9. One the ice

_Nathan’s POV_

The schedule had been up for days, but I still felt it like a weight when I walked into the locker room and saw the board.

Griffins vs Growlers. Home ice.

Theo dropped onto the bench beside me while I was taping my stick. “You’ve been quiet all week. More than usual.”

“I’m focused.”

“You’re somewhere else,” he said. “Is it the alliance stuff? Or Silvermane?”

I kept my eyes on the tape. “It’s a game. That’s all it is.”

Theo didn’t look convinced, but he let it go. The rest of the team moved around us with the usual pre-game noise — music, talk, the sound of gear being pulled on. I tried to settle into the routine. Skates, pads, jersey. The familiar weight of the helmet in my hands. My wolf was already restless, and I knew exactly why.

Miles would be on the other side of the ice.

By the time we stepped out for warm-ups, the arena was filling up. I caught sight of the Growlers across the rink. Miles was easy to find. He skated through a simple drill with the same controlled intensity he always had, but when he looked up and found me, he didn’t look away.

Neither did I.

The game started fast. First period was all speed and hard stops, both teams testing each other. I tried to stay in position, run the plays, keep my head clear. It worked until the first real collision.

Miles came through the middle on a forecheck and caught me just after I moved the puck. The hit was clean but heavy, enough to send me into the boards. The crowd reacted. I shoved back as we untangled, and for a second we were close enough that I could see his eyes through the cage.

“Still trying to handle everything alone?” he said, low enough that the refs wouldn’t catch it.

I pushed him off. “Play the game.”

He smiled slightly, like I’d given him an answer anyway, and skated away.

The rest of the period stayed physical. Every time we ended up in the same corner, the pressure increased. It wasn’t just rivalry anymore. It felt personal in a way the crowd couldn’t see. By the first intermission my shoulder ached — not from a hit, but from the mark that still sat under the padding.

Second period got worse.

Midway through, Miles stripped the puck from one of our defensemen and drove toward the net. I caught him from the side and drove him into the boards harder than I needed to. The whistle blew. He shoved back immediately, gloves up just enough to make a point.

“You’re playing angry,” he said as the ref moved in.

“I’m playing the game.”

“No. You’re playing me.”

We were separated before it could turn into more. The crowd liked the tension. They always did when our teams met. From the bench I watched Miles skate back to his side, and I hated how easily my attention followed him.

Late in the period he scored.

The arena went quiet for a second, then the Growlers’ section erupted. Miles didn’t celebrate much. He just skated past our bench, and when his eyes met mine, there was no smugness in them. Just something heavier.

We went into the third period down by one.

Coach pushed us harder. I tried to channel everything into the play — the alliance, Rowan, Miles, the fact that I could still feel the shape of his hands from nights I wasn’t supposed to be thinking about during a game. With a few minutes left I forced a turnover and put a shot on net that almost tied it. The rebound kicked free. Miles was the one who cleared it.

When the final buzzer sounded, we had lost 2–1.

The handshake line was tense. Most of it passed in a blur of gloves and short looks. When I reached Miles, he gripped my hand a second longer than necessary.

“Tunnel,” he said quietly. “Two minutes.”

I didn’t answer, but I didn’t refuse either.

I took my time in the locker room, letting most of the team clear out first. Theo gave me a look on his way past but didn’t ask. When I finally stepped into the tunnel, Miles was already there, still in most of his gear, helmet under one arm.

“You’re still keeping me at a distance,” he said.

“We just played a full game.”

“That’s not what I mean.” He stepped closer. “You’ve been avoiding anything real since the night you left my place. I backed off because you asked me to. That doesn’t mean I disappeared.”

“I told you I need to handle some things myself.”

“And I’m trying to respect that.” His voice stayed controlled, but there was an edge under it. “But every time we end up on the same ice, you look at me like you’re daring me to push. Then you pull away the second the game ends.”

I exhaled slowly. “What do you want from me right now, Miles?”

“I want you to stop acting like everything that happened between us only exists when it’s convenient.”

Before I could answer, my phone buzzed in the small pocket of my gear bag. I almost ignored it. Then I saw the name on the screen.

Elias Ashwood.

Miles saw it too.

“You should take that,” he said, though his expression tightened.

I answered.

“Nathan.” My father’s voice was cold and precise. “I heard the final score. Disappointing.”

“We played a hard game.”

“I’m not calling about the game.” There was a short pause. “I was informed that you met with Rowan Golden a few nights ago. Privately.”

My stomach dropped. I turned slightly away from Miles, but I could still feel him watching.

“It wasn’t planned,” I said carefully. “He requested a meeting.”

“And you attended without informing me.”

“I handled it.”

“That is not your decision to make alone.” Elias’s tone sharpened. “The alliance is still fragile. Whatever interest Rowan has in you, it is not something you manage in the dark. You will come home this weekend. We need to discuss how you are representing this family.”

“Father—”

“This weekend, Nathan. No excuses.”

The line went dead.

I lowered the phone. For a moment the tunnel felt too quiet.

Miles studied my face. “He knows.”

“He knows I met with Rowan,” I said. “That’s enough.”

Miles was silent for a few seconds. Then he said, “Are you going?”

“I don’t have a choice.”

He nodded once, jaw tight. “Then don’t go alone if you can help it. And if Rowan reaches out again before then, you tell me. Even if you still want to handle it yourself.”

I looked at him. Part of me wanted to argue again. The larger part was still stuck on my father’s voice and the sudden pressure now sitting on my chest.

“I’ll let you know,” I said finally.

Miles watched me for a moment longer, then stepped back. “Go. Your team will be wondering where you are.”

I walked past him toward the locker room, phone still in my hand, the weight of the call settling deeper with every step.

Home this weekend.

My father wanted answers.

And I still didn’t know how much of the truth I could actually give him.