hair was slightly damp and pushed back from his forehead. The protective gear made his shoulders look even broader, and there was something different about him out there. He was not the irritating guy who had argued with me in the cafeteria or the one who had shown up in the library pretending to be sorry.

He looked serious. Focused.

As the players moved into position for the opening faceoff, Ryder spun his stick casually in his hand while skating toward the center of the ice. Then he looked up.

His eyes found me almost immediately.

I was standing behind the scratched plexiglass, surrounded by people cheering and shouting, but somehow he still spotted me. A small smirk appeared on his face. He gave me a quick nod, almost as if he were saying, I told you you would be here, before turning back toward the puck.

My heart gave an annoying little jump. I ignored it.

The whistle blew, and the game began. Within seconds, I realized hockey was nothing like watching it on television. The players moved so quickly that sometimes I barely had time to follow the puck before someone was slamming into the boards. The sound was loud enough to make me flinch every time it happened close to my seat.

Ryder was right in the middle of everything. He moved quickly and seemed to know exactly where everyone else was on the ice. Every time he got the puck, the crowd reacted immediately, and I found myself watching him without even realizing it. I tightened my grip around my paper cup as the game went on.

The score was tied 3-3 with less than a minute left in the third period. Everyone around me was standing now, shouting so loudly that I could barely hear myself think. Eastern's defensemen moved in, trying to take the puck from Ryder, but he saw what they were doing before they could close in. He intercepted the pass, avoided a heavy check, and took off down the ice.

“GO! GO! GO!”

The entire arena was screaming.

Ryder kept going.

With twenty seconds left on the clock, he pulled his stick back and sent the puck toward the goal. It flew straight past the goalie's glove and into the net.

“GOAL!”

The horn sounded, and red lights flashed around the rink. His teammates immediately rushed toward him, knocking him down beneath a pile of bodies as the crowd went wild.

It took Ryder a few seconds to get free. When he finally pushed himself out from under his teammates, he was breathing hard, and his jersey was damp with sweat. The rest of the arena was still celebrating, but he did not look toward the student section or the coaches.

Instead, he skated straight toward the plexiglass and stopped just a few feet from where I was standing.

Then he looked directly at me. And for a moment, I forgot about everyone else around us. Ryder's chest was still rising and falling from the game, and his eyes stayed on mine through the glass.

My stomach tightened.

The crowd was still screaming, but I barely noticed it anymore. He had won the game, and somehow, standing there looking at me like that, he made me feel as though my being there mattered more to him than the victory itself.

A strange thought crossed my mind. He did not just win the game. He was actually putting on a show just for me.