Chapter 8

RYDER’S Pov

The sound of blades cutting into the ice is one of my favorite things in the world. It means I’m alive. It means I’m here.

And right now, it means I have less than a week before our next game and no room to screw up.

The rink was freezing, but sweat was already sliding down my neck under my gear. The coach was barking orders from the side, pacing the blue line like it owes him money.

“Move your feet, Hayes! You’re not out here for a Sunday stroll!”

I dug in harder, pushing past Mason as we raced for the puck. He tried to shoulder me, but I cut inside and stole it clean. The sound of my stick meeting the puck echoed through the rink. It felt good.

We were not just playing with our team today. Mason’s teammates from his travel league were here too, mixing into the drills. The air is thick with competition, half these guys want to take my head off, and the other half want to see if I’m worth the hype.

Fine. I’ll show them.

I threw myself into every play. Sprinted down the ice. Stopped hard enough to spray ice into Mason’s skates. Pass sharp, hit clean, shot with everything I’ve got.

By the time Coach blew the final whistle, my lungs were burning and my legs felt like bricks.

A couple of the guys skated over, grinning. One of them, tall with messy blond hair, clapped me on the shoulder.

“Not bad, Hayes. You’ve got speed.”

Another nods. “And hands. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

From across the rink, Mason’s glare could cut glass.

Good.

I grin at the guys. “Guess I’m full of surprises.”

The coach skates in then, his voice carrying across the ice. “Good work today. You’re getting there. But you still need to sharpen your transitions. And for God’s sake, stop chasing the puck like it’s your lost puppy.”

A few guys chuckle under their breath. I just nod. “Got it, Coach.”

“Hayes,” he says, jerking his head toward the benches. “Office. Five minutes.”

The rest of the team starts drifting toward the tunnel. I skate off with them, but I can feel Mason falling in step beside me.

“Nice show out there,” he says. His tone is light, but there’s a bite to it.

“Thanks,” I say flatly.

“Guess it’s easy to look good when you’re trying to impress someone.”

I don’t take the bait. I’m not giving him the satisfaction.

“Not sure Lila’s your type though,” he adds, smirking. “She’s more into… Well, not you.”

I keep walking. My mind is already past him, locked on my goal. Win the game. Get the scholarship. Prove them all wrong.

In the locker room, the air smells like sweat, ice, and whatever cheap body spray the rookies keep drowning themselves in. I peel off my gear, grab my hoodie and jeans from the bench, and change quickly.

The coach doesn’t like waiting.

By the time I’m knocking on the door to his office, my hair’s still damp and my hands smell faintly of hockey tape.

“Come in,” Coach calls.

His office is small, cluttered with clipboards, coffee cups, and stacks of papers that look like they’ve been there since the ’90s. A framed photo of a younger Coach holding a trophy hangs behind his desk.

I shut the door and drop into the chair across from him.

“You wanted to see me?”

He leans back, studying me for a long moment. “Have you convinced her yet?”

I know exactly who he’s talking about. I shake my head. “Not yet. Working on it.”

He sighs like I’m a stubborn kid. “You need her, Hayes. She knows the plays. She knows the game. And she knows how to win.”

I nod once. “I’ll get her to say yes.”

The coach tilts his head, watching me closely. “Why do you think she said no in the first place?”

“She hates me?” I offer.

“That’s part of it,” he admits. “But it’s more than that.”

I hesitate. This has been eating at me since the first time she walked away. “Then tell me. What happened to her?”

The coach's gaze drifts to the photo on the wall. His voice is lower when he answers.

“Mason happened.”

My jaw tightens.

“They were dating,” Coach says. “Back when she was still playing. She was good—better than good. She had scouts watching her. Then Mason… well, let’s just say he didn’t take losing to her very well.”

I’m gripping the arm of the chair now. “What did he do?”

Coach meets my eyes. “Humiliated her. Right there on the rink. In front of the whole school.”

I feel heat spike in my chest. “How?”

“He told her she was a bet in front of the whole school. Told her he never loved her and he just wanted her for the moment. She went down hard. The crowd laughed. Mason skated off smiling.”

I swallow hard, anger tightening every muscle in my body.

“She quit the team that day,” Coach says. “Walked out with her head high, but I could tell… she was done. She hasn’t played since.”

For a second, I can’t even speak. My mind is full of Lila’s face, calm, controlled, never letting anyone close, and suddenly it all makes sense.

“She didn’t just shut him out,” I say quietly. “She shut everyone out.”

The coach nods. “And now you know why it’s going to take more than persistence to get her on your side.”

I sit there for a moment, the weight of it settling in.

It’s not just about convincing her anymore. It’s about proving to her that I’m not him. That I’m not here to hurt her.

And maybe… about making Mason pay for what he did.

“Got it.” I say, finally.