Lines in the Sand

My hands didn't stop shaking until I reached the back exit of the athletic complex.

I didn't wait for the team to return from the ice. I shoved my cleaning supplies into the locker room closet, grabbed my backpack, and practically sprinted past the heavy double doors into the stinging autumn air. Every breath tasted like ice and regret. Casper’s words kept bouncing around my skull, a brutal loop of accusations I wasn't allowed to defend myself against. “You left me broken... you completely destroy the only person who ever gave a damn about you.”

He was right. I did destroy him. And the worst part was, I had to keep doing it every single day just to keep him safe.

"Liv! Over here!"

Freya’s horn honked twice from the drop-off lane. I dragged my heavy feet down the concrete steps, my thighs burning from the afternoon conditioning circuit, and yanked the passenger door open.

The moment I slid inside, the warm blast of the heater hit my face, but it couldn't touch the freezing numbness in my chest. In the backseat, Caspian let out a high-pitched giggle, happily smashing a plastic fire truck against his car seat tray.

"Mama! Look! Vroom!" he squealed, his cheeks flushed pink and healthy.

"I see it, sweet boy," I murmured, turning around in my seat to press a soft kiss to his forehead. The scent of baby powder and fresh laundry instantly cut through the lingering smell of locker room bleach. He was my reason. My only reason.

Freya pulled into the traffic, her eyes darting to my pale face before shifting back to the road. "You look like you just went ten rounds in the boxing ring. What did he do?"

"He cornered me in the equipment room," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. I stared out the window at the passing campus buildings. "He’s still bleeding from two years ago, Freya. It’s not just anger anymore. It’s pure, raw hatred. He thinks I used him and threw him away."

"Let him think it," Freya said, her jaw tight as she gripped the steering wheel. "His parents are monsters, Liv. If they find out you're back in the city with a kid who has his exact DNA, they won't just take his scholarship. They’ll use their lawyers to take Caspian from you. You know how powerful the Vance family is."

A cold spike of terror drove straight through my stomach. "I know. That's why I have to keep being the villain. If he hates me, he stays away from me. If he stays away from me, he never looks close enough to see his own eyes on my son."

But keeping Casper at a distance was getting impossible.

The next afternoon, the universe decided to test my breaking point. The cheer squad was required to stand on the sidelines during the Wolves' full-contact scrimmage. The athletic director wanted the atmosphere "game-ready" for the upcoming exhibition match against the Vipers.

The stands were packed with students who had skipped their afternoon lectures just to watch the team skate. The air inside the rink was electric, thick with the sound of heavy bodies slamming into the Plexiglass and the sharp, rhythmic clack-clack-clack of sticks fighting for the puck.

"High V, extension, down!" Chloe shouted from the center of our lineup, her voice piercing through the noise of the crowd.

I forced my arms into position, shaking my red and black pom-poms on beat, my eyes locked resolutely on the scoreboard above the ice. Don't look at number seventeen. Do not look at him.

"Look at Casper go," the cheerleader next to me gasped, her eyes wide as she clapped. "He's playing like an absolute animal today."

Against my own free will, my gaze drifted down to the ice.

Casper was flying across the blue line, his broad frame cutting through the defenders with a lethal, terrifying speed. He didn't just look like a college athlete; he looked like a professional predator. He intercepted a pass, executed a flawless, aggressive spin to dodge the defenseman, and slammed the puck into the top corner of the net with a sound like a gunshot.

The student section erupted, pounding their feet against the metal bleachers.

Casper didn't celebrate. He skated backward toward the center circle, wiping his sweaty brow with the back of his glove. As he turned, his silver-blue eyes locked instantly onto me standing near the player benches. A dark, dangerous smirk spread across his lips.

He skated hard toward the boards, stopping directly in front of the cheer lineup with a sharp spray of shaved ice that hit the bottom of our skirts.

"Casper, babe!" Chloe squealed, immediately stepping out of formation to lean over the barrier, her glossy lips parted in a bright smile. "That shot was amazing!"

Casper didn't look at Chloe. His eyes stayed glued to mine, cold and mocking, challenging me to break. He reached out, his massive, padded arm wrapping around Chloe's waist, pulling her flush against the glass right in front of me.

"Thanks, Chloe," Casper said, his deep voice carrying over the barrier, loud enough to cut through my defenses. He leaned down, his eyes never leaving my face as he pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to Chloe’s lips.

Chloe let out a delighted hum, wrapping her arms around his neck, completely oblivious to the psychological warfare happening right over her shoulder.

My heart shattered into a thousand jagged pieces inside my chest. The pain was so sudden, so violent, it physically took the breath from my lungs. It was exactly what he wanted. He was using Chloe as a weapon, trying to tear a reaction out of the stone wall I had built around myself.

My hands gripped the plastic handles of my pom-poms so tightly the plastic cracked under my fingers. I wanted to scream. I wanted to run out of the arena and never look back.

Instead, I forced my chin up. I looked straight through his icy glare, my expression flattening into a mask of complete, dead indifference. I didn't flinch. I didn't blink. I forced a tiny, empty smile to my lips, letting him see that his little show didn't mean a damn thing to me.

Casper’s smirk vanished instantly.

The silver in his eyes darkened into something furious and wild. He ripped himself away from Chloe’s grip so fast she stumbled backward, his jaw clenching so hard the muscle looked ready to snap. He turned on his heel, skating back into the center circle with a chaotic, violent energy that radiated off his broad shoulders.

The referee blew the whistle, and the scrimmage restarted. The very first second the puck hit the ice, Casper threw his body into a massive check, slamming a defenseman into the boards with a force that rattled the entire stadium glass.

"Oh my god," the cheerleader next to me whispered, rubbing her arms. "What is wrong with him today? He looks like he wants to kill someone."

He does, I thought, lowering my pom-poms as the routine ended, my chest heaving with a suffocating ache. He wants to kill me.

But I was already dead. I had died the night I walked away from him two years ago. Now, I was just a ghost trying to survive until graduation.