20. Ethan

20

Ethan

I pull up to Elena's house, the headlights cutting through the night. It's been a long day, and I know it's been even worse for her. Between the PR nightmare and her parents showing up, she’s had more than her share of stress. I take a deep breath, looking at the carton of ice cream sitting on the passenger seat next to me. It’s a small gesture, but I hope it helps.

I walk up to her door, my heart pounding. I knock, and after a few moments, the door swings open. Elena stands there, looking tired but still managing a smile when she sees me.

"Ethan," she says, her voice a mix of surprise and relief. "What are you doing here?"

I hold up the ice cream. "I come bearing gifts. Thought you could use a little comfort food."

She giggles and nods

"You know me too well. Come on in."

I follow her inside, closing the door behind me. We settle on the couch, the ice cream carton between us. She's in a tee shirt, her knees pulled into her chest, her hair flowing down her back. She looks effortlessly beautiful, and I can’t help but stare.

We dig into the ice cream, eating straight from the container. The silence is comfortable, but I can tell there’s a lot on her mind. I break the quiet first.

“How was the visit with your parents?” I ask gently, not wanting to push but needing to know.

“It was... complicated. Today has just been one overwhelming thing after another.”

“Why complicated?”

“They love you as a person, they don’t love you in my life,” she murmurs as she continues looking down at the ice cream on her spoon.

“What does that mean?”

“They weren’t happy that I am helping you in any way. I get it, they’re being overprotective. I think they blame you for me not coming home until now. You’re not to blame, but they won’t listen.”

“They think that I cheated on you and don’t want you to get hurt again.”

She nods slowly. “I tried to explain that wasn’t true, and that I was just as much to blame for everything happening the way it did as you were, but you know how parents are.”

“Yeah, for sure.”

She hesitates, looking down at the ice cream. “Speaking of… your mother came to visit me today.”

I feel a jolt of anger, but I keep my voice calm. “What did she want?”

“She offered me money to fire you as a client and to end things with you.”

My temper flares, and I stand up, pacing the small living room.

“She did what? How could she do that? What kind of mother is so manipulative that they try to pay off someone their child loves?”

Is that why she left the first time? Did my mom pay her off then?

“I don’t know. I was in shock,” she murmurs.

“Are you sure that’s what happened?”

“I made her repeat it. Then I told her to leave.”

I stop pacing and look at her, my heart breaking at the sight of her tears. She nods again, wiping her eyes.

“I’m proud of you for that. I can’t…”

“That’s not even the worst of it. She said that they were taking the team back from you.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I start pacing again, trying to process everything. My own mother, trying to tear apart the one good thing in my life. It’s infuriating and devastating all at once.

“I’m so sorry she came to you. I can’t believe she would do something like that.”

“It’s not your fault, Ethan,” she says softly. “But it’s a lot to handle.”

I sit back down next to her, taking her hand in mine. “We’ll figure this out, okay? Together. I’m not letting them come between us.”

She squeezes my hand, offering a small smile. “I know. I’m just... scared, I guess.”

“Why scared?”

“Daniel is against us. Your parents. My parents. Then the whole thing with Kiara, Jaclyn and Ryan. It’s so much.”

“No one matters but us. How do you feel about us?”

“I love you and know that this is right.”

“And I love you and feel the same way, so we’ll hold on to that.”

“But maybe the Universe doesn’t think we should be together, that’s why it keeps throwing these obstacles in our way.”

“I don’t believe that, because if the Universe didn’t want it to happen it would never have brought us back together in this way.”

We sit in silence for a while, the weight of the day pressing down on both of us. But having her here, knowing we’re facing it together, makes it a little more bearable.

“The last few days have been so confusing.”

“Say more.”

She fills me in on what the bouncer told Daniel about the Silverton players.

Did my parents pay them so they have an excuse to get rid of me?

Then she goes into detail about the conversation about Grams with her parents.

