Chapter 4: I Deserve to know

{AARON POV}

Everything stopped for a second; I could hear my own heartbeat.

She stood next to Marcus Vance.

Wearing a sharp, charcoal-gray corporate suit that didn’t fit her right it was slightly too big, masking the curves I used to know by touch.

Her dark hair was pinned back in a neat, professional twist, exposing the elegant line of her neck. But it was her eyes those deep, familiar brown eyes that slammed into my chest, knocking every single ounce of oxygen from my lungs.

Lauretta.

My left hand went entirely numb. The extra leather glove I was holding slipped from my fingers and hit the rubber floor mat with a heavy thud. I didn't care. I couldn't move. My skates felt frozen directly into the ice.

For five years, I had looked for her. hallucinating her face in crowded bars, on city streets, and in the quiet, agonizing hours after a game when the adrenaline wore off and left me entirely alone. I thought I was losing my mind. I thought my brain had finally snapped from the pressure of the upcoming playoffs.

"Aaron?"

A hand slammed down on my shoulder padding, shaking me. I didn't blink, I couldn't break eye contact with her.

"Yo, Aaron," Mason’s voice cracked through the silence, his brow furrowed as he looked from me to the management team on the walkway.

"You look like you just saw a ghost, man. What's wrong with you?"

I didn't answer him.

Lauretta’s eyes stayed locked on mine. She didn’t look away. Her pale face remained perfectly neutral, but I could see the subtle way her hands tightened on the briefcase she was holding.

She looked thinner. The soft, youthful fullness in her cheeks from our college days was entirely gone, replaced by sharp, exhausted hollows.

She looked tired.

Not the kind of tired that sleep could fix, and she looked at me as if I were a monster.

"Aaron, get over here for a minute, meet the new boss," Mason called out over the glass, entirely oblivious to the tension rising in me.

Marcus turned to her, saying something I couldn't hear. He gestured toward the exit tunnel.

Instead of stepping toward the bench, Lauretta simply nodded to Marcus, turned on her heel, and walked away. She didn't look back. Not once. She just gripped her briefcase tighter and disappeared into the concrete corridor.

She didn’t even look back.

For some reason, that bothered me more than it should have.

"Alright, lines!" Coach Miller's whistle shrilled through the rink, shattering the spell. "Carter! Taylor! Back on the circle! Let’s go!"

I stepped back onto the ice, but my body wasn't listening to my brain anymore. The discipline that had earned me the captain's 'C' vanished.

On the first pass from the blue line, the puck hit the heel of my stick and skittered away into the corner. A rookie mistake.

"Focus, Carter!" Coach yelled.

On the next drill, I skated too hard into the turn, losing my edge and spraying ice against the boards in a sloppy, frustrated mess. My chest was heaving, a toxic mix of old grief and sudden, volatile anger burning through my veins.

For five years, I had built walls around my heart. I became the Ice King. I let the media call me cold, untouchable, and ruthless. I went to the mandatory charity galas with Vanessa Whitmore on my arm because my mother begged me to, because it was good for the sportswear brand. After all, it kept the press from digging into my private life. But I never let Vanessa into my bed. I never let anyone into my heart.

Because five years ago, Lauretta Hayes had taken my heart, ripped it to shreds, and left me on the floor of a college apartment right before I signed my entry-level contract.

I had loved her so completely that it ruined me. I had been ready to give up everything for her until the bank receipts, the photos, and the brutal reality of her betrayal proved that our entire relationship had been a lie.

She had cheated on me.

At least that’s what I had believed for five years.

So why did seeing her again make me question everything?

I thought she broke me first. So why did seeing her look so broken today make me want to tear the world apart?

By the time Coach called an end to practice, I was practically vibrating with rage. I slammed my stick against the rack, yanked my helmet off, and marched straight into the locker room without speaking to a single teammate.

"Hey! Hold up," Mason barked, following me into the private captain’s stall, slamming the heavy wooden door behind him. He threw his gloves onto the bench, his eyes wide with a mix of confusion and anger. "What the hell was that out there? You missed three passes, you almost took off the rookie’s head on a routine check, and you looked like you wanted to murder the glass. Who was that woman with Marcus?"

I ripped the velcro straps of my shoulder pads apart, my jaw clenched so tight my teeth ached. "Nobody."

"Don't give me that corporate PR bullshit, Aaron. I’ve known you since our freshman year at Michigan State,"

Mason snapped, stepping directly into my space.

"I know your face. You looked at her like she was the one who pulled the trigger. Who is she?"

I hauled the heavy pads over my head, slamming them onto the locker floor. The breath left my lungs in a harsh, ragged growl.

"Lauretta," I said, the name tearing out of my throat. "It was Lauretta Hayes."

Mason froze. The anger melted off his face, his eyes widening as the pieces fell into place. He remembered. He had been there five years ago when I sat on the floor of our disgusting college apartment, staring at a phone that wouldn't ring, surrounded by packing boxes.

A sudden, sharp memory flashed behind my eyes, so vivid it made my stomach churn.

We were twenty-one. The apartment didn't have heat, so we were huddled under a single, tattered blanket on the hand-me-down sofa, Lauretta was laughing, her beautiful, unpinned hair falling over her shoulders as she fed me a cold, greasy French fry from a paper basket.

'When you make it to the NHL, Carter,' she had whispered, her brown eyes shining with absolute devotion, 'you have to buy me a real box of fries. A giant one. Just for me.'

I had kissed her then, tasting the salt on her lips, swearing that my future meant nothing if she wasn't standing next to me.

That Aaron was dead. He had been killed by a mountain of evidence, a stack of cheating receipts, and a woman who didn't even bother to deny it before she cut contact completely.

"She's the new Senior PR Manager," Mason said carefully, pulling me back to the present. He watched my reaction closely.

"Marcus just fast-tracked her hire. She’s not just passing through, Aaron. She’s going to be working directly with the front office. She’s here to stay."

She was here. Ten feet away from my locker room. Managing my reputation.

"Get out, Mase," I muttered, yanking my jersey off and heading toward the private showers.

An hour later, dressed in a sharp black suit, I sat alone in my executive office overlooking the practice facility. The room was quiet, but my mind was a war zone.

I leaned back in my leather chair, I opened my drawer and took out a photo which I had always kept and treasured, a photo of Lauretta when we were still at college.

Five years ago, the final confrontation had ended in heartbreak accusations, and words neither of us could take back. I had left the country believing she was a traitor. She had vanished believing I was a monster who abandoned her for fame.

But looking at her today... something didn't add up.

She hadn't looked like a woman who had successfully moved on with someone else's money. She didn't look like a socialite. She looked guarded. Exhausted. Defiant.

And for the first time in five long years, the ice around my heart began to crack, letting me feel the arch I had always tried to bury. I spent five years trapped by unanswered questions, letting the past shape my future.

Now she was back. Working right under my roof.

I straightened my cuffs, my eyes narrowing as I stared at the picture in my hand . Five years ago, Lauretta Hayes had walked out of my life without giving me a valid explanation.

But this time, I wasn't letting her walk away until I got the absolute truth.