LOGINBy Friday morning, Ryder felt like he’d lived through an entire season in the span of a few days. Every muscle in his body ached, his shoulders screamed when he stretched, and his eyes burned from too many late nights and early alarms.But it was Friday.He kept telling himself that. One more day. Just one more day, and then he could sleep through the weekend and pretend he wasn’t falling apart.His alarm screamed like it hated him personally. Ryder smacked the phone off the nightstand, silencing it. He lay still for a beat, staring at the ceiling, forcing himself to remember: it’s Friday. One more day. He could make it.Dragging himself out of bed felt like hauling a sandbag uphill. His legs trembled under him, his hoodie somewhere on the floor.“It’s Friday,” he muttered, pulling it over his head. “One more day.”He stumbled down the stairs, following the smell of coffee and the muffled sounds of life returning to the Wolf Den. Someone had the TV on low in the living room, and Zach
Ryder hit the ice ready to bleed for it. Conditioning was supposed to break them down and rebuild them, but today, it was personal. He needed to stay ahead of Calloway, prove every stride, every breath, every drop of sweat had to mean something.They started with suicides. Sprinting blue line to blue line, turning, going again. His legs screamed halfway through, lungs burning, but when he glanced across the rink, Jax was still moving with that calm precision, not even looking winded. Ryder pushed harder. He hit the last line a half-second ahead, chest heaving, stick clattering to the ice as he bent double.Just enough. He’d won that one. Barely.Next came resistance drills. Weighted sleds, short bursts of explosive speed. Ryder’s shoulders trembled, sweat soaking through his shirt, but he refused to slow down. The guys joked and yelled around him, Connor calling encouragement, Drew swearing, but Ryder stayed locked in, matching Calloway stride for stride.Coach Larsson paced the rink
Ryder’s alarm blared like a siren.He groaned, swiping at his phone until the noise cut off. For a second he just lay there, blinking at the ceiling. The light streaming through the blinds was soft, filtered through a sky still half-frozen with morning frost. His head felt clearer than it had in days.He stretched, wincing a little, but the ache in his body was the good kind, earned, not given. He could still hear the low murmur of voices from last night, Drew and Connor sprawled on his floor, talking about everything except the things that mattered. They hadn’t grilled him for details they didn’t want to know, or judged him for the mess he’d gotten himself into. They’d just stayed. Hid with him. Kept him anchored when his head was trying to spiral.He smiled faintly, remembering Connor’s half-slurred pep talk about not letting “some rookie with hair gel and too many abs” throw him off his game. Drew had snorted beer out his nose laughing, and Ryder had finally stopped thinking about
The gym doors banged open as Ryder pushed through them, the night air hitting him like a slap. Cold and merciless. His breath came out in short, angry bursts as he stalked across the lot, jaw clenched, every muscle still trembling from exhaustion and adrenaline. His hoodie clung damp to his back. The humiliation burned hotter than the cold could cool.Before he could break into another run, something slammed into his side. Then another weight hit him from the other direction. Ryder hit the grass hard, air punched from his lungs.“Got him!” Drew grunted, pinning his arm.Connor dropped down beside him, knee pressing to Ryder’s shoulder to hold him still. “What the hell, man? You trying to blow a gasket?”Ryder thrashed, fury spiking again. “Get off me!”“Dude, calm down!” Connor barked, tightening his grip. “You’re shaking like crazy.”Zach hovered at the edge of the lot, eyes wide. “Guys, seriously—we’re gonna get in so much trouble if someone sees this!”Ryder tried to buck them off,
Ryder stayed under the spray long after his skin felt numb.Rage sat heavy in his chest, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. Every second replayed in brutal detail. Calloway’s smirk, his voice, the way he’d walked out like he hadn’t just stripped Ryder down to nothing.He slammed a hand against the tile, jaw tight. No one got under his skin like that. Not on the ice, not in bed, not ever. He’d been humiliated twice today, once in front of the team, and once when no one was watching.That ended now.He dragged a hand through his wet hair, the sting of water mixing with the raw burn of fury. He needed to do something. Move, hit something, lift until his arms gave out. Anything to quiet the noise in his head.Ryder shut off the shower, grabbed a towel, and dressed in jerky, angry movements. The locker room was empty now, the air thick with humidity and the faint scent of soap and sweat. He tugged on a hoodie, slammed his locker shut hard enough to echo, and stalked out.Outside, the nigh
Ryder’s irritation burned hotter with every lap around the rink. He told himself it was just competition, that Calloway was a show-off, a rookie trying too hard, but it didn’t feel like that. It felt personal.Every move the guy made grated at him.The next drill started: a full-ice scrimmage. Drew tossed Ryder the puck for the opening rush. He sprinted down center ice, cutting past the defense. Just as he lined up his shot, a blur of black streaked past him. Calloway, intercepted at the last second. The puck snapped off his stick and curved neatly into the net.The whistle blew. Cheers erupted from the bench. Beck clapped Calloway’s shoulder. “Nice play!”Ryder’s stomach twisted. His own teammates were grinning like they’d just found their new favorite player.The next rotation came faster. Ryder forced his legs to move, sweat burning down his neck. Every pass, every shift, Calloway was there. Smooth. Precise. Effortless. The bastard didn’t even look like he was trying.During a corn
For a moment Milo thought he must have misheard. Caleb, moving to California? The boy’s head was down, skates laced tight, and his eyes already red. Milo’s chest clenched. He didn’t know what to say, what to do.Ethan crouched immediately, his voice gentle. “Hey, bud. Come here.” He reached out, b
Ethan opened the door.And the world stopped.Milo was pinned to the carpet, wide-eyed and shaking, Logan’s body straddling his like a goddamn nightmare come to life.Logan looked up, face flushed, hair limp with sweat. “Oh,” he said, voice oily with mock surprise. “You already had a visitor. You’l
Milo’s voice was low and certain as he looked up at Ethan. “I want to taste you properly,” he said. “I didn’t get to do it for very long last time… and I’ve never done this with anyone else.”Ethan’s vision blurred for a moment.Milo’s reckless words rattled him like an earthquake.No one had ever
The next morning, Ethan drove Milo across Crestwick, fussing over him the entire way.He’d spent hours reminding him not to wander off, warning him about unfamiliar streets, and pointing out landmarks like Milo was ten years old. Milo had finally snapped and shouted that he wasn’t a child, only to







