All Chapters of THE ICE WE BREAK :Fake dating the ice king : Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

73 Chapters

Offside feelings

Maya The moment shattered almost as soon as it happened.One second Leo’s hand was wrapped around mine, warm and solid despite the cold night air hanging over the empty parking lot, and the next I was yanking my hand away like touching him had been some kind of mistake. Maybe it was.Maybe that was the problem.For one ridiculous second, I had forgotten who he was. I had forgotten the arrogance, the constant need to control everything around him, the way every conversation somehow became a battle for territory. I had forgotten he was Leo Thorne.The Ice King.The guy who made me want to scream at least three times a day.His expression hardened immediately. Not surprised.Not hurt.Just annoyed.Which somehow irritated me even more. “What?” he asked. I folded my arms tightly across my chest. “Nothing.” “People who say nothing usually have a speech prepared.”

The Captain Problem

Leo The first thing Coach said to me Monday morning was not good game, not nice goal, not even keep your head up. It was, “Close the door.” That alone told me exactly how the conversation was going to go. I stepped into his office, shutting the door behind me as the noise from the rink disappeared, leaving only the hum of the heater and the distant scrape of skates against ice drifting through the walls. Coach remained seated behind his desk, his hands folded in front of him, his expression carrying the kind of disappointment that always hit harder than anger. “You know why you’re here?” I leaned against the chair across from him and crossed my arms. “Not really.” A lie.We both knew it.Coach let out a slow breath. “The locker room.”My jaw tightened.There it was. For weeks I had felt it growing, the shift in t

Viral

Maya I knew things had gotten bad when a freshman I’d never seen before nearly walked into a fountain because she was staring at me instead of where she was going, her phone held up in front of her face as though she had just spotted a celebrity rather than a film student who hadn’t slept properly in weeks and was currently carrying three camera batteries, two notebooks, and enough frustration to power the entire campus. The worst part was that I already knew why it was happening. Because sometime during the previous twenty-four hours, the internet had decided that Leo Thorne and I were its newest obsession. Again. I was sitting in a film editing lab when my phone exploded with notifications, messages pouring in so quickly that the device actually vibrated across the desk, and by the time I finally opened social media I discovered that a short video clip from one of our recent arguments had someho

Power play

Leo The locker room felt different before nationally televised games, not because the rink changed or because the ice somehow became more important, but because every player understood that somewhere beyond the arena walls scouts, analysts, reporters, coaches, and thousands of strangers would be watching every shift, every mistake, every decision, and for someone like me whose future had spent the last few months balancing on a knife’s edge, the pressure wasn’t something waiting outside the building, it was already sitting in my chest long before I laced my skates. The noise surrounding the team had only grown worse over the previous week, because what had started as whispers about chemistry problems inside the locker room had evolved into actual sports coverage, and suddenly commentators who had never stepped inside our practices were debating leadership, discussing captaincy, questioning team culture, and building entire segments around wh

Unfiltered

Maya The worst part about Cassandra’s ideas was that she always announced them as if they were gifts, as if forcing two unwilling people into increasingly invasive public situations somehow counted as an opportunity rather than a carefully packaged disaster, and by the time Leo and I arrived at the production studio that had been transformed into a sleek livestream set decorated with hockey memorabilia, promotional banners, and enough strategically placed cameras to make me feel like I was walking into a surveillance experiment disguised as entertainment, I already knew the next two hours were going to test whatever remained of my patience. Cassandra stood near the stage with a tablet in her hand and the expression of someone who had already won an argument nobody else realized had taken place, while production assistants moved around us making final adjustments and checking equipment, and when she spotted us approaching she immediately smiled the way p

Checking lines

Leo The first thing I saw when I walked into Coach Reynolds’ office that morning was the stack of evaluation reports sitting on his desk, and judging by the tight expression on his face, the crossed arms, and the silence stretching between us before either of us spoke, I knew immediately that whatever conversation was about to happen had nothing to do with power-play formations, defensive rotations, or playoff standings, which meant it was probably going to be worse. The office overlooked the main rink through a wide glass window, allowing us to see players filtering onto the ice for morning drills while equipment managers moved between benches preparing for another day of practice, and normally the sight settled something inside me because hockey had always been the one place where the noise disappeared, the one place where expectations became simple enough to understand, but today even the rink felt distant as Coach slid one of the folders

Penalty box

Maya The moment Leo got back on his feet after the hit, every person inside the arena seemed to release the same breath at once, yet relief lasted only a few seconds before irritation replaced it because instead of staying down long enough for the trainers to properly examine him, instead of allowing the coaching staff to do their jobs, and instead of behaving like someone who had just spent an alarming amount of time motionless on the ice while an entire hockey program nearly suffered collective cardiac arrest, Leo brushed off concerned hands, muttered that he was fine, and skated toward the bench with the stubborn determination of someone who would rather lose consciousness than admit he might actually need help. The practice ended nearly twenty minutes early after Coach Reynolds decided nobody was focused enough to continue, and although most of the players slowly filtered toward the locker room while discussing the hit, replaying it from

Rivalry week

Leo The week leading into the Hayes game felt less like preparation for a hockey match and more like preparation for a public execution, because every sports network in the country seemed determined to transform one rivalry into a national spectacle, every analyst suddenly had an opinion about my emotional stability, every podcast host wanted to revisit the punch that had started this entire mess, and every social media account connected to college hockey appeared obsessed with turning a critical conference matchup into a referendum on whether I deserved a future in the sport at all, which meant that by the time Monday arrived the pressure surrounding the game had already grown larger than the game itself. Normally rivalry weeks energized me. Normally the extra attention sharpened my focus. Normally the increased intensity inside the locker room helped everyone raise their level. This week felt di

Face off

Maya By the time I reached my position near the rink boards with my camera balanced against my shoulder and my media pass hanging around my neck, the arena was already vibrating with the kind of energy that made it feel less like a university hockey game and more like a professional playoff battle, because every seat was filled, every student section was painted in school colors, every sports reporter in the state seemed to be circling the event, and every conversation I overheard carried the same question about whether Leo Thorne would finally prove he belonged among the elite prospects in the country or whether Jordan Hayes would drag him back into the chaos that had nearly destroyed his season. The rivalry had been building for weeks through interviews, social media clips, sports talk segments, and endless online debates that treated the upcoming game like a heavyweight fight disguised as a hockey match, and even though I kept telling mys

Overtime

Leo The arena felt alive in a way that only playoff-caliber hockey could make possible, every section packed with students, alumni, scouts, reporters, and fans who had spent the entire night screaming themselves hoarse as Northridge and Hayes University battled through sixty minutes of hatred, pride, and desperation, the scoreboard glowing above the ice with the tie that refused to break while the overtime horn echoed through the building and sent another wave of anticipation crashing across the crowd. I leaned forward on the bench, elbows resting against my knees as sweat rolled down my neck beneath my gear, my lungs burning from the pace of the game and my muscles screaming from the punishment they had absorbed over the last three periods, yet none of that compared to the pressure sitting inside my chest because I knew every scout in the building was watching, every camera was pointed in my direction, and every mistake I made would become tomorrow’s h

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