Chapter 15

Fifteen

The rink was colder than usual. Or maybe it was just me.

I crouched low at the face-off circle, the echo of the arena pulsing in my ears. The noise—the crowd, the skates scraping across ice, the low thuds of bodies hitting boards—it all blurred together like white noise. My stick trembled in my hands, a phantom buzz crawling up my arms. Focus. Focus, dammit.

The ref dropped the puck. I reacted half a second too late.

Thompson swept in clean and easy, snapping it away before I could so much as blink.

“What the hell, Sinclair!” Coach’s yell pierced through the haze, sharp as a blade. I grit my teeth, chasing after the play, but my legs felt sluggish. My head wasn’t here. Every step, every glide, was heavy. I was playing like a fucking rookie, and everyone could see it.

What is wrong with you?

The answer simmered low and hot in the back of my mind. Kira.

I’d left her alone. I hadn’t wanted to, hadn’t planned for this to stretch out so long. The thought of her down there, in the dark, on that damn mattress, alone and waiting—it gnawed at me. I couldn’t stop picturing her face, those dark eyes of hers, empty and vacant like they had been that first night. I thought I could handle being gone for the weekend, but the distance was ripping me apart.

Thompson crashed into me, knocking me hard against the boards. Pain shot through my shoulder, jolting me back to reality as I stumbled.

“Where the fuck are you today, Sinclair?” Liam skated up next to me, his voice low enough that no one else could hear. I glared at him, chest heaving.

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah? Then start playing like it.”

He skated off before I could snap back at him. I wanted to care, to feel something other than this strange, gnawing hollowness, but my focus was shot. Every time I tried to play, my mind betrayed me—slipping back to Kira. I couldn’t shake her voice, her small, broken whispers from last night when she’d begged me to stop. I couldn’t forget the way she looked when she fell apart under me, the way she…

No. I squeezed my eyes shut for half a second. Not here.

I forced myself to move, but it didn’t matter. The game dragged on, a disaster in slow motion. I missed passes I should’ve seen, lost face-offs I usually dominated, and every time I tried to make something happen, it fell apart. By the time the buzzer sounded, we’d lost by two goals, and I knew exactly whose fault it was.

Mine.

The locker room was tense, the air thick with frustration.

The guys were pissed, slamming lockers and muttering under their breath. I sat on the bench, staring at my skates, ignoring the looks being thrown my way. I didn’t need to hear their whispers to know what they were saying.

What happened to Sinclair?

Dude’s out of it. Never seen him play that bad.

They weren’t wrong.

I didn’t even bother showering before changing out of my gear. My hands shook as I laced up my boots, my mind racing. She’s fine, I told myself. I’d left her with food, with water, with her Kindle and iPod. But it didn’t help. It wasn’t enough.

As I zipped up my hoodie, I heard the soft click of heels outside the locker room. Jasmine was waiting for me, leaning casually against the wall, her arms crossed and a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. Her long blonde hair fell over one shoulder, perfectly styled as always.

“Rough game out there,” she said, her voice laced with faux sympathy.

“Not now,” I muttered, brushing past her.

But Jasmine wasn’t one to take no for an answer. She stepped in front of me, blocking my path. “What’s going on with you, Owen? You’ve been off for weeks. That wasn’t just a bad game—it was a train wreck.”

“I’m fine,” I said flatly.

She tilted her head, studying me. Her green eyes were sharp, always watching, always calculating. “Maybe you need a distraction. Hotel room tonight? You know how much I love helping you unwind.”

Her manicured fingers grazed my arm, but I jerked away. The suddenness of it made her blink, her smirk faltering for just a moment.

“I said not now.” My voice was low, dangerous, and it was enough to make her step back.

“Wow,” she said, her tone cool but tinged with something else—curiosity. “You really are off your game. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you turn me down.” She gave me one last appraising look before stepping aside. “Maybe you’re not feeling well.”

I didn’t respond, shoving past her as I shouldered my bag. The stares from my teammates burned into my back as I walked away, but I didn’t care. Let them talk. Let them wonder what was wrong with me.

Because the only thing that mattered was getting back to her.

The bus ride back to the hotel was a blur.

I sat in the back, headphones in, staring out the window as the trees blurred past. Jasmine and the others were a few rows ahead, their laughter and whispers grating on my nerves. I clenched my fists, trying to block out the noise, but my thoughts were louder.

Kira. Alone. Waiting.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, breaking through the haze. I pulled it out, half expecting to see her name on the screen—a message, a missed call—but that was impossible. The phone I’d taken from her was tucked away safely in my dorm.

Still, my chest twisted painfully as I unlocked my screen. A message from Liam popped up.

Liam: Dude, are you good? You’ve been weird as hell lately.

I stared at it for a long moment before locking the phone again, my jaw tight. I wasn’t good. I wasn’t anything.

But I would be soon.

In just two days, I’d be back. I’d walk through the door, and Kira would be there, curled up on the mattress where I’d left her, waiting for me. And everything would be fine.

Because it had to be.