“Do you think Grams has a secret life no one knows about?”

“It would seem that way,” she says with a breathy giggle. “It’s like nothing is as it seems.”

I pull her closer, needing to feel her warmth, her presence. She rests her head on my shoulder, and for a moment, the world outside fades away.

I can feel her breathing start to slow, her body relaxing against mine. I look down at her, the way her hair cascades over her face, and I can't help but smile. I gently move a strand behind her ear, careful not to wake her.

"Elena," I whisper softly, but she doesn't stir.

She's exhausted, and I don't blame her. I shift slightly, trying to get comfortable without disturbing her. Before long, the rhythmic sound of her breathing lulls me to sleep too.

***

The next morning, I wake up to the soft glow of sunlight streaming through the curtains. I blink, adjusting to the light, and realize we're still on the couch, wrapped in each other's arms. Elena is still asleep, her face peaceful and serene. I brush a gentle kiss on her forehead, causing her to stir.

She opens her eyes slowly, blinking a few times before looking up at me. "Good morning," she says, her voice groggy but sweet.

"Morning," I reply, smiling down at her. "Did you sleep okay?"

"Better than I expected," she admits, stretching slightly but not moving away from me. "You?"

"Same," I say, leaning in to kiss her softly on the lips.

She responds, her lips warm and inviting, making my pants tighten in response.

We stay like that for a while, just enjoying the quiet intimacy of the moment. Eventually, the need for coffee drives us to get up. We untangle ourselves from the couch, and I follow her into the kitchen, watching as she moves around, still in her oversized t-shirt and looking effortlessly beautiful.

"Let me help," I say, stepping up behind her and wrapping my arms around her waist as she reaches for the coffee beans.

She leans back into me, and I press a kiss to the side of her neck.

"You're distracting me," she teases, but I can hear the smile in her voice.

"Just trying to be helpful," I murmur, kissing her again, this time on her shoulder.

She laughs softly, swatting at my hands playfully but not really trying to push me away.

We work together to make the coffee, our movements synchronized and easy. It's a dance we've done a hundred times before, but it feels different this morning—more meaningful, more connected. I can't keep my hands off her, brushing against her every chance I get, and she seems to be doing the same.

As the coffee brews, we lean against the counter, her back pressed against my chest. I nuzzle into her hair, inhaling her scent, feeling a sense of calm wash over me.

The coffee machine beeps, signaling that it's ready. Elena pours us each a cup, handing me one with a smile. We move to the small kitchen table, sitting close, our knees touching under the table.

We sip our coffee in comfortable silence, savoring the moment. The events of yesterday feel like a distant memory, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I feel a sense of peace.

I pull out my phone, checking for any updates on the PR front. To my relief, it seems like the press release we worked on has taken some of the heat off me and Jeremy. The headlines are starting to shift, focusing more on the truth rather than the sensationalized lies.

"Looks like the press release is working," I say, showing Elena my phone. "The articles are starting to die down."

She takes the phone from me, scrolling through the updates.

“That's a relief. I was worried it wouldn't be enough."

"You did an amazing job.”

She squeezes my hand, her eyes meeting mine. “Thank you.”

We finish our coffee, the morning light filling the kitchen with a warm glow. I reach across the table, brushing my fingers against her cheek, and she leans into my touch, closing her eyes.

"I love you," I say, the words coming out naturally, without hesitation.

"I love you too," she replies, opening her eyes and smiling at me.

I stand up, moving around the table to pull her into my arms. We stand there, holding each other, the world outside forgotten for now. It's just us, in this moment, and nothing else matters.

"Come on," she says, pulling back slightly. "Let's go sit on the couch."

I follow her back to the living room, and we curl up together on the couch, the morning stretching out before us. We talk about everything and nothing, just enjoying each other's company. The weight of yesterday is still there, but it's lighter now, manageable.

