His Dangerous Love On Ice

Chapter One: OLIVE's POV

The feeling of having my vibe pressed right where I needed it, imagining Cole in his blue practice jersey, hair slicked back, hands braced on the headboard above me…

It was enough to get me close, so fucking close, until the door slammed open—

My mother.

Standing there in the doorway like she hadn't just walked in on something she definitely shouldn't have seen, and when I scrambled to sit up, tangled in my sheets and trying to shove the vibe under my pillow, she just smiled.

Actually smiled.

"Oh darling, I'm so sorry I interrupted," she said, voice all sweet like honey, completely unbothered. "But playtime's over."

"God, Mom, knocking is a thing adults do," I said, face burning, and I shoved the vibe into my nightstand drawer so fast I almost broke my finger.

"Your door was wide open, Olive; be grateful it was me and not your snoopy-ass stepbrother," she said. "Imagine Hunter walking past and seeing you like that—"

"Mom, stop, please, just stop talking."

I clamped my hands over my ears like a little kid, but she kept going.

"—because I'd be the one getting blamed, 'why don't you teach your daughter about privacy, Diane?' Well, maybe if you actually closed your door and locked it like a normal person—"

"Are you done?"

She pressed her lips together, but I could see the amusement dancing in her eyes, and I wanted to die right there.

Living in the renovated space above the garage was supposed to give me independence, supposed to give me my own life separate from my family, but it didn't stop my mother from barging in whenever she felt like it.

Still, it beat paying two grand a month for some shoebox apartment in Seattle.

"We need to talk to you," she said, and her voice changed and got more serious. "Your stepfather and I have some exciting news."

I frowned because exciting news in this family usually meant something that benefited everyone except me.

"I'd rather not."

"Olive Monroe, I want you downstairs in five minutes or I'm dragging you out of that bed myself." The smile was gone now. "Five minutes."

The second the door closed behind her I grabbed my phone because I needed to hear Cole's voice, needed something good to balance out whatever disaster my parents were about to drop on me.

I hit his contact, watched it ring once, twice, three times, and my stomach got tighter with each ring because Cole always answered, always picked up when I called.

Then the screen flickered and suddenly I was staring at a video call that he'd accepted, but the camera was shaking and angled weird like his phone was propped up on something, and I could see him.

Cole.

But he wasn't alone.

"Oh god, yes—Cole, right there—"

A woman's voice hit me first, high-pitched and breathless, and for a second my brain couldn't process what I was seeing.

Then I saw them.

Cole on his back with his head thrown against the pillow, mouth open as he groaned, and there was a girl on top of him, blonde hair spilling down her back as she moved, and I couldn't see her face but I could hear her, could hear every fucking sound she was making.

"Fuck, you feel so good—"

"Sophia—Christ, Sophia—"

His name for her, the way he said it like it was something precious, and the phone was jolting with every thrust, and I should've hung up.

Should've thrown my phone across the room and pretended I'd never seen this, never heard this, but I just sat there like an idiot, frozen, watching my boyfriend of two years moan another woman's name.

"God, I'm close—Cole, I'm so close—"

His hands gripped her hips and pulled her down harder and the sound he made—that deep groan that I thought he only made with me—

I dropped the phone.

It clattered onto my bed face-up and I could still hear them, could still hear the wet sounds and her moans and his name in her mouth over and over, and I wanted to be sick.

Two fucking years.

Two years I'd been with this man, two years of standing in freezing arenas watching him play, two years of driving three hours just to see him for a weekend, two years of wearing his stupid jersey like any of it mattered.

And the entire time he'd been fucking someone else.

Someone named Sophia.

I grabbed the phone and stabbed at the screen until the call ended, hands shaking so bad I could barely hit the right button, and I realized I was crying.

‘Don't cry, don't you dare fucking cry over him.’

But my throat was tight and my eyes were burning and I hated that I could still hear her voice in my head, could still hear the way she'd said his name.

I pressed my palms against my eyes hard enough that it hurt.

He wasn't worth it, wasn't worth a single tear, wasn't worth the two years I'd given him or any of it.

But my face was already wet and I couldn't seem to stop.

********

I didn't bother fixing my hair or washing my face before heading downstairs because what was the point.

The main house smelled like coffee and whatever my mom had baked earlier that week, probably those lemon cookies she was obsessed with.

The second I opened the door both my parents' heads snapped toward me.

"I was about to come drag you out of—" She stopped mid-sentence, eyes narrowing. "Olive, what's wrong?"

I tried to say something, anything, but the second she asked, it was like a dam broke inside my chest.

I sobbed, ugly and gasping, and Grayson was already moving.

He crossed the room in two strides and pulled me against his chest, one hand going to my hair and the other to my back, holding me while I fell apart.

