4. Henry

4

Henry

I arrived at Pandora's Box early, the sun barely peeking over the horizon. The air inside the ice rink was crisp, carrying the faint smell of menthol and ice shavings. The locker room was empty, silent except for the hum of the overhead lights and the distant sound of a Zamboni smoothing the ice. This was my sanctuary, the one place where everything made sense.

I slowly unzipped my bag, taking out each piece of gear with care. First, my skates. I ran my fingers over the laces, feeling the worn leather under my touch. They had been with me for years, molding perfectly to my feet. Then came my gloves, helmet, and pads, each item placed meticulously on the bench next to me.

Rebecca had texted me earlier, asking if we could hang out before her class today. The thought of being around her felt like a weight pressing down on me. Not that I didn't like Rebecca—she was decent enough to pass the time with—but lately, it seemed like every interaction drained more energy than I had to give.

I stripped down, feeling the chill of the rink seep into my bones. My clothes lay in a heap on the bench, a forgotten pile as I focused on the task at hand. Piece by piece, I pulled on my gear. The familiar motions were automatic, muscle memory guiding me through the routine I had known since I was six years old. Back then, my grandfather took me to the rink every day without fail.

First came the tights and the rashguard, a second skin, providing comfort and protection in equal measure. Next came shin guards and socks before I used clear tape around the middle, ensuring my socks would be held up. After that, hockey pants, offering cushion and more protection. From there, shoulder pads, elbow pads, and then my jersey. Finally, my helmet.

The skates were last.

As I laced them up, I allowed myself to sink into the familiar routine. The methodical movements calmed me, each tug of the laces grounding me in the present moment. The world outside these walls could be chaotic and demanding, but here on the ice, it was just me and my thoughts.

I sat back for a moment, taking in the quiet of the locker room. The overhead lights buzzed softly, casting long shadows across the benches and lockers. I could hear the distant hum of the Zamboni finishing its rounds on the ice. The routine brought a sense of calm, an anchor in a world that felt increasingly chaotic.

I began to tape my stick, the repetitive motion helping to settle my thoughts. The locker room was still empty, the silence only broken by the occasional drip of water from a leaky faucet and the distant hum of the Zamboni.

"Hey," a voice called out.

I looked up, surprised to see Liam standing there. Ever since he got married, he had been right on time, rarely early. He smelled like a mix of cologne and cigarettes.

I hid a smirk. So much for quitting. I wondered if Ivy knew he still had the habit.

"Liam." I nodded, continuing to wind the tape around my stick. "You're early."

"Yeah, well," he shrugged, dropping his gear bag onto the bench with a thud. "Couldn't sleep."

"Trouble in paradise already?" I asked, half-joking.

"Nah, nothing like that." He unzipped his bag and began pulling out his equipment. "Just...you know how it is."

I didn't, but I nodded again anyway. Marriage wasn't something I could pretend to understand, especially not with everything going on with Freya. I kept my focus on the stick, making sure each layer of tape was smooth and even.

As I finished lacing up my skates, I couldn’t shake the nagging thought that maybe this had something to do with Liam's father being killed a couple of months ago. No one knew who did it, and it looked like it might stay that way. He didn't seem bothered by it, but Liam never seemed bothered about anything.

"Look," Liam's voice cut through my thoughts, drawing my attention back to the present. He was staring at me, his eyes serious.

I furrowed my brows. "What?"

"I don't like this, but…" he trailed off, looking hesitant.

"But what?" I snapped, impatience edging into my tone.

"You realize Ivy's best friend is Freya, don't you?" he asked.

I stiffened, the name hitting me like a punch to the gut. "What of it?" I replied gruffly.

"She was over, studying with Ivy," he continued. "She's planning to go to the Imprinting ceremony."

My eyes snapped to his. "What?" The word came out sharper than I'd intended.

Liam looked at me but didn’t say anything more immediately, as if giving me time to process.

"How does she even know about that?" I demanded. "How do you know about it?"

Liam rolled his eyes. "Please," he said with a dismissive wave. "I'm a Wolfe. We started the Ravenwood Society, or did you forget?"

I clenched my teeth, anger simmering just below the surface. Dumb question.