As the morning turns into afternoon, I realize just how much I need her in my life. She's my anchor, my strength, and I can't imagine facing any of this without her.

We spend the day together, the outside world fading away. It's a small respite from the chaos, a reminder of what really matters.

Later that night right before we’re about to go to bed I get a text message from Sasha.

“Ellie postponed our meeting yesterday morning but she’s not giving me a date to change it to. Can you talk to her? I really want to help out, but I think she’s a tad overwhelmed.”

My eyes flit to Elena. She’s gorgeous in an old t-shirt, her hair piled up on top of her head.

Focus, Anderson.

“Hey, Sasha said you two were supposed to have a meeting yesterday morning and you had to postpone because of the craziness.”

“I did,” she sighs. “I needed to focus on your PR stuff. It’s what you’re paying me for.”

“But the boutique is just as important. The press releases and stuff could have waited until afterward.”

“It’s fine.”

“Do you have dreams for the boutique or was it just something to come home to?”

“I have dreams for it. I’ve always envisioned coming home to run it and make it last for generations. I have so many ideas and…”

“Then meet with Sasha and don’t postpone it. You’re incredible at everything you touch. Don’t distract yourself from your goals because of mine.”

She lets out a long sigh before she nods slowly.

“I was using your stuff as an excuse. Sasha is a BIG deal. She’s made superstars out of all of her clients and… maybe I was afraid to fail. Maybe I’m making the same mistakes as before and putting your dreams before mine.”

“I’m not going to let you do that this time. As of now, I can handle my own PR. I need to grow up. This is where you focus on your dreams.”

“But what if I fail?”

“We don’t learn unless we fail. That’s the part about success that people don’t really talk about. So many people only see the wins that they don’t even think to ask about the losses. Sasha was turned away hundreds of times from design houses, from so many jobs because she was different, because she didn’t fit the part. She branched out on her own and failed more times until she didn’t.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Most people don’t. Tony was told numerous times that he was too flamboyant and that he needed to bring it down a lot if he ever wanted clients. He lived in his car for two years and now look at him.”

“Okay, okay, I hear you,” she giggles as she leans into me.

She pulls out her phone and goes to her text messages. I watch as she texts Sasha and asks to meet with her this week.

“I have a game tomorrow night, will you be there?” I ask as we start to drift off to sleep that night.

“Of course,” she murmurs. “I already have the store covered.”

I kiss the top of her forehead and before long we’re both fast asleep.

***

The arena is electric tonight. The roar of the crowd echoes through my bones as I step onto the ice, my skates cutting through the familiar surface.

This is where I belong, where everything makes sense. The Wolves are ready, and the energy in the locker room was contagious before we came out.

My energy is off the charts.

This is the first professional game of mine that I’ve known Ellie is here.

As we warm up, I glance up into the stands. My eyes scan the sea of faces until they land on two that stand out. Daniel and Ellie are sitting together, just like old times. A wave of nostalgia washes over me. It feels like college again, when Ellie was at every single one of my games. I grin and give them a quick wave. Ellie beams back at me, her smile lighting up the entire section.

The referee blows the whistle, and my focus snaps back to the ice. The puck drops, and the game begins.

From the first second, the Wolves are on fire. We gain control of the puck immediately, our forward slicing through the defense like a hot knife through butter. I chase down the ice, my heart pounding in my chest. The puck slides back to me at the blue line, and I don’t hesitate. I wind up and unleash a powerful slap shot.

The puck rockets towards the goal, the opposing goalie diving to make the save. But it's too fast, too precise. It slams into the back of the net, and the crowd explodes with cheers. Less than a minute into the game, and we’re already up by one.

"Yes!" I shout, pumping my fist in the air.

My teammates rush me, the excitement and intensity of the moment fueling us all.

As we reset for the next play, the adrenaline courses through my veins. The opposing team, the Silverton Swarm, is clearly shaken by the quick goal, and we’re determined to keep the pressure on.

