Chapter 6: The Kiss He Couldn’t Remember

After practice, Eli returned to the locker room to collect his phone.

He had barely unzipped his bag when a second piece of black paper slipped from the pocket of his hanging jacket, fluttering down toward the rubber flooring.

He caught it mid-air, his stomach executing a sharp, sickening freefall.

Another note.

He unfolded it with shaking fingers. There were only six words scribbled inside in that same immaculate silver ink:

Stop looking at him like that.

Eli stared at the message, a sudden chill running through his veins.

“What the actual hell?”

Mason, pulling a dry t-shirt over his head, paused and turned around. “Another one?”

Eli wordlessly handed it to him.

Mason read the words, his playful expression evaporating into confusion. “Okay. That's... different.”

“Different how?”

“The first one sounded like a confession. This sounds like a territorial threat.”

Eli snatched the paper back, his fingers curling tightly around the edges. “Maybe someone saw me arguing with Adrian and decided to be funny.”

“Then why leave it locked away in your bag?”

“Because apparently, somebody on this team has too much free time and zero boundaries.”

Mason studied him closely, his eyes narrowing. “Are you going to tell the coach?”

“And say what? Someone is leaving mysterious love-and-threat letters in my gear? He’ll make me run extra laps until I vomit.”

“Then we figure out who's doing it.”

Eli nodded, his jaw set. That was exactly what he intended to do.

He pulled out his phone and snapped a photo of both notes, laying them side by side. There was no signature. No clues. Just the handwriting sharp capitals, long crossbars on the ts, a subtle, elegant slant.

He had seen it somewhere before.

He just couldn't place it until his eyes drifted across the room toward Adrian’s locker.

It was wide open.

Inside sat a neatly folded jersey, a black leather notebook, and a sleek silver pen resting right on top.

Eli’s pulse spiked.

No. That was ridiculous. Adrian Cross wasn't secretly obsessed with him. Adrian Cross barely tolerated his presence.

And yet, as he stared at the silver pen, a memory flickered to life. Three weeks ago, he had caught Adrian watching him from the dark shadows of the stands during an informal late-night scrimmage. The captain had claimed he was studying opponent strategies.

Except Adrian hadn't been watching the puck.

He had been watching Eli’s body move across the ice, tracking every stride with an intensity that had felt entirely too heavy.

“Parker.”

Eli jumped, nearly dropping his phone as a warm shadow fell over him.

Adrian stood right behind him, his damp dark hair clinging to his forehead, a heavy black sweatshirt pulled over his broad shoulders. He smelled like hot skin, shower soap, and clean linen.

“What are you doing hovering near my locker?” Adrian asked, his voice low and raspy.

Eli quickly jammed the notes back into his pocket, his heart hammering against his ribs. “Admiring your towering personality.”

“Then you must be desperate for entertainment.”

“Your locker is open.”

“And?”

“And I was wondering if you keep your ego in there, or if it just leaks out everywhere you go.”

Adrian’s dark gaze flicked downward, locking onto the pocket where Eli’s hand was clenched.

“What have you got in there?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why are you guarding your pocket like someone just shoved a live wire into your pants?”

Eli dropped his hand, heat flushing up his neck.

Adrian took one slow, deliberate step closer, invading his space until Eli could feel the physical heat radiating off the captain’s chest. “Let me guess. Another admirer?”

Eli’s stomach clenched tight. “How did you know?”

For a fraction of a second, Adrian looked genuinely caught off guard. His dark eyes widened minutely, a rare flash of vulnerability breaking through his armored facade.

It lasted barely a heartbeat before the familiar, arrogant mask slammed back down.

“Lucky guess.”

Eli didn't back down. He stepped right back into Adrian’s space, tilting his chin up. “Are you jealous, Cross?”

Adrian let out a dry, humorless scoff. “Of whom?”

“Whoever keeps writing to me.”

“Why on earth would I care who wants you?”

“Maybe because you want me.”

The words slipped out before Eli could catch them, hanging heavy and dangerous in the quiet aisle of the locker room.

The air between them went completely still.

Adrian’s jaw locked so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek. Eli had braced himself for a sarcastic laugh, a cruel dismissal anything to snap them back to their safe, familiar game of verbal sparring.

Instead, Adrian looked at him as if Eli had just pressed the cold barrel of a gun right against his chest.

When Adrian finally spoke, his voice was barely a rough whisper. “You have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Then explain it to me.”

“Stay out of my business, Eli.”

“Gladly. Stop making yourself my business.”

Eli turned on his heel to walk away, but a heavy hand shot out, catching his wrist in a firm, unrelenting grip.