"She can't be there," I muttered, mostly to myself. The thought of Freya at the Imprinting ceremony stirred something deep inside me—something that felt dangerously close to fear.

Liam continued pulling out his gear, clearly unbothered by my agitation. He shrugged. "Well, she’s going. Whether you like it or not."

I stared at him for a moment before returning to taping my stick. Each wrap of the tape felt like a tiny battle won in a war I wasn’t sure I could fight.

"Thanks," I barked out, my voice harsher than intended. "For letting me know."

Liam smirked as he set his goalie gear on the floor. "Trust me, I don't give a shit," he said, his tone flat. "But Ivy would castrate me if I didn't do something."

"You're crazy about her, aren't you?" The question slipped out before I could stop myself.

Liam glanced over at me, his eyes unreadable. He said nothing, just kept unpacking his equipment.

"Right," I muttered, realizing he wasn't going to respond. I put my tape away and started to head out, but something made me pause. "Hey. How did Freya find out? About the ceremony?"

Liam straightened up, his expression thoughtful. "From what I overheard," he said slowly, "it was Rebecca. Freya has a card, Henry. Just so you know the gravity of the situation."

A cold knot formed in my stomach. A card meant access—meant she was deeper into this than I thought.

"Great," I muttered under my breath, feeling the weight of this new information settle heavily on my shoulders. The last thing I needed was Freya involved in Ravenwood’s mess.

Liam's gaze softened slightly, as if he understood the turmoil brewing inside me. But he didn't say anything more, just went back to unpacking his gear.

I nodded to myself, a silent acknowledgment that things had just gotten a lot more complicated. As much as I wanted to walk away from it all, I knew deep down that wasn't an option anymore.

With a final glance at Liam, who was now fully focused on his equipment, I turned and left the locker room. The chill of the rink air hit me like a slap in the face as I made my way toward the ice. This was supposed to be my temple—a place where everything made sense.

Now it felt like just another battleground.

Freya at the Imprinting ceremony? The very thought twisted something inside me—a blend of anger and fear that left me feeling unsteady on my feet.

I took a deep breath and stepped onto the ice, letting the familiar sensation ground me once more. Whatever came next, I'd have to face it head-on.

And somehow keep Freya out of it.

After practice, I headed to River Styx, the on-campus café that served as the unofficial hub for students in between classes. It was a sprawling place with mismatched furniture and walls adorned with student artwork. The scent of coffee mingled with the sweet aroma of freshly baked pastries. A steady hum of conversation filled the air, punctuated by the occasional clatter of cups and silverware.

As I stepped inside, my eyes scanned the room for Rebecca. I spotted her almost immediately, surrounded by a gaggle of her friends at a corner table. They were laughing loudly, their voices rising above the general din. Rebecca’s long brown hair shimmered under the café’s warm lights, and her easy smile lit up her face.

Her friends were a familiar sight—puck bunnies, as they were known around campus. They had that unmistakable look: trendy athletic wear that seemed more suited for a fashion runway than a gym, meticulously styled hair, and perfectly applied makeup that never smudged, even during the most heated games. They were always at the rink, cheering loudly for every goal and hanging around afterward in hopes of catching a player's eye.

And they were right there, willing to fuck whatever player who looked at them.

Rebecca glanced up and saw me. Her smile faltered for a moment before she quickly recovered, waving me over with an enthusiastic gesture.

I took a deep breath and made my way across the room, weaving through tables and chairs. As

I made my way to Rebecca’s table, the noise of the café fading as I approached. Her friends’ eyes lit up with mischievous curiosity.

"We need to talk," I said, my voice steady despite the whirlwind in my head.

"Ooh, serious business!" one of the girls cooed, her eyes dancing with mockery.

"Trouble in paradise?" another teased, her grin wide and unrestrained.

Rebecca's face flushed a deep red. "I'm sure whatever you want to say can be said in front of my friends," she insisted, her tone defiant yet shaky.

I arched an eyebrow, giving her a moment to reconsider. Silence stretched between us, heavy and expectant.

Rebecca huffed, glancing away. "I'll be right back," she grumbled, pushing her chair back with a scrape against the floor.