"Shh, hey, it's okay, you're okay," he kept saying, voice low and steady.

"It's not—" I choked on the words. "I'm not—"

"Olive, baby, what happened?" My mom's voice was softer now, actually worried, and I felt her hand on my shoulder.

I pulled back from Grayson just enough to wipe my face with my sleeve.

"I caught him cheating," I managed to say, and my voice sounded wrecked.

Silence.

Complete fucking silence.

I watched my mom's mouth fall open, watched Grayson's jaw get tight in that way it did when he was trying not to lose his shit.

"That Buffalo pretty boy with the perfect hair?" Mom's voice came out sharp now, angry. "I fucking told you—"

"Diane," Grayson warned.

"I told her, Gray, I said dating your stepbrother's best friend was a terrible idea—"

"Mom, you're not helping right now."

I dropped onto the couch and pulled my knees up to my chest, tried to make myself as small as possible.

"You deserve better than him, Olive," Grayson said quietly, sitting down beside me. "You always have."

I wanted to believe him, but right now all I could think about was Cole's face, about the way he'd looked at me last month after a game and said I love you right before asking if I could pick up his dry cleaning.

"We, um," my mom cleared her throat, exchanging one of those looks with Grayson. "We actually had something we wanted to tell you, some good news."

I laughed and it came out bitter. "Perfect fucking timing."

"Your stepbrother got called up," Grayson said, and there was pride in his voice. "He's officially playing for the Chicago Wolves."

I blinked at him. "Hunter? Hunter got called up to the NHL?"

"We have tickets to his first game," Mom added. "Exclusive access, your stepdad pulled some strings—"

"No," I said immediately, shaking my head. "No way, I'm not going."

"Olive—"

"You want me to go watch Hunter play? In Chicago? Where Cole fucking is?" My voice was rising now. "He's on the same goddamn team, Grayson!"

"Cole has nothing to do with this," Grayson said, using that calm fatherly voice.

"He has everything to do with it! I can't—I can't see him, I can't be in the same building as him—"

"Then don't look at him," my mom snapped, patience clearly running thin. "You're going to support your brother, end of discussion, we already bought the tickets."

I stared at her and she stared back and I realized this wasn't actually a discussion.

"This is ridiculous."

"You know what's ridiculous? Letting some mediocre hockey player ruin your relationship with your family." She grabbed a magazine off the coffee table and threw it into my lap. "That's your brother right there, front page of Sports Illustrated, he's worked his entire life for this moment."

I looked down at the magazine and there was Hunter's face staring back at me, with that same annoying cocky smirk and sharp jaw.

The headline read ‘NEW BLOOD: The Wolves' Secret Weapon.’

I flipped to the next page quickly.

But what I saw made my entire body go still.

It was an ad for some energy drink, one of those sponsorship things, but I barely even registered what the product was.

Because the man in the photo had his shirt half-unbuttoned and I could see his stomach, could see abs so defined they didn't even look real.

The energy drink was tipped against his mouth and liquid was spilling over his bottom lip, dripping down his jaw and his throat in a way that made my brain short-circuit.

His eyes were piercing, cold blue, staring directly at the camera like he could see through the page.

Like he could see me.

My thighs clenched without my permission.

"Olive?"

Grayson's voice snapped me back to reality and I realized I'd been staring at the photo for way too long.

"Yeah, sorry, I just—" I cleared my throat and gestured at the page. "Who's this guy?"

Grayson's entire expression changed, got dark and tight, and I watched his hand grip his coffee mug hard enough that I thought it might crack.

"Zane Mercer," he said, and the way he said the name made it sound like it physically hurt him.

"Who?"

"My nemesis," Grayson said, voice completely flat.

"Your nemesis? What are you, a supervillain?"

"He's the NHL's top player," my mom explained, voice careful now. "And he's made your stepfather's life hell since Grayson started coaching, that man did things that forced your father to leave the game entirely."

There was something in the way she said it.

I'd heard stories over the years, vague references from Grayson about someone who'd ruined everything, someone powerful and untouchable who'd destroyed his coaching career, but I'd never heard an actual name.

Zane Mercer.

Top player for the Chicago Wolves.

And apparently the last person my stepfather wanted me thinking about.

Which naturally made him the only thing I could think about right now.

I closed the magazine and stood up, tucking it under my arm before either of them could take it back.

"Fine," I said. "I'll go to Chicago."

My mom blinked at me. "Really?"

"Really."

Grayson looked suspicious now, eyes narrowing. "Just like that?"

I shrugged, trying to look casual even though my heart was beating too fast. "You said I need to move on, right? Maybe watching some hockey will help, maybe seeing Hunter play will be good for me or whatever."