4

Avery’s POV

The worst part about Ethan Cole isn’t the heartbreak. It isn’t the memory of the rink lights burning into my skin as he shattered me in front of everyone.

It’s that he still smiles at me like nothing ever happened.

“Hey, Ave.” His voice is smooth, practiced charming enough to melt half the school. He falls into step beside me in the hallway, his hockey jacket slung over one shoulder like he’s posing for a magazine cover. “You disappeared after the game the other night.”

“I had somewhere to be,” I mutter, keeping my eyes ahead.

“Yeah?” His grin sharpens, but his tone stays casual. “Not in the bleachers cheering me on?”

I stiffen, but he doesn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he lowers his voice just enough to make it feel like a knife sliding between my ribs.

“You used to love watching me play. Shame you couldn’t handle the heat when things got tough.”

I whip my head toward him, glare sharp enough to cut. “You don’t get to say that.”

He just shrugs, all faux innocence. “I’m just saying… the rink isn’t for everyone. Some people are too weak to stay on the ice.”

My fists clench at my sides. He knows exactly what he’s doing pretending to be the good guy while digging claws into every old wound.

And the worst part? People believe him. They always believe him.

At lunch, it gets worse. 

Much worse than you could possibly imagine.

Cassandra Leclair is perched on Ethan’s lap like she owns the cafeteria. Her perfect hair gleams under the fluorescent lights, her laugh sharp and calculated.

I’m barely seated with Lila before Cassandra’s gaze sweeps across the room and lands on me.

“Oh, Avery,” she calls, her voice dripping with sugar. “Did you see Ethan’s hat trick last game? He was incredible. Not that you’d know.”

Her friends titter, and I grit my teeth.

“I was busy,” I say flatly.

Her smile is dagger-sharp. “Right. Busy doing… what exactly? Because you don’t look very busy.”

Lila kicks me under the table before I can fire back. “Ignore her,” she hisses.

But ignoring Cassandra is impossible. Every flick of her hair, every hand on Ethan’s shoulder it’s all a reminder: she’s the queen now, and I’m the ghost of last season.

Later, I’m digging through my locker when a shadow falls over me.

“Careful, Hart. People might start thinking you care about hockey again.”

I slam the locker shut, finding Jax leaning casually against the one beside it. That damn smirk is back, scar catching the light.

“What do you want?” I snap.

He raises his hands in mock surrender. “Relax. Just observing. You looked like you wanted to murder Cole at lunch.”

“Maybe I did.”

His smirk widens. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

I try to shoulder past him, but he shifts, blocking me with lazy precision. “So? Have you given my offer any thought?”

“No.”

“Liar.” His eyes flick to the crumpled scholarship flyer sticking out of my notebook. “It’s eating you alive.”

My cheeks burn. I shove past him, refusing to let him see the cracks.

But his voice follows me down the hall, low and taunting. “Tick-tock, Hart. You won’t stay on the sidelines forever.”

     By the time I collapse into Lila’s room that night, I’m a mess of frustration. I pace while she sprawls on her bed, scrolling through her phone.

“You should do it,” she says suddenly.

I stop mid-step. “What?”

“Take Jax’s deal. Fake-date him, let him train you, whatever. You want that scholarship, don’t you?”

I gape. “Lila he’s Jaxon Reid. The guy who nearly got arrested. The guy everyone whispers about.”

“Yeah, and?” She sets her phone down, eyes sharp. “Ethan’s been under your skin for months. Cassandra’s making your life hell. You think you’re going to win if you keep hiding? If you keep letting them win?”

Her words land like stones in my chest. Because I know she’s right.

But the thought of trusting Jax, the boy who smirks like he knows every secret I’ve tried to bury, terrifies me.

“I don’t know if I can,” I whisper.

Lila leans forward, her expression softening. “You can. And maybe you should. For once, stop letting Ethan write your story.”

The room falls quiet. My chest aches.

     The next day, I find him leaning against the bleachers after gym, tossing a puck into the air like he has all the time in the world.

He doesn’t look surprised to see me. In fact, he smirks like he’s been waiting.

“So,” he says. “What’s it gonna be, Hart?”

I swallow hard. My pulse races. This is insane. This is reckless. This is exactly the kind of thing that could blow up my life.

But Lila’s words echo in my head. Stop letting Ethan win.

I square my shoulders, walk up to him, and extend my hand.

“Fine,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “Deal.”

His smirk softens into something sharper, hungrier. He takes my hand, his grip firm, lingering just long enough to send a shiver up my arm.

Our eyes lock. His eyes are darker than I realized, flecked with something dangerous.

“You won’t regret this, Hart,” he murmurs, his voice low enough that only I can hear. Then his smile twists.

“Unless you fall for me.”

The words sink into my skin like ice.

And I hate that a part of me wonders if he’s daring me to.