One

ELLIOT POV

The air inside the arena was freezing, but sweat was dripping down the back of my neck.

I settled the puck on the heel of my stick, took two crossover steps to open up my angle, and snapped a wrist shot toward the top right corner of the net. Thump. The puck hit the precise spot where the water bottle sat on top of the crossbar, sending it flying onto the ice.

"Calculated as always, Sorelli," a loud, arrogant voice echoed across the empty rink. "Too bad real game defenders don't stand still and let you measure your angles."

I didn't need to turn around to know who it was. I would recognize that obnoxious, booming voice anywhere.

Adrian Kessaro skated into my peripheral vision, his red captain's jersey loose over his broad chest. He didn't just skate onto the ice; he took up space, radiating that reckless, infuriating energy that had made my blood boil since primary school.

"I measure my angles so I don't waste energy blindly throwing my weight around like a bull," I replied coolly, keeping my tone perfectly flat as I hooked another puck out of the pile. "Some of us prefer intelligence over brute force."

Adrian chuckled, a low, grating sound that vibrated right through my teeth. He didn't back off. Instead, he skated straight into my space, his heavy hockey gloves coming up to lightly tap the shaft of my stick, disrupting my alignment.

"That 'brute force' earned me the captain's 'C' on my jersey, little man," Adrian sneered, leaning down so his dark, fiery eyes were level with mine. "And it's the reason we made the play-offs last season while you were sitting on the bench overthinking your passes."

"Your shot percentage dropped four percent in the third period of those play-offs, Adrian," I shot back, taking a deliberate step forward until the toe caps of our skates bumped together. I refused to back down from him. I had never backed down from him. "You exhausted yourself throwing reckless hits because you lost your temper. If you actually listened to tactical calls instead of playing hero, we wouldn't have lost game seven."

Adrian’s jaw flexed. The casual arrogance in his eyes vanished, replaced by that dangerous, dark heat he always got whenever I exposed his flaws. He dropped his stick onto the ice with a loud clatter and stepped even closer, crowding me until his broad chest pressed right against my shoulder pads.

"Say that again," Adrian growled, his breath hot against my cheek.

"I said you're a reckless leader," I whispered harshly, staring directly into his eyes without flinching. "You lead with your temper, and it costs this team."

Adrian’s hand shot out, grabbing the collar of my jersey, pulling me forward until we were nose-to-nose. My fingers instinctively clamped around his front front-crest, my pulse hammering against my ribs in pure, unadulterated rage. Every nerve in my body was screaming to swing at him.

"Easy, sweetheart," Adrian spat, a wicked, mocking smirk curling his lips as he deliberately softened his voice to make the word sound patronizing and weak. "Don't break a nail trying to look tough. Leave the fighting to the actual men on the ice."

The word hit me like a slap to the face. Sweetheart. He said it with such blatant condescension, as if I were fragile, as if I were some weak, delicate thing he could mock and crush under his boot.

Rage exploded behind my eyes. I yanked his jersey violently, raising my right fist to tear his helmet off—

"Whoa! Hey! Break it up!"

Noah came out of nowhere, shoving his arms between us and driving his weight forward to push Adrian back. At the same second, Mason sprinted across the ice, grabbing Adrian around his chest and hauling him away from me.

"Let go of him, Elliot!" Noah barked, keeping a firm hand on my chest as I fought to break free. "Are you out of your mind? Press is going to be in the lobby in ten minutes!"

"Tell your little tactical genius to keep his mouth shut!" Adrian shouted over Mason's shoulder, pointing a gloved finger at me, his face flushed red with anger.

"Shut up, Adrian!" Mason groaned, dragging the heavy captain toward the locker room doors. "Get inside before Coach sees this!"

I stood on the ice, my chest heaving, my hands shaking with an intensity that took minutes to control. Noah gave me a worried look, handing me my stick from the ice, but I couldn't even speak. I just turned and skated off toward the showers in complete, suffocating silence.

Ever since I could remember, Adrian Kessaro had been on my neck. Primary school spelling bees, junior track, high school rivalries, university tournaments—he existed solely to irritate me, challenge me, and ruin my peace. I hated his guts. Seeing his face, hearing his loud, booming voice, fueled a fire in me that I couldn't extinguish no matter how hard I tried.

And I thought that was the absolute worst it could ever get. I thought surviving him on the ice was the hardest challenge of my life.

I was dead wrong. I couldn't even fathom what was coming until that awful evening.

Three hours later, I sat in the plush leather armchair of my mother's quiet living room, holding a warm cup of coffee while my mother paced nervously on the rug in front of me.

"Mom, you're making me dizzy," I said softly, setting the cup down on the glass table. "What is so important that you needed me to come over right after practice?"

Maria Sorelli stopped pacing, clutching her hands tightly together over her blouse. She looked at me with a mixture of excitement and deep anxiety.

"Elliot... I need to tell you something," she began, taking a deep breath. "I've been seeing someone for a while now. A few years, actually. And... we've decided to take the next step."

I blinked, taken aback. "Okay... That's great, Mom. I'm happy for you. Who is he?"

Maria smiled faintly, her cheeks flushing slightly. "I'm getting married to Richard."

The room suddenly felt horribly silent. I froze, processing the words as they echoed off the walls.

"When you say Richard..." I started slowly, a strange, sickening knot tightening in the pit of my stomach. "You mean... Richard as in... Richard Kessaro? Adrian's father?"

My mother swallowed hard, looking at me with pleading eyes. "Yes, Elliot. That Richard."

The air completely left my lungs. My mind went totally blank, staring at her as if she had suddenly started speaking a foreign language. The world felt like it was spinning right off its axis.

"Adrian..." I choked out, my voice barely a whisper as the horrifying reality slammed into my chest. "Adrian is going to be my stepbrother?"