Chapter 3

~Zayne

The roar of the crowd still echoed behind us as I jogged off the ice, my skates clicking against the concrete floor. My teammates were all fired up, yelling and laughing, still high on adrenaline after our last match. I yanked off my helmet, sweat dripping down my face, and raked my fingers through my damp hair.

“Guys!” someone called from the end of the hallway. “Mikhail just landed!”

That got everyone moving.

We dropped everything and rushed out in a group, like a pack of wolves on the hunt. I was still half in my hockey gear — jersey clinging to my chest, shin guards strapped on — as we spilled outside into the chilly parking lot. A black car had just pulled up, and out stepped Mikhail, tall and smug as ever, duffel bag slung over one shoulder.

“MI-KHA-IL! MI-KHA-IL!” the guys chanted, fists raised in the air.

He grinned and threw up a peace sign. “Missed me, huh?”

I pushed through the group and grabbed him into a quick hug. “Damn right we missed you. What the hell kept you? We’ve been waiting for ages, could've called but, you know phones aren't allowed here during training.”

He exhaled, rolling his neck like the weight of the world was sitting on it. “You won’t believe it. I knocked down a girl while I was driving last month.”

My stomach dropped. “What?!”

“Relax,” he said, raising his hands. “I didn’t kill her. She’s alive. But… her face was gone. Totally messed up. I had to fix it. I stayed back until she woke up.”

I blinked at him, stunned. “Are you insane? What were you thinking driving like that?!”

He let out a long sigh. “It’s a long story, bro. Joan cheated on me that same morning. I wasn’t exactly in my right mind.”

I stared at him, heart still racing from what he just said, but he clapped me on the shoulder and changed the subject like it was nothing.

“Anyway, how’s the team doing? You guys winning?”

“If we were, you think we’d want you back?” I shot back with a smirk.

His brow lifted. “Wait—are we losing?”

“We’re getting crushed,” I said seriously.

His face dropped.

Then I burst out laughing. “Kidding. We’re killing it.”

He chuckled, relaxing. “Good. I don’t want to come back to a team of losers. Oh—and guess what?”

“What now?” I asked, still not over the part where he said he hit a girl.

“Our parents are flying in. Private jet. They’re coming to watch the finals.”

I blinked. “Seriously? That’s unusual.”

“There’s more,” he added with a sly smile. “They brought your wife-to-be along too.”

My smile disappeared instantly. “What?”

“Alina Morussa,” he said, grinning wider. “You should be happy. Finally meeting your betrothed.”

I scoffed. “Please.”

“Come on, at least she’ll be there to cheer you on. Since you've been hiding the love of your life, Avelina Costa, from them all this while because of your betrothed.”

My chest tightened at the mention of her name. Avelina.

Zayne, please don’t leave me…

Her voice echoed in my head. That broken look in her eyes the last time I saw her. The pain.

“I broke up with her,” I muttered.

Mikhail’s playful expression faded. “Wait. What?”

“There’s nothing between us anymore,” I said stiffly. “No more hiding from our parents, and the public. No more secrets.”

He frowned. “But why?”

“She got pregnant,” I said, voice low. “And I couldn’t risk everything. Dad’s been waiting for this marriage to happen. I couldn’t ruin it all because I got another girl pregnant when there’s already someone I’m arranged to marry next year.”

Mikhail stared at me, unreadable.

“I get it,” he finally said, voice softer. “But you shouldn’t have ended things with her. You two were crazy about each other.”

I didn’t reply. I couldn’t. My throat was tight.

Instead, I just muttered, “She deserved better.”

We walked in silence toward the rink entrance. The sound of the crowd was growing louder again as we stepped into the tunnel.

“So,” Mikhail nudged me with his elbow. “Try not to suck, okay? Your wife’s watching.”

I rolled my eyes and shoved him lightly. “She’s not my wife.”

“Yet,” he teased, laughing as I scowled at him.

—---

It was finally time for the finals.

The crowd was wild — deafening chants, clapping, drums, feet stomping against the bleachers. Every nerve in my body was electric. My team was fired up, skating hard, shouting plays, defending every inch of ice like our lives depended on it.

The puck sliced through the rink — pass, pass, shoot — GOAL.

The entire arena erupted.

We won.

We actually won.

Gloves flew into the air. Helmets skidded across the ice. We all clashed at center rink, yelling, screaming, embracing like madmen.

"MVP! MVP!" the crowd chanted as they lifted me up on their shoulders. I barely had time to breathe before I saw them — my family — stepping into the rink-side VIP area, clapping, proud smiles stretched across their faces.

My dad. My mum. And next to them—

She stood there.

Her.

Alina Morussa.

And for a second — my heart stopped.

Because she looked a little bit like Avelina.

Same sharp jawline. Same hazel eyes. Same pouty lips. Same stormy stare.

My breath caught as our eyes locked. It was like time froze around me. But then — she smiled, wide and flashy, like she was ready to start a fight or crash a party. She waved, bouncing on her feet in a short leather jacket and boots, shouting louder than anyone.

"THAT'S MY MAN! WOOOO! KILLIN’ IT OUT HERE!"

My brow twitched.

She sounded nothing like Avelina.

Avelina was soft-spoken. Calm. Gentle, like the touch of snow.

Alina was…

“YO ZAYN! You skate like a BEAST! Thought you were gonna knock that guy’s head off!”

I blinked.

What?

Her voice was loud, raspy, and so very… razz.

Like a literal tomboy at a drag race.

She jogged up to me, smacking me on the back like we were homies. “Bet I could beat you in a match, though. Just sayin’.”

I stared at her.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked with a grin, chewing gum.

I slapped myself. Hard.

What the hell, Zayne?

Stop comparing her to Avelina.

She is not Avelina. Not even close.

Not her voice. Not her aura. Not her soul.

This isn’t a fiancée. This is a bro in heels.