Lila

CHAPTER FIVE: Lila’s POV

“You’re late.”

Raya, one of the other photographers, didn’t even look up from her camera as I slid into the pit beside her, wide brimmed hat pulled low, sunglasses on despite the arena lights doing absolutely nothing to warrant them.

“I’m exactly on time,” I muttered, adjusting my lens with hands that hadn’t fully stopped shaking since I left that hotel room. “You’re just used to me being early.”

“Rough night?”

If she only knew.

I kept my eyes on the ice instead of answering, grateful for the excuse. My phone had been buzzing since I walked in, Richy checking if I’d made it, Leo sending some ridiculous pregame selfie with the caption watch your brother destroy the pig, neither of them having the faintest idea their sister slash stepdaughter had spent the morning half naked against a hotel wall with the exact pig in question.

I adjusted my hat again, I knew it was probably stupid thinking a hat and sunglasses would be enough if Zeek so much as glanced my way from center ice, but it was all I had, and my hands needed something to do besides shake.

The arena roared as the teams skated out, and for one blessedly normal minute I let myself just be a photographer again, framing shots, adjusting focus, watching Leo’s face settle into the same fierce concentration he’d worn since he was twelve years old and decided this was the only thing he wanted to be great at.

Then Zeek skated past, and my stomach flipped dramatically without my permission.

I hated him. I still hated him, that hadn’t changed overnight just because his hands had felt like they knew exactly what they were doing to my body. If anything I hated him more now, for making my body agree with something my mind refused to.

Focus, Lila.

The first period went to Team Buffalo, a clean shot that snuck past Leo’s goalie in the final minute, and I watched Zeek celebrate with his team like he’d already won the whole series instead of one goal. 

His arms were raised in his winning pose and that insufferable grin aimed at the cameras like he knew exactly which one belonged to me.

The second period went to him too. Two to nothing, and even through my long lens I could see the tightness creeping into Leo’s shoulders, the way he skated a fraction faster than necessary, chasing a game that was slipping.

You okay? I texted him between breaks.

Never better. This next period is for my A game; and despite everything I smiled, because that was Leo, always certain the next shift was the one that turned it around.

He wasn’t wrong. In the third period, he found his rhythm, weaving through Zeek’s defense like he’d been born knowing exactly where every gap would open, and when he finally buried a shot past Buffalo’s goalie the whole arena on his side erupted so loud I felt it in my teeth.

Two to one. Still not enough, but close enough that I let myself breathe.

The clock kept bleeding down. Under a minute, then under thirty seconds, Team Apex throwing everything they had at Buffalo’s net, Leo screaming instructions I couldn’t hear over the crowd, and I had my camera trained on him the entire time, because whatever happened next, I wanted it documented, I wanted proof of exactly how hard my brother had fought.

Five seconds.

Leo intercepted a pass at center ice, and the entire arena seemed to hold its breath with him as he tore down the length of the rink alone, nothing but ice and one goalie between him and the tie.

Three seconds.

He shot.

The puck crossed the line at the exact moment the horn blared, and half the arena erupted into screaming, fists in the air, Leo already turning to celebrate with his teammates.

Then Zeek was skating toward the referee, arms out, shouting something I couldn’t hear from here but didn’t need to, because I already knew, in my gut, before the announcement even came through.

“No goal. The clock expired before release.”

The arena split in half, half of it roaring in fury, half of it in disbelief, and Leo was already skating toward the ref himself, helmet off, face red with a rage I’d only seen a handful of times in his whole life.

Zeek met him halfway.

Leo landed a brutal perfectly timed blow and Zeek’s head snapped back. He went down hard on the ice, blood already spreading across his face from a cut above his eye. The arena gasped, then erupted.

I didn’t think before I moved as fast as I could, I didn’t even remember to adjust my camera Lens or any of the photography rules of emergency as I pushed through the edge of the photographer pit, heart hammering in my throat. 

He’s hurt and he’s bleeding and my brother did that to him on live TV. The thought twisted something deep inside me I had no right to feel especially not for the man I was supposed to destroy.

I collided straight into someone.

Careesha.

She was live streaming, phone held high, her surgically perfect face lit with malicious glee as she caught every second of Zeek’s fall. The impact made her stumble, and I muttered a quick 

“Sorry—” before trying to slip past her toward the ice.

Her fingers locked around my arm like a vice.

“Wait.” Her eyes narrowed, sharp and searching. “Your face looks familiar.”

My stomach dropped. “You’ve got the wrong person,” I said quickly, keeping my voice low and professional. “I’m just here to do my job.”

She didn’t let go. Instead, she dug her phone out of her other hand and pulled up a photo, the grainy, low quality paparazzi shot from that night. Red curls spilled everywhere and the white duvet hid most of my face. It was blurry and inconclusive but apparently it was enough for her.

“Not me. Sorry,” I tried again, tugging against her grip. People were starting to stare. Phones were turning in our direction. I needed to get away before this spiral got any worse.

Careesha’s voice was rising even louder and drawing more eyes.

“You must be the new bitch fucking Zeek. Tell me, how does it feel having my leftovers?”

Every head within twenty feet turned toward us at once.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Fuck.