As she stood, one of the girls leaned closer to me, her voice dripping with flirtation. Amber, I thought her name was. "You know, Henry, if you ever need a shoulder to cry on..." She trailed off suggestively, her fingers brushing against my arm.

I pulled away, not even sparing her a glance. Rebecca was already heading towards the door, and I followed her out of the café.

Once we were outside, I led her to a secluded spot behind the library. The sounds of the campus faded, replaced by the rustling of leaves and the distant hum of traffic.

She spun around, eyes blazing. "You embarrassed me back there, Henry. In front of my friends! What was so important that you had to drag me out here?"

"Are you done?" I asked when she paused for breath.

"What?" She tilted her head, her expression shifting from anger to confusion. "Why are you so serious? More serious, since you're always so serious." She sidled over to me, wrapping her arms around my waist. Her perfume wafted up, a sickly sweet reminder of better days.

I pulled away, breaking her hold. "You gave Freya an initiation card?"

Her eyes widened, and I saw the truth in her face before she could speak.

"Why?" I asked through gritted teeth.

"Why are you so upset?" she countered, stepping closer again and running her hands over my shoulders. "This is the perfect way for us to be together and it'll get rid of her."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut.

"Freya is my fiancée," I said, my voice hard and unyielding.

Rebecca's lips curled into a sneer. "That's a joke," she spat. "Because the two of us have been together, more intimate, than you and her have ever been."

"I can't just call things off," I barked, the frustration boiling inside me.

"Of course you can," she retorted. "Your sister —"

"My sister didn't inherit the Mathers estate, did she?" I growled, cutting her off.

"Just the Detroit Serpents," she fired back, her eyes flashing with defiance.

I laughed, a hollow sound that echoed between us. "You think that's anything? It's a fraction of my grandfather's legacy."

"Your grandfather is dead," she said, her tone dripping with contempt.

My eyes narrowed and my muscles tensed. "Never speak of my grandfather."

Rebecca looked away, her bravado faltering. "It's not like you love her," she muttered. "What do you care if she's claimed by Jensen —"

"Ackerman is going to claim her?" I asked roughly, stepping closer to her.

"Fuck," she whispered, panic flickering in her eyes. "Henry, I just thought —"

"No," I cut in, my voice sharp. "You didn't think. You only thought of yourself." I stepped back, feeling the weight of my own stupidity settle in. "I was a fool to let myself become distracted.”

Rebecca's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"

"You and I are done," I said, the words heavy but necessary.

She laughed, a bitter, incredulous sound. "You can't be serious."

"I am."

"Wait, but Henry—" She reached out, desperation coloring her voice.

I took another step back. "Don't touch me."

"I was doing this for us," Rebecca insisted, her voice rising. "Don't you get that?"

"So you give her the idea to bind herself to someone?" I demanded, my anger flaring. "How does that help us? I still have to marry her. And I'll have to do it knowing someone—knowing Jensen—has touched her..."

Searing anger coursed through me, boiling over. The thought of Freya with another man twisted my insides. First, it was that stupid soccer player. But Jensen? He was much worse.

Rebecca's face twisted with confusion and frustration. "I thought you didn't care about her," she spat.

"That's not the point," I snapped back. "This isn't about love or care. This is about what’s right and what’s mine."

She recoiled as if struck, but then her expression hardened. "You think this is all about you? You're just as selfish as the rest of them."

I clenched my fists, fighting to keep control. "This isn't up for debate. We're done."

"You're making a mistake," she hissed, her voice low and venomous.

"Maybe," I admitted, feeling a strange sense of calm wash over me as I turned away from her. "But it's my mistake to make."

Rebecca stood there, silent for once, as I walked away from the secluded spot behind the café and back towards the chaos of campus life. My mind raced. I had to find Freya before it was too late. She didn't know the danger she was in, didn't understand the true nature of Ravenwood and the men who lurked within its shadows.

My feet pounded against the pavement as I cut across campus, ignoring the curious glances from passing students.

The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the quad.

My heart hammered in my chest, each beat a reminder of the urgency. I reached the library, bursting through the doors and scanning the rows of bookshelves. Freya had to be here, somewhere amidst the quiet aisles and whispered conversations. I would find her.

I had to.