CHAPTER 2

I swallowed hard, my throat so dry it felt coated in dust.

​His hand was too warm on my jaw, his thumb sending a terrifying jolt of heat straight to my core. I wanted to lean into it. God, I wanted to close my eyes and let him hold me the way he used to.

​But I couldn’t. Not while Bianca's perfume still clung to his sweatpants, and certainly not after she had just laid my deepest, most pathetic secret bare.

​"Nothing, Ryder," I lied, my voice barely a whisper. I grabbed his wrist, trying to pull his hand away from my face.

​He didn’t budge. His grip didn’t hurt, but it was solid, unyielding iron. He stood so close I could see the golden flecks in his dark eyes—eyes that were currently narrowed, scanning my face for the slightest crack in my armor.

​"Don't lie to me, Maya," he murmured, his voice dipping lower, rough and possessive. "She was in your face. You're shaking."

​"I'm tired," I retorted, injecting as much coldness into my tone as I could muster. "I worked a double. I have to be back at the rink in a few hours to prep the ice for your morning practice. I don't have time for this."

​Ryder’s jaw clenched, a muscle leaping under his tan skin. His gaze dropped to my lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back to my eyes.

​"I told you to stop taking those graveyard shifts," he growled. "My dad’s foundation covers your tuition. You don't need to work yourself to the bone."

​My dad's foundation. There it was. The reminder of my place in his life. I wasn't his equal. I was his family’s charity case, the girl his father threw money at because of a deathbed promise to my dad.

​I wrenched my chin out of his grip, stepping back until my back was on the wall behind me.

​"I don't want your dad’s handouts, Ryder. And I don't need your protection," I said, my voice hardening. "I can take care of myself."

​He stared at me, his eyes darkening to a shade that made my stomach flip. He didn't say a word, but the heavy rise and fall of his chest told me everything. The easy, comfortable dynamic of our childhood was gone, replaced by a tense, heavy air that neither of us knew how to navigate.

​"Get out of my room," I whispered. "Go back to Bianca."

​A shadow crossed Ryder's face, something raw and dangerous flickering in his eyes before he masked it behind his usual controlled, distant expression. He looked like he wanted to argue, to grab me and pull me back into his orbit.

​Instead, he slowly backed away, his hand lingering on the doorknob.

​"Lock the door behind me," he said quietly.

​Then he was gone, the quiet click of the deadbolt leaving me alone in the dark.

​The next morning, the campus ice rink was a cavern of freezing air and blinding fluorescent lights.

​I leaned against the heavy iron handle of the ice-shaving machine, my shoulders aching from pushing the heavy equipment across the empty rink. The stands were dark, the silence of 5:00 AM only broken by the hum of the cooling generators beneath the floor.

​My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, expecting a schedule update from my manager.

​Instead, a text from an unknown number lit up the screen.

​Unknown: He’s only nice to you because he pities you, Maya. Don't mistake his guilt for caring. He belongs to me now.

​I didn't need a name to know who sent it. I stared at the screen, my chest tightening as the cold truth of Bianca’s words sank deep.

​Suddenly, the heavy double doors of the rink swung open, the loud bang echoing through the empty arena.

​I looked up, my breath catching in my throat.

​It wasn't my manager.

​Ryder walked out onto the ice, fully geared in his Westbridge varsity uniform, his skates cutting clean, aggressive lines through the fresh ice I had just prepped. He wasn't supposed to be here for another hour.

​He skated straight toward the boards where I stood, stopping with a sharp spray of ice shavings that hit the plastic wall.

​He leaned his forearms against the top of the barrier, looking up at me.

​But he wasn't alone.

​A tall man in a dark-green athletic coat stepped out of the tunnel behind him. It was coach Miller—the head scout for the Chicago Bruins, the NHL team Ryder’s father was currently negotiating with.

​And right beside Miller, holding a clipboard and smiling like a queen, was Bianca.

​"Ah, Maya," Coach Miller called out, his voice echoing in the empty rink. "Perfect. I need you to run the diagnostic data on Ryder's sprint times this morning. Bianca here said you’re the best at analyzing the performance tracking software."

​I locked eyes with Bianca. She gave me a sweet, mocking smile, her eyes practically screaming, Watch me take everything you have.

​I looked at Ryder, but his expression was completely blank, his eyes cold and focused on the ice. He didn't look at me like the boy who had held me in my bedroom last night. He looked like the elite athlete who had a future to secure—a future that apparently required me to stand in the background, serving his girlfriend.

​A spark of hot, defensive anger flared in my chest.

​No, I thought. Not anymore.

​"Actually, Coach Miller," I said, my voice carrying clearly across the quiet ice, "I won't be able to run those diagnostics. I just handed in my two-week notice to the rink manager."

​Ryder's head snapped up. His skates dug violently into the ice as he stared at me, his eyes widening in pure shock.

​"What?" Ryder demanded, his voice echoing off the rafters.

​"I've accepted another offer," I continued, looking directly at Ryder, refusing to back down. "I’m joining the athletic department's scouting staff."

​"For who?" Coach Miller asked, brow furrowed.

​I smiled, a cold, sharp feeling of triumph blooming in my chest as I looked Ryder dead in the eyes.

​"State University," I said.

​Westbridge’s fiercest, most bitter rivals.

​The silence that fell over the rink was deafening. Ryder’s face went completely pale, his hands tightening on his hockey stick until his knuckles turned white. He looked at me as if I had just stabbed him in the chest.

​Before he could say a word, my phone buzzed again in my hand.

​I looked down. It was an email confirmation from the State University athletic director.

​Maya, we are thrilled to have you join our scouting team. Your analysis of Westbridge’s playstyles was incredible. We look forward to seeing you at our next game.

​I looked back up at Ryder, whose gaze was burning into me with a mixture of shock, betrayal, and a sudden, desperate panic.

​"Maya," he growled, stepping closer to the boards. "Tell me you're joking."

​"I don't joke about my career, Ryder," I said coldly, tucking my phone into my pocket. "See you at the season opener."