Chapter Four: He Said Walk Away

Riley

The Rink Bar was everything I hated about hockey culture crammed into one sticky, overheated room.

Blue and gold jerseys clashed everywhere I looked, Falcons and Eagles pretending to be civil while shooting daggers at each other over red plastic cups. The music was too loud, the bass vibrating up through my boots, and somewhere in the back, someone had already broken a glass. Laughter erupted, sharp and mean.

I pressed closer to Marvel, his arm around my shoulders feeling less like comfort and more like a leash.

"Don't move," he said, already pulling away. "I'm grabbing us drinks. Stay right here."

He didn't wait for my answer. Just walked off, swallowed by the crowd of his teammates. His team had lost tonight, and the Eagles were drowning their disappointment in cheap beer and forced celebration.

Stay right here. Like I was a child. Like I'd wander off and get lost.

I leaned against the sticky bar, wrapping my arms around myself. The Eagles jersey I'd worn to support him felt like a target now, bright gold in a room full of Falcons who'd just won. A few of them glanced my way, their gazes sliding over me with something between curiosity and contempt.

Coach's daughter wearing the enemy's colors. I could see the thought forming behind their eyes.

And then I felt that prickle at the back of my neck. The sensation of being watched so intently it was almost physical.

I looked up.

Across the bar, leaning against the wall like he had all the time in the world, Ray Collins was staring directly at me.

My stomach did something complicated.

His arms were crossed over his chest, making the muscles in his forearms stand out. The dim light caught the sharp line of his jaw, the shadows under his cheekbones. He wasn't looking at me the way guys usually did, not like I was something to approach or conquer. He was just... watching. Studying. Like I was a play he was trying to figure out.

I looked away fast, my cheeks heating. What is his problem?

I scanned the crowd for Marvel. Found him at a high-top table with his teammates, jaw tight, a bottle already in his hand. He wasn't looking for me. Of course he wasn't. He was too busy drowning the loss, replaying every mistake in his head behind those angry eyes.

"Riles! Hey, girl!"

I turned to find Jessica, my roommate, weaving through the crowd with a grin. She was wearing Falcons colors, which was either brave or stupid, but Jess didn't care about hockey politics.

"Thank God," I breathed as she reached me. "Please tell me you have somewhere else to be."

"Just got here!" She linked her arm through mine. "Why do you look like someone stole your puppy?"

I glanced back at Marvel's table. He was doing shots now. "It's Marvel. He's been weird all night. Controlling. Distant. Both at the same time, somehow."

Jess followed my gaze, her smile tightening. "He looks... drunk."

"Drunk, miserable, and leaving me alone at the bar like a coat he forgot." The words came out bitter. "I don't know what's going on with him. He lost, so now I'm just supposed to stand here and wait until he's ready to acknowledge me?"

"Maybe he's just processing. Guys are stupid about emotions." She squeezed my arm. "Want me to stay and be a buffer?"

Before I could answer, a voice cut through the noise behind us.

"Well, well. If it isn't the princess herself."

I turned. A guy I recognized from the Falcons, Kowalski, I think, was swaying in front of me, beer sloshing over his knuckles. His eyes were glassy, his grin ugly. His team had won, and he was celebrating hard.

"Marvel's girl," he clarified, like I might not know. "And Coach Hartwell's little daughter, right? Slumming it with the losers tonight?" He gestured at my gold jersey and laughed. "Wrong side of the scoreboard, sweetheart."

Jess stepped forward. "Back off, Kowalski. She's not here for you."

He ignored her completely, stepping closer to me. The smell of beer and sweat rolled off him in waves. "What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this? Daddy know you're hanging with the team that just got their asses handed to them?"

"Go find somewhere else to be," I said, my voice flat. I'd learned that tone from my father, the one that meant I am done with this conversation.

Kowalski laughed. "Ooh, scary. The coach's princess thinks she's tough." He leaned in, his face too close to mine. "You know what I think? I think you're here 'cause you like the danger. 'Cause being a good little daddy's girl gets boring. You wanted to see what it's like on the losing side for once."

"Hey—" Jess started.

Kowalski cut her off, his hand landing on the bar next to me, caging me in. "I think you want someone to show you what real rebellion looks like. Someone who actually knows how to win."

My heart raced. The room felt smaller, hotter. I looked around for Marvel, for anyone, but the crowd was a blur of indifferent faces. His teammates were too busy drinking their sorrows away to notice their girl getting cornered.

"Get away from her."

The voice came from behind Kowalski. Low. Flat. Absolutely cold.

Kowalski turned, and I saw Ray Collins standing there, close enough to touch. He wasn't leaning against anything now. He was fully upright, shoulders back, his gray eyes fixed on Kowalski with an expression that made my blood run cold despite the heat of the room.

Kowalski blinked, momentarily thrown. "Collins. This doesn't concern you. Go celebrate your win somewhere else."

Ray didn't move. Didn't blink. Just said, "Walk away. Now."

Something passed between them, a silent conversation I couldn't read. Kowalski's bravado flickered. He looked at me, then back at Ray, then muttered something under his breath and stumbled off into the crowd of celebrating Falcons.

The space he left felt huge and empty.

Ray's eyes found mine. For a long, suspended moment, neither of us spoke. His gaze dropped to my hands, I hadn't realized they were shaking until I saw him looking. Then it came back up to my face, softer now. Questioning.

"You okay?" His voice was different. Not the cold command from before.

I nodded, not trusting my own voice.

He held my gaze for another heartbeat, then gave a single, sharp nod and turned, disappearing into the crowd as if he'd never been there.

Jess exhaled beside me. "Okay. What the hell was that?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't. Because I had no idea what had just happened, or why my heart was still racing, or why it felt less like fear and more like something I didn't have a name for.