Chapter 4 — Stay Away From Me

POV: Evangeline "Eva" Laurent

I scrambled to pick up my clipboard from the floor, keeping my head down while my heart hammered against my ribs, and I tried to make my voice sound as steady as possible.

"You have the wrong person," I said, pulling the papers back against my chest and stepping back toward the main hallway doors, "my name is Eva Laurent, and I am just here to work my scholarship shift."

"I know what your name is on the paperwork," Lucas said, taking a step toward me without breaking eye contact, "but I watched the national qualifiers on television last year, so I know exactly who you are."

"I don't care what you watched or what you think you saw on TV," I snapped, feeling my chest tighten as anger mixed with fear, "I just want to get my work schedule, do my job, and be left alone by everyone here."

"I'm not trying to cause trouble for you," he said, holding up his hands to calm me down, "I was just surprised to see you working in a small academy rink like this after everything that happened."

"I don't need your surprise, and I definitely don't need your pity," I told him, glaring at him as I backed away further, "so just keep your mouth shut about my past, give me the rink schedule, and stay away from me."

"Fine, if that's how you want to play it," Lucas answered, shaking his head and pulling a spare set of keys from his jacket pocket, "here are the keys to the equipment room, and your shift starts at eight every night."

I snatched the keys out of his hand without saying another word, turning on my heel and walking fast down the hallway toward the dorms, determined to stay as far away from him as possible.

Later that night, around ten o'clock, I walked into the main arena to complete my evening check and lock up the equipment room, expecting the entire building to be empty.

Instead, the lights over the rink were still on, and I could hear the sharp sound of skates cutting across the ice, followed by heavy thuds against the side walls.

I stepped out onto the rubber mat near the bench, seeing Lucas out on the ice by himself, wearing only his basic practice gear and skating at full speed from one end of the rink to the other without stopping to rest.

He kept pushing himself harder and harder, taking fast turns and driving hard into the corners, until he suddenly stumbled near the blue line, dropped his stick, and fell onto his knees.

He didn't get back up, and when I took a step closer to the glass, I saw him clutching his chest with one hand while holding his right thigh with the other, gasping loudly for air.

"Lucas?" I called out, hurrying through the side gate onto the ice, "what's wrong with you?"

"My chest," he choked out, struggling to catch his breath while his face turned pale, "inhaler... in my bag... by the bench."

I turned around, sprinted back to the team bench, grabbed his black duffel bag, and dumped its contents onto the bench until I found a blue inhaler sitting near the bottom.

I ran back to him on the ice, dropping to my knees beside him, and handed him the inhaler while supporting his upper back so his lungs could expand properly.

"Take a slow breath," I instructed, keeping my voice firm while he took two quick puffs from the device, "hold it in for five seconds, then let it out slowly, don't rush it."

He followed my instructions, coughing hard twice before his breathing began to steady, but he was still groaning from the pain in his leg, keeping his hand clamped tight over his hamstring.

"It's a severe cramp," I said, recognizing the exact physical sign from my years of high-level athletic training, "let go of your leg and lie flat on your back right now."

"I can stand up," Lucas muttered, trying to push himself off the ice, but I grabbed his shoulder and forced him back down.

"Stop moving, or you're going to tear the muscle," I commanded, pulling off his right skate with fast, practiced movements, and grabbing his foot to stretch his calf upward at a precise angle to release the tension.

Lucas groaned as the muscle loosened under the pressure, but after a few seconds, he let out a long breath and lay back against the cold surface, staring up at me while I held his leg steady.

"Where did you learn to do that so fast?" he asked quietly, his voice still rough from the asthma attack.

"I spent twelve years around elite trainers and physical therapists," I replied, letting go of his leg and standing up while he slowly pushed himself into a sitting position, "you pushed your body way past its limit tonight, and you were hyperventilating because your heart rate got too high."

Lucas looked up at me, taking in my calm posture and the quiet way I had handled the emergency without panicking or calling for help.

Everything the sports media had said about me being an unstable, drama-seeking liar didn't match the focused, skilled girl who had just saved him from a serious medical collapse on the ice.

"Looks like I owe you," Lucas said, reaching out a hand so I could help him stand up.

"You owe me nothing," I replied, ignoring his outstretched hand and taking a step back toward the exit gate, "just lock up the building when you're done, and don't expect me to babysit your training sessions again."

Without waiting for his response, I turned around and walked away, leaving him alone on the ice.