Chapter 3

Kane

Mason Hart had her eyes.

That was the first thing I noticed three years ago when she showed up at one of his games.

Same dark stare. Same stubborn mouth.

Back then she’d looked younger. Softer.

Now?

Not soft at all.

Now she looked at me like she wanted to set me on fire.

Fair enough.

“You’re Mason Hart’s sister,” I repeated.

She lifted her chin slightly. Defensive already.

“And you’re observant.”

Sarcastic.

Interesting.

Most people got nervous around me. Some got quiet. Others tried too hard to impress me.

Lena Hart looked ready to commit murder.

I almost respected it.

The arena lights reflected against the ice behind her while players moved around us loudly, but somehow she still held my full attention.

Black coat.

Camera bag.

Silver Ravens necklace resting against her throat.

Mason’s necklace.

Seeing it again felt like getting punched in the ribs.

I dragged my eyes away from it before she noticed.

“What do you want?” I asked.

“An interview.”

“No.”

She blinked once like she wasn’t expecting the answer that quickly.

Honestly, that annoyed me.

People at Blackthorn were too used to getting things from me. Interviews. Photos. Attention.

I hated all of it.

“I’m writing for the student paper,” she explained tightly. “Professor Bennett sent me.”

“Still no.”

I started walking toward the locker room.

Footsteps followed behind me.

Persistent.

“I only need twenty minutes.”

“No.”

“You haven’t even heard the questions.”

“Don’t care.”

“Are you always this rude?”

I stopped walking.

Slowly turned toward her.

She nearly walked straight into my chest before catching herself.

Too close.

For one brief second neither of us moved.

She smelled like vanilla and winter air.

Dangerous combination.

“You should stop following me,” I said quietly.

Instead of backing away like a normal person, Lena crossed her arms.

“You should stop acting like a criminal.”

Several nearby players immediately went silent.

Idiots practically stopped breathing.

Because nobody talked to me like that.

Especially not publicly.

But Lena didn’t seem scared anymore.

Angry, yes.

Not scared.

My jaw tightened slightly.

“You watched the video,” I guessed.

“I watched you almost kill someone.”

“He touched a girl.”

“That doesn’t make you a judge, jury, and executioner.”

“No,” I agreed calmly. “Just captain.”

Her eyes narrowed instantly.

There it was.

Hatred.

Real hatred.

I recognized it because I’d seen it before in Mason’s face.

The memory hit harder than expected.

Locker room.

Blood on the floor.

Mason shoving me away.

“You should’ve told someone.”

I pushed the thought down immediately.

Not now.

Lena studied me carefully like she was trying to solve something.

“You don’t even deny being violent,” she said.

“I am violent.”

The honesty seemed to throw her off balance for a second.

Good.

People expected excuses.

I didn’t make them.

One of the assistant coaches suddenly approached us nervously. “Ravenwood. The coach wants you in his office.”

“Tell him for five minutes.”

The coach hesitated like he wanted to argue, then wisely walked away.

Lena noticed it too.

The fear.

Everyone here feared me.

Except her.

That was probably the problem.

“You really enjoy this, don’t you?” she asked suddenly.

“What?”

“People are afraid of you.”

I stared at her for a moment.

Most people wouldn’t dare ask that question.

But Lena Hart clearly didn’t know when to stop.

“I don’t care enough to enjoy it.”

“That’s worse.”

Maybe.

She shifted her bag higher onto her shoulder. “Look, I just need a story.”

“You already have one.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

I leaned slightly closer.

“The poor journalist was forced to interview the evil hockey captain.” My voice stayed flat. “Campus would eat that up.”

Her cheeks flushed immediately.

Anger.

Not embarrassment.

Cute.

Dangerous thoughts.

I stepped back before my brain got any stupider.

Lena exhaled sharply like she was trying to regain control of the conversation.

“You think you’re funny?”

“No.”

At least we agreed on something.

The silence between us stretched strangely.

I noticed small things accidentally.

The way she tapped her fingers against her camera strap when irritated.

The tiny scar near her eyebrow.

The exhaustion hiding beneath her attitude.

She looked tired.

Not physically.

Emotionally.

I knew that kind of exhaustion too well.

“So,” she said finally, “you knew my brother.”

The question landed like a blade.

Around us, players continued moving through the arena, laughing loudly after practice.

Normal.

Everything suddenly felt too normal.

“I knew him,” I answered carefully.

“What happened?”

Straight to the point.

Of course.

I looked away briefly toward the empty rink.

“I’m not discussing Mason with you.”

“Why not?”

Because I remembered him bleeding.

Because guilt was a disease I carried quietly.

Because if she knew the full truth, she’d hate me even more.

“She deserves to know,” a voice in my head whispered.

I ignored it.

Lena’s expression hardened. “You know what’s funny?”

“Probably not.”

“My brother never talks about that night. Ever.” Her voice sharpened. “But every single time your name comes up, he looks like he wants to break something.”

Something cold settled in my chest.

Yeah.

That sounded about right.

“You should ask him why,” I said.

“I did.”

“And?”

“He said you destroy everything you touch.”

The words hit harder than they should have.

Because they weren’t completely wrong.

I stared at her quietly.

She thought I ruined Mason’s life.

If only she knew how many nights I replayed that moment in my own head wondering if I could’ve stopped it.

If I should’ve stopped it sooner.

“Interview’s over,” I said finally.

“It never started.”

“Exactly.”

I walked past her toward the locker room before this conversation got worse.

Or more dangerous.

“Coward,” she called after me.

I stopped instantly.

The entire hallway seemed to freeze again.

Slowly, I turned back toward her.

Lena’s expression flickered slightly like she realized too late what she’d said.

Smart girl.

My temper was already bad today.

And she kept pushing it.

I walked back toward her slowly.

One step.

Two.

Three.

Her breathing changed almost invisibly.

But she didn’t move.

Didn’t run either.

Interesting.

When I stopped in front of her again, the tension between us felt sharp enough to cut skin.

“You should be careful, Lena.”

The first time I said her name.

Her pulse visibly jumped in her throat.

“You don’t scare me,” she whispered.

Lie.

I leaned closer slightly.

Close enough to see the anger in her eyes.

Close enough to notice she was shaking just a lit

tle.

“Yeah,” I said softly. “That’s your first mistake.”

Then I walked away before I did something reckless.

Like touching her.

Or tell her the truth.

Because the second I saw Mason’s necklace around her throat yesterday…

I realized something dangerous.

I’d been trying very hard not to think about Lena Hart for the past three years.

And suddenly, I was failing.