CHAPTER 6

My heart hammered against my ribs as the freezing street air rushed over my skin. Ryder’s grip on my wrist was a solid, grounding weight, but the sheer fury radiating off him was terrifying.

​"Ryder, release her," Richard Callahan commanded from the leather seat beside me. His voice had lost its smooth veneer, sharpening into an icy blade. "You are making a public spectacle of yourself. Think of your draft position."

​"I don't give a damn about the draft right now," Ryder spat, his knuckles white as his other hand gripped the edge of the open door. "Get out of the car, Maya."

​I didn't hesitate. I slid across the leather seat and let Ryder pull me out of the SUV. The moment my feet hit the cold, wet pavement, Ryder stepped in front of me, his massive, broad-shouldered frame completely shielding me from his father’s view.

​Richard slowly leaned toward the open door, his eyes narrowing as he took in his son’s defensive posture.

​"You're acting like an emotional child, Ryder," Richard said quietly. "If you walk away from this vehicle with her, the Bruins deal is off the table. Bianca’s father will have you blacklisted before the first round begins. I will sign the paperwork myself."

​Ryder’s chest heaved under his dark-green Westbridge jersey. For a single, agonizing second, the silence between father and son stretched so thin it felt like it would snap. The heavy, terrifying weight of the ten-million-dollar contract hung in the freezing air.

​Then, Ryder leaned down slightly, his dark eyes burning with a quiet, lethal certainty.

​"Sign it," Ryder whispered. "See what happens to your franchise when I play for their biggest rival instead."

​Before Richard could respond, Ryder slammed the heavy SUV door shut. He didn't wait to see his father’s reaction. He grabbed my hand, his fingers locking tightly with mine, and pulled me toward his beat-up black pickup truck idling in the middle of the street.

​The driver of the SUV didn't honk. The luxury vehicle slowly rolled away, its dark windows hiding whatever fury Richard Callahan was currently holding.

​Ryder yanked the passenger door of his truck open. "Get in."

​My body was shaking so hard from the cold and the adrenaline that I could barely climb onto the high fabric seat. Ryder shut the door, walked around the hood, and climbed into the driver's seat. He slammed his door, threw the truck into gear, and navigated the vehicle away from the busy intersection.

​The heater blasted hot, dry air into the cabin, but the silence inside was deafening. Ryder’s hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were completely bloodless.

​"You shouldn't have done that," I whispered, staring down at my hands. "The contract... your father said Bianca's father owns the Bruins. If you lose the draft—"

​"I don't care about the Bruins, Maya," Ryder growled, his voice rough and strained. He didn't look at me, his focus locked entirely on the road ahead. "And I don't care about Bianca. I told you I was handling it."

​"You weren't handling it!" I said, my voice rising as the tears finally spilled over my cheeks. "Your father threatened to drag my dad's name through the mud, Ryder! He’s trying to revoke my scholarship! I went to State to get away from all of this, and your father still found a way to corner me."

​The truck suddenly swerved toward the curb. Ryder slammed the brakes, bringing the pickup to a violent halt in an empty alleyway behind the campus library.

​He killed the engine, turned in his seat, and leaned across the center console. His face was pale, his jaw set so tight I could hear his teeth grinding.

​"You think I wanted any of this?" he whispered, his voice suddenly cracking with a raw, desperate vulnerability. "You think I want to touch Bianca? Every single time she looks at me, every time she puts her hands on me, I feel sick. But I did it to keep my father's lawyers away from you. I did it because my dad told me he'd ruin your father's legacy if I didn't play along."

​I stared at him, my breath hitching in my throat. The raw, bleeding truth of his words hung between us.

​"Ryder..." I breathed.

​He reached out, his large, trembling hand cupping the back of my neck. He pulled me forward until my forehead was resting against his. The scent of cedar, cold ice, and old leather washed over me, instantly making my eyes burn.

​"I've been trying to protect you for four years, Maya," he whispered against my skin. "But you keep running away from me. You went to State. You literally signed up to work for the one coach who wants to destroy me on the ice."

​"I had to," I cried softly, my hands instinctively grabbing the fabric of his jersey. "I couldn't stay there, Ryder. Watching you with her... it was killing me."

​He let out a low, tortured groan. His thumb brushed over my wet cheek, his touch agonizingly tender.

​"Then don't watch," he murmured, his gaze dropping to my lips. His breathing was heavy, his chest pressing against mine in the cramped cabin of the truck. "Stay with me. Let me handle my father. Just tell me you won't go back to State."

​My heart pounded a frantic rhythm against my ribs. The physical closeness, the raw confession, the heat of his body—it was everything I had spent years dreaming of.

​But then, my eyes caught the edge of his dashboard.

​Sitting right next to the radio was a small, elegant invitation card with gold-embossed lettering: The Westbridge Athletic Gala — Special Announcement of the Callahan-Bruins Partnership.

​And right beneath it, a fresh text message lit up Ryder's phone screen, which was sitting in the cup holder.

​Bianca: Your father just called mine, Ryder. If you aren't at the gala tonight, holding my hand when the cameras start rolling, your dad is releasing the audited files on Coach Stark's final season. Choose wisely.

​The warmth in the cabin vanished instantly, replaced by a suffocating, icy reality.

​I pulled back, breaking his touch. Ryder’s hand fell away, his eyes darkening with immediate panic as he saw my gaze lock onto the phone screen.

​"Maya, don't look at that," he pleaded, reaching for the phone to flip it face down.

​"It's not over, Ryder," I whispered, my voice cold and hollow. "It’s never going to be over. If you don't go to that gala tonight, he ruins my father's memory. If you do go... you belong to her."

​I reached for the truck's door handle, my fingers wrapping around the cold plastic.

​"Maya, wait," Ryder growled, grabbing my shoulder. "We can figure this out."

​"There's nothing to figure out," I said, looking back at him one last time, my eyes cold and empty. "Go to your gala, Ryder. Secure your ten million dollars. Because tonight, I’m going back to State. And I’m going to give Coach Vance every single weakness in your playstyle."

​I pushed the door open and stepped out into the freezing wind, leaving him alone in the idling truck.