Chapter 4

Alex

My phone started vibrating at exactly 7:14 a.m. I slapped it quiet, rolled over, buried my face in the pillow. Two minutes later it went again. Then again. By the seventh buzz I was sitting up, cursing every rich-kid gene in his body, hair plastered to my forehead, sheets knotted around my ankles.

I snatched the phone.

Rise and shine, scholarship trash. You dream about me choking you against the glass last night?

Next one hit before I could even blink.

Bet you woke up leaking. Bet you hate how much you liked it.

I stared so long the screen dimmed. Scrolled up. He’d been at it while I slept.

You ran from the showers like your ass was on fire but we both know you wanted me to follow.

Next time I catch you alone I’m not stopping at your lip.

Stop pretending you don’t feel it.

Then the one that actually made my stomach drop, Why won’t you just fucking admit it?

I barked a laugh, aimed at myself more than him. Admit what? That I was fucked? That I replayed his hand on my throat on loop? 

Fingers flying before common sense kicked in.

Leave me the fuck alone.

Sent.

Dots appeared instantly. Stopped. Appeared again.

Then a voice note. Thirty-eight seconds.

I shouldn’t have played it. I really fucking shouldn’t have.

His voice came through rough, scraped raw  and it had this touch  to it like…. Never mind. Anyway it said, “You’re under my skin, Rivera. Deeper than I ever let anyone crawl. I fucking hate you but. (His voice stuttered) But I’m not fucking stopping.”

It cut off. No apology. No laugh. Just that jagged, pissed-off confession .

I sat there dumb, phone glued to my ear long after it went quiet. Hit replay. Listened again. Again. Each time his voice sank lower into my gut, and each time my dick twitched like it had zero self-respect.

“Jesus Christ,” I muttered to the empty room. “What the actual fuck is wrong with me?”

I chucked the phone onto the mattress like it was radioactive, yanked on sweats and the oldest hoodie I owned, and bailed before I could do something stupid like text back something even stupider.

Practice sucked. Damien was everywhere barking, checking, smirking every time our eyes locked like he knew exactly what replay was looping in my head. I skated like my life depended on it, tried to sweat him out. Didn’t work. Coach yelled at me to ice my ribs after. I nodded, waited for the place to empty, then snuck back in with my key when the lights were down to half.

Supposed to be empty.

Wasn’t.

Center-ice lights on. Damien out there alone, no helmet, hair dripping sweat, stick tapping the puck like he was trying to beat it into submission. For half a second he looked… off. Shoulders low. Face tight. Almost human. Then he spotted me in the shadows and the mask slammed back down smirk, straight posture, predator eyes.

“Couldn’t stay away, huh?” he called, voice echoing.

“Fuck off,” I said, dropping my bag anyway. “I booked this time.”

“Did you?” He glided over, stopped just out of reach. “Funny. So did I.”

We stared. No one blinked.

He flicked the puck at me. Hard. I trapped it, fired it back harder. He grinned like I’d just proposed.

We started skating. Silently at first. Just blades cutting ice, sticks hitting, bodies colliding when we both went for the puck. It wasn’t drills. It was war with better equipment.

He checked me first. I shoved back, got my stick in his ribs, tripped him. He hit the ice laughing low, dark, and thrilled.

“Getting feisty, baby?”

“Call me baby one more time and I’ll shove that stick up your ass sideways.”

“Promises, promises.” He bounced up, came at me again. We traded hits grunting, cursing, breathing ragged. Every slam sent heat shooting through me. 

Finally he got me. Spun me fast, backed me hard against the boards, forearm across my chest, other hand braced by my head. Slowly this time. His breath hit my mouth in short, hot bursts.

I could’ve pushed him off but I didn’t.

“You keep coming back to me,” he said, voice dropping low, almost gentle. “Why is that, baby?”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” His thumb dragged along my jaw. “Don’t call you baby? Don’t keep you right here? Don’t make you admit you’re dying for me to kiss you stupid?”

My hands were locked in his jersey. His heart was pounding under my fists. Mine matched his beat for beat.

“YOU’RE CRAZY,” I whispered.

He leaned in until our lips were a breath apart. “You think?.” His eyes were staring down at my lips, 

I almost did it. Almost tilted my head. Almost let him take.

Then it hit me like a slap, me on my knees for Damien fucking …. Damien. Scholarship yanked. Team laughing. Back home broke, outed, done. All because I couldn’t control my dick around the guy who’d happily watch me burn.

I shoved him hard. He staggered back one step, eyes wide for once.

I ripped my helmet off, threw it so it banged against the glass. “I’m not gonna do this shit with your silly little games.”

“Can’t what?” He stepped forward again. “Can’t want me? Too fucking late.”

“Fuck you.” My voice cracked like glass. “You think this is a game? You think you can just… claim me or whatever the fuck? I don’t have rich parents. I don’t have a fallback. One fuck-up and I’m gone. Scholarship, hockey, everything. And yeah you’ll never catch me being what you think I am.”

He went quiet. Really quiet. The smirk disappeared.

I kept talking because stopping meant crying or swinging or kissing him and I wasn’t ready for any of those.

Damien dragged a hand over his face. “The thing with you, Rivera…” He laughed once, bitter. “It’s like you’re a dollar that’s fallen in shit. Too precious to throw away. Too dirty to pick up.”

I stared at him. “That’s supposed to be romantic?”

“It’s honest.” He stepped back. Gave me actual space. “I don’t know how to do this cleanly. I just know I can’t stop thinking about you. Can’t stop making sure your life is miserable.”

