All Chapters of Own You.: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

The manuscript sat on Damian's kitchen table for three days.He couldn't stop looking at it. The thick stack of paper, the title page, the words Love on Ice printed in bold font. Dr. Chen had emailed them a digital copy as well, but Damian preferred the physical version. There was something about holding it in his hands that made it feel real. Made it feel like a threat."We should say no," Sebastian said for the fifth time."We can't.""She's blackmailing us.""She's offering us a voice." Damian turned a page. The chapter on their rivalry was surprisingly accurate—detailed, well-researched, fair. "If we don't cooperate, she publishes it anyway. If we do, we get to correct the record. We get to tell our side."Sebastian paced the kitchen. His shoulder was fully healed now, but he still favored it sometimes, rolling it in small circles when he was stressed. "She wants us to give her a sex scene."Damian looked up. "What?""A sex scene. She said the book needs 'intimacy' and 'emotional

The book had been out for forty-eight hours, and Damian's phone had not stopped ringing.Not for interviews. Not for endorsements. For death threats.Some were vague—"You're a disgrace to hockey"—and some were specific—"I know where you live." Damian stopped reading them after the first day. Sebastian stopped reading them after the first hour. But the calls kept coming, and the emails kept coming, and the world kept spinning."They want us to do a magazine cover," Sebastian said, looking up from his laptop.Damian was on the couch, ice pack on his knee, remote control in his hand. The season was in full swing. They had played seven games since the book leaked—won five, lost two, fought through every shift. "What magazine?""Sports Weekly. The cover story is supposed to be about the book. About us.""Hard pass.""They're offering twenty thousand dollars."Damian sat up. "Twenty thousand?""Twenty thousand. Plus a donation to the youth hockey program we coach."Damian looked at Sebastia

The ice felt like quicksand under Damian's skates.He couldn't move fast enough. Every step was a struggle, every breath a battle. The crowd was screaming. The security guards were shouting. The police were running. But Damian's legs wouldn't cooperate. He was stuck in a nightmare, watching the world spin without him."Sebastian!" he screamed again.No answer.The tunnel. The tunnel was the only way in or out of the ice without going through the stands. Damian pushed off, his skates digging into the frozen surface, his body moving on instinct. He reached the tunnel entrance and stumbled inside.The lights were still off here—emergency backups flickering weakly, casting long shadows on the concrete walls. The air was cold and smelled of stale beer and fear."Sebastian!"A sound. Faint. A groan.Damian followed it. The tunnel curved, opened into a wider hallway near the locker rooms. A utility closet door was half open. A body lay on the floor.Sebastian.Damian dropped to his knees bes

The hospital discharged Sebastian on a Tuesday.The doctors had done all they could. The swelling on his brain had gone down. His memory was still patchy—gaps here and there, moments that didn't connect. He remembered Damian's name. He remembered the championship game. He remembered the stick splintering. But he didn't remember the blood oath. He didn't remember the abandoned rink. He didn't remember the night Damian had begged him to hurt."He needs triggers," the neurologist had said. "Places, smells, sounds—things that might unlock the memories trapped in his temporal lobe."Damian had nodded. He had thanked the doctor. He had helped Sebastian into the car and driven him home.The apartment was the same. The same couch. The same kitchen. The same bed where they had slept together for months. Sebastian walked through the rooms like a stranger, touching things, trying to remember."This is ours?" Sebastian asked."Yes.""I don't—" He stopped. His brow furrowed. "I don't remember livi

The knife clattered across the ice, spinning in a lazy circle before coming to rest against the boards. Alex lay face down, his arms twisted behind his back, Sebastian's knee pressed between his shoulder blades. The whole thing had taken less than three seconds—the lunge, the deflection, the disarm, the pin. Sebastian's body had moved on instinct, the same instinct that had kept him alive on the ice for a decade.Damian stood frozen, his arm bleeding, his heart hammering. The paramedics had bandaged him, but the gauze was already soaking through, crimson blooming against the white."Don't move," Sebastian said to Alex. His voice was low, steady, dangerous. "Don't even breathe."Alex wasn't moving. He wasn't breathing. His face was pressed against the ice, his eyes squeezed shut, his whole body shaking with silent sobs. The knife was ten feet away, gleaming under the moonlight.Police sirens filled the air. Red and blue lights flashed through the broken windows. Doors slammed. Boots po