Chapter Three

Leo

The rhythmic pounding of my fists against the punching bag echoed through the gym, each impact a cathartic release of the frustration and anger simmering beneath my surface. I felt the strain in my muscles, the sweat dripping down my forehead, but I pushed on, relishing the physical exertion. This was my sanctuary, the place where I could drown out the noise of my thoughts, focus on the burn in my arms, and escape the relentless memories of that one night on the ice that haunted me.

But today, my mind wasn't cooperating. Instead of the usual numbness, it kept replaying the events of the previous night, looping the same scene over and over again. Emma Steele—Sawyer's sister—falling into my lap at the bar. A surreal moment, like something out of a cheesy romantic movie, except the twist came when she mentioned her brother's name. The golden boy, the one who had single-handedly upended my career and set my life on a course I hadn't chosen.

I hit the bag harder, my knuckles throbbing with each impact. Emma's face, framed by soft blonde waves, her eyes wide with embarrassment and apology, flashed before me. For a moment, I had thought heaven had blessed me with an angel, a beautiful distraction from the chaos of my life. Her laugh had been genuine, her smile warm, and for a brief moment, I felt like a normal guy talking to a girl, not a professional hockey player with a vendetta trying to make a comeback.

I replayed the encounter, remembering how it all started. I had been nursing a drink at the bar, my mind wandering as usual to thoughts of the upcoming season and my relentless training regimen. I hadn't stopped inside the place in a while, but as usual it was noisy and full of life, a stark contrast to my brooding thoughts. Then out of nowhere, she appeared—blonde, beautiful, and laughing as she stumbled. The universe's odd way of playing tricks on me, because the next thing I knew, she was in my lap, all pink-cheeked and apologizing profusely. I thought she'd looked somewhat familiar at first, but I couldn't place her.

My first reaction had been surprise, of course, followed by amusement at the funny situation right out of a stand-up comedy sketch. But a sinking realization overcame me when I discovered who she was—Emma Steele—my enemy's sister. The one person in the whole damn joint who could complicate my life even more. Yet, as she sat there, flustered and smiling up at me, I couldn't help but feel a strange connection. She was different from what I expected, softer, kinder, so unlike the ruthless, competitive image her brother projected both on and off the ice.

As I stopped to catch my breath and grab some water, my mind battled with itself. On one hand, here was a gorgeous woman showing genuine interest, and on the other, the very real complications of her last name. Last night, I'd tried to stay neutral, not letting my mind wander too far into what the turn of events could mean. But it was difficult, especially when she spoke about her job as a preschool teacher, her eyes lighting up with passion. There was something disarming about her, something that made me want to forget about Sawyer and just enjoy the moment.

She told me about her students, how she loved their innocence and curiosity, and it was frankly refreshing to hear someone talk about something so pure and untainted by the competitiveness that defined my life. Emma was a breath of fresh air, a reminder that there was more to life than rivalries and grudges.

Then Sawyer had appeared, like a dark cloud rolling in to spoil the sunny day. His grip on Emma"s arm was tight, his expression stern as he pulled her away. "Stay away from him," he had warned her, his voice low but clear enough for me to hear exactly what he was saying. "He's not someone you want to get involved with." The look he gave me was venomous, a silent threat that only fueled my anger further.

I returned to the mat and pounded the bag again, harder this time, picturing Sawyer's face. His smug smirk as he stood over me, victorious and unrepentant, the crowd's roar of approval echoing in my ears. That moment on the ice, the pain, the humiliation—it had been seared into my memory, a constant reminder of the rivalry that had gone too far. My career had nearly ended that night, and the scars, both physical and emotional, still felt as fresh.

But now, there was an opportunity. Emma was an unexpected player in this twisted game, a chance to strike back at Sawyer in a way that wouldn't land me in jail or ruin my career. I paused, my breath coming in ragged gasps, the idea taking shape in my mind. It wasn't against the rules to date a teammate's sister. Sure, it would probably be frowned upon like any other minor complication in the tangled web of team dynamics, but at least it wasn't illegal.

The more I thought about it, the more sense it made. Emma didn't deserve to be caught in the crossfire between her brother and me, but at the same time, she could be the perfect means to an end. If Sawyer was bothered just by seeing us talking, he'd probably go ballistic if it turned into something more. And the idea of getting under his skin, of turning the tables and using his own family against him, was too tempting to ignore.

I swung at the bag again, the hard leather yielding to my fists, and felt a surge of grim satisfaction. Maybe meeting Emma how and when I did really was fate, or maybe it was only coincidence, but whatever it was, I wasn't going to pass up the opportunity. I needed to be smart about this, to play it carefully, but if I could make Sawyer feel even a fraction of the pain andpowerlessness he had caused me, it would be worth it.

I finished my workout, my muscles aching but my mind clearer as I breathed deeply, filling my lungs with air. This was the way forward, the path that would give me the closure I needed. It wouldn't be easy, and it would take time, but I'd learned patience. I'd bide my time, win Emma over, and then use that connection to strike at Sawyer. I'd enjoy watching him squirm, make him regret ever messing with me. The key was to be subtle, to let the relationship with Emma develop naturally while keeping my true intentions hidden. If I played this right, it could be the perfect means of revenge without resorting to violence or ruining my own life in the process.

Heading to the locker room with a smile on my face, I grabbed my gym bag, ready to pack up for the night. Habit had me glancing at my gear, a routine check I always performed before leaving. My eyes fell on my skates, neatly tucked away, and a frown creased my forehead. One of the laces was frayed, a thin slice running through it. I ran my fingers over the cut, the edge clean and precise.

I didn't remember seeing that when I'd taken them off after morning practice. It hadn't been there when I'd laced up for the drills, I was sure of it. A flicker of suspicion darted through my mind. Could Sawyer have done this? What other explanation was there? I pulled the lace taut, examining the cut closer. It wasn't a coincidence. Someone had done this deliberately. And who else would have both the motive and the access but him? He had always played dirty, pushing the limits of what he could get away with, and now he was taking it off the ice. Was this a message, a warning to stay away from Emma?

A surge of anger bubbled up, but I tamped it down, channeling it into determination. If he thought he could intimidate me, he was wrong. This only reinforced my resolve. I needed to be smarter, to anticipate his moves and stay one step ahead.

I'd start doing more frequent and thorough inspections of my gear, make sure nothing was out of place. I'd keep an eye on my surroundings, be more vigilant in the locker room, at practice, and even outside the rink. If Sawyer wanted to play dirty, I could match him, and then some. I clenched my fists. Emma Steele may have walked into my life by accident, but I was going to make sure she stayed there for a reason. I wasn't going to let this opportunity slip through my fingers. The next steps were crucial. I needed to play this carefully, to make sure Emma didn't suspect anything. I'd reach out to her, suggest another meeting, maybe a casual coffee or lunch. Or, depending on the vibe I got, dinner. I'd be the charming, attentive guy she seemed to like, and let her see the side of me that wasn't consumed by anger and bitterness. It would be a delicate balance, but I was confident I could pull it off. After all, I had been playing on the ice for years, balancing aggression with finesse, and this was just another game.