I laughed, exhausted, the kind of laugh that hurts your throat more than it helps. “Poor little rich boy. Must be torture for you. You must hate it when I so much as smile right ?.”

“Yeah,” Damien said quietly, almost like the words tasted bad coming out. “I do. .”

Then nothing. I started counting my own heartbeats just to fill it, thump, thump, thump like they were trying to escape my chest.

Finally he spoke again, softer this time, almost careful. “Go. Before I drag you back here and finish what we started.”

I didn’t wait for him to say it twice. I grabbed my stick so fast it almost slipped out of my sweaty hands, skated the short distance to the bench, and dropped onto it like my legs had given up. My fingers fumbled with the laces tore at them, yanked the skates off one after the other. The laces whipped across my knuckles, stinging, but I didn’t care. I just needed out. 

I shoved my feet into my sneakers without tying them, snatched my bag, and bolted for the door. Didn’t look back. Couldn’t. If I saw his face again sweaty, flushed, eyes dark and confused I might do something stupid like turn around and walk right back into whatever trap he was setting.

The door banged shut behind me.

I stumbled against the brick wall, head tipped back, sucking in sharp breaths that burned my lungs. My whole body was shaking part adrenaline crash, part something I didn’t want to name. I pressed my palms flat against the rough bricks, trying to steady myself, trying to breathe like a normal person instead of someone who’d almost kissed the guy who could ruin his life with one phone call.

Footsteps crunched on the gravel path.

I flinched hard, muscles locking up again. Damien. Had to be. Coming to finish what he started, or maybe just to laugh at how fast I ran.

But when I opened my eyes, it wasn’t him.

Jax.

He stood there in a dark hoodie pulled up over his head, stick bag slung easy over one shoulder like he’d just shown up for a casual late-night skate. His eyes moved over me quickly, sweaty hair sticking everywhere, cheeks still hot and red, hands trembling so bad I had to shove them in my pockets.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and calm, not pushing, not judging. “You good?”

I snorted, the sound rough and bitter. “Do I look good?”

“No.” He took one slow step closer, careful, like he was approaching a spooked animal. “Want company walking back?”

I looked at him. No smirk curling his mouth. No cage of arms trapping me against the wall. No low growl in his voice promising things that scared me and turned me on at the same time. Just… steady. Like he could stand there all night if that’s what I needed.

I flicked my eyes back toward the rink door. The lights were still on inside, glowing yellow through the small window. Damien was still in there. Probably pacing now, or leaning against the boards, staring at the spot where I’d almost caved.

Then I looked at Jax again.

My throat burned like I’d swallowed glass.

“Yeah,” I said, voice coming out scratched and low. “Walk me back.”

We started down the path together. Neither of us said anything for the first half minute. Just the crunch of our shoes on gravel, the distant sound of traffic somewhere beyond the campus trees, my own breathing still too loud in my ears.

Then Jax broke the quietness. “You don’t gotta explain shit. Not to me. But if you ever wanna talk… I’m around.”

I swallowed hard. The words stuck for a second before I could push them out. “Thanks.”

We kept walking. A few more steps. The dorm lights were starting to show up ahead, little squares of yellow in the dark.

“Rivera?” he said.

“Yeah?”

“You’re fucking good out there. On the ice. Whatever this is…” He waved a hand vaguely, like he could see the mess in my head. “Don’t let it steal that from you.”

I couldn’t answer right away. My throat closed up tight. Eyes stung hot and sudden. If I opened my mouth even to say thanks again I was either going to cry like a kid or laugh until I choked on it. So I just nodded once, quick and sharp, and kept my eyes on the path.

We walked the rest of the way in silence. Him solid next to me. Just there. Safe in a way I hadn’t felt in months.

When we got to my  building, Jax stopped at the bottom of the steps. “You good from here?”

“Yeah,” I lied. “I’m good.”

He gave me a small nod, not smiling, just acknowledging. “See you at practice tomorrow.”

“See you.”

He turned and walked off, hoodie blending into the shadows. I watched him go until he disappeared around the corner.

Then I climbed the stairs to my room, legs heavy, head spinning.

I shut the door behind me, leaned against it, and slid down until I was sitting on the floor. The room was dark except for the streetlight sneaking through the blinds. 

Instead I sat there hugging my knees, staring at nothing.

It was already problem enough that I was a broke guy with big dreams. Dreams that mostly looked like hockey making it pro, getting out of the tiny apartment back home where the fridge was always half-empty and the heat only worked half the time. I’d clawed my way here on a scholarship that felt like glass under my feet one wrong step and it shattered. Every day I woke up knowing I had to be perfect. Fast. Tough. Better than the rich kids who could buy their way back if they fucked up.

And now this.

Now Damien, with his smirks and his hands and his voice notes that made my stomach flip even when I hated him.

Now Jax, showing up like some quiet hero who didn’t ask for anything.

I couldn’t be poor and gay at the same time. Not in this world. Not in hockey. Everyone knew the stories , guys who came out, got dropped from teams, lost endorsements before they even started, became locker-room jokes or worse, became nothing at all.

Pick a struggle, I mumbled to myself. That’s what people said. Pick one fight and win it. Don’t try to fight two at once or you lose both.

So what was I supposed to do? Pick being broke forever? Or pick surviving the only way I knew how keep my head down, keep my mouth shut, keep pretending the heat in my gut when Damien got close was just adrenaline?

I pressed my forehead to my knees and let out a shaky breath.

The thing was… I didn’t want to pick.

I wanted both. The ice. The dreams. And maybe…just maybe someone who looked at me like I wasn’t trash or a prize or a problem to solve.

But wanting things I couldn’t have was how you ended up broken.