The sudden skin-to-skin contact sent a violent, scorching jolt straight up Eli’s arm, making his breath hitch. Adrian seemed to feel it too; his fingers loosened instantly, as if he’d been burned, dropping Eli’s wrist as though letting go cost him physical pain.

Neither of them spoke.

Adrian looked down at his own hand, then slowly met Eli’s gaze, his eyes dark, heavy, and swimming with something entirely unreadable.

“Forget the notes,” Adrian murmured, his voice softer than Eli had ever heard it.

Eli’s chest tightened, a strange, desperate ache blooming behind his ribs. It was the first time Adrian had ever used his first name without dripping venom. “Why? Are they from someone who matters?”

Adrian’s face hardened, his walls snapping back into place. “Because whoever is writing them is playing a dangerous game.”

“Why is it dangerous?”

“Because some people don't know when to stop wanting something they can never, ever have.”

Eli swallowed hard, his throat dry. “And what exactly is it that they can't have?”

Adrian held his gaze, a silent, smoldering intensity passing between them. For one breathless, electric second, Eli thought the captain might finally break, might finally pull him in and bridge the agonizing inch between their mouths.

Instead, Adrian stepped back, grabbed his gym bag with white-knuckled precision, and muttered, “See you tomorrow, Parker.”

Then he walked away, disappearing through the heavy doors into the night.

Eli stood alone in the quiet aisle, his skin still burning, his pulse roaring in his ears. His wrist still tingled fiercely where Adrian’s fingers had wrapped around it.

He hated the notes. He hated the arrogant, infuriating captain.

And most of all, he hated the traitorous, starving part of himself that wished Adrian had ignored every warning and pulled him into a dark corner instead.

That evening, sitting alone on the edge of his bed in his temporary campus apartment while Mason was out, Eli stared down at the two notes spread across his desk.

The first whispered of a secret obsession. The second warned him away with a possessive bite.

Individually, they were madness. Together, they formed a puzzle he was desperate to solve.

He pulled out his phone, zoomed in on the silver ink of the first note, and compared it side-by-side with a photo of the team schedule Adrian had written out by hand weeks ago.

The letters matched. The sharp, aggressive Y. The elongated crossbars on the ts. The distinctive, elegant slant.

Eli’s breath caught in his throat.

“No way.”

Before he could process the realization, his phone buzzed violently against the wood. A text from an unknown number.

Unknown: Did you like the note?

Eli stopped breathing entirely. His thumb flew across the screen.

Eli: Who is this?

The reply came back instantly, like the sender was sitting in the dark right outside his door.

Unknown: Someone who knows you better than you think.

Unknown: Ask Adrian Cross what really happened in the equipment room three weeks ago.

Eli stared at the screen, a cold shiver crawling down his spine.

Three weeks ago.

He remembered that afternoon vividly. He had stayed late to hunt for missing gear. Adrian had cornered him among the tall rows of equipment racks, breathing hard, accusing him of messing with team chemistry. They had argued face-to-face, the air thick, heavy, and charged with an unnameable tension until someone had shouted from the hallway and broken the spell.

Or had they?

His phone buzzed again. A new message, accompanied by an image file.

Eli opened it with a trembling finger.

It was a photograph taken from a distance outside the rink at night. Two figures stood near the shadows of the loading dock. Even blurry, Eli recognized his own profile instantly.

The other man was Adrian.

And they weren't arguing.

In the photo, Adrian’s large hand was cupped firmly against Eli’s cheek, his thumb brushing across his jawline. Their faces were mere millimeters apart, frozen in a moment of undeniable, breathless intimacy and Eli’s own body was leaning eagerly into the touch.

Eli’s blood ran cold and hot all at once. He couldn't remember this. He couldn't remember that moment ever happening.

Beneath the photo, one final message glowed on the screen:

Unknown: That wasn't the first time he kissed you, Parker. He's been lying to you every single day.

Without thinking, Eli slammed his thumb onto the call button, dialing the unknown number directly.

It rang once. Twice.

Then, a low, smooth, achingly familiar voice murmured softly right against his ear:

“Hello, Parker.”

Eli gripped the edge of the desk so hard his knuckles turned white. He knew that voice. He heard it across the ice, in the locker room, in his dreams.

“Adrian?”

A long, heavy pause on the line. Then, a low, dark chuckle vibrated through the speaker.

“No, sweetheart.”

Eli froze completely, every drop of blood rushing to his ears.

“I’m just the reason your precious captain has been losing his mind and his sleep over you.”