The roar of the crowd is deafening as we’re back at the centerline. I can feel the adrenaline surging through my veins as I take my position again, my eyes locking onto the players of our rival team. I give a cocky little smile and wink at the man across from me.

I’m not intimidated by them.

Their reputation precedes them though, as they're known for their rough, borderline brutal playstyle, and tonight, they seem particularly aggressive.

The referee drops the puck, and the game is back on. The Swarm immediately comes at us hard. They’re the best team in the league and I scored on them instantly.

They’re pissed.

Just the way I like it. If they’re playing with ego and anger, they’re not going to play as well.

Most of their players are skating with a reckless abandon that borders on dangerous. I barely have time to react as their center, a hulking figure named Carter, slams into me, sending me sprawling to the ice. I scramble to my feet, my body throbbing from the impact, and chase after the puck.

The Swarm's tactics are clear—they’re here to intimidate, to dominate physically. Their hits are hard, their checks are relentless, and their sticks seem to find every gap in our defenses. I grit my teeth and focus, determined not to let them get under my skin.

A few minutes later, I see my chance. The puck slides free near the blue line, and I skate hard, dodging a Silverton defenseman’s outstretched stick. Just as I’m about to reach the puck, I feel a sharp pain in my side as another Swarm player, this one named Andrews, delivers a vicious cross-check. The referee's whistle blows, and Andrews is sent to the penalty box, but the damage is done—I’m left gasping for breath, trying to shake off the hit.

“How do you like me now, Daddy’s Boy?” Andrews laughs with a thick accent.

“Ignore him,” Jeremy rolls his eyes.

Already have.

I’m in their heads, that’s all that matters to me.

We get a power play, but it feels like the Swarm are still in control. They’re relentless, blocking our shots, disrupting our passes, and making it clear that they won’t go down without a fight. I can see the frustration building in my teammates’ eyes, and I feel it too that burning desire to hit back, to make them pay for every cheap shot, every dirty play.

Midway through the first period, the tempers flare. Our left wing, Jake, gets into a scuffle with one of their defensemen. It starts with a shove, then escalates into a full-blown fight. Gloves fly off, fists are thrown, and the referees struggle to pull them apart. The crowd goes wild, cheering and jeering, and both players are sent to the penalty box.

The game resumes, and the tension is thick. Every faceoff, every pass, every shot is a battle. I can feel the strain in my muscles, the ache in my bones from the constant hits. The Swarm’s strategy is wearing us down, and it’s only the first period.

I dig deep, pushing through the pain and exhaustion. I manage to get the puck and make a break for it, weaving through their defenders. I see an opening and take the shot, but their goalie deflects it with a quick flick of his wrist. The puck rebounds, and I go after it, determined not to let this chance slip away.

Another hit from behind, this time sending me crashing into the boards. The referee's whistle sounds again, and another Swarm player is sent to the box. It’s clear they’re playing dirty, but we can’t let that distract us. We need to focus, to stay in the game, to fight back with everything we’ve got.

“I’m coming for you, Daddy’s Boy!” Andrews cackles as he’s released from the penalty box.

He skates out and makes a slitting gesture against his throat with his stick.

Andrews not a lot of brains or brawn, he’s just known for cheating and being a dirty player that can’t back up the smack he talks.

As the first period ends, we are tied. We head to the locker room, bruised and battered but not beaten.

“You’re in their heads, boys,” Coach growls as he makes eye contact with all of us. “Stay there. You can’t let them get into yours. We need this win. We can’t let them take us on our own ice.”

We all give a round of cheers, but as I glance around the room I can tell that not everyone is feeling the grit we all need to keep digging.

“Who are we?” I yell out.

“Frostwood Falls,” someone answers tiredly.

“Who are we?” I ask again.

“Frostwood Falls,” someone hollers back.

“We are the Wolves, damn it!” Jeremy yells out, before throwing his head back and calling out a rebel yell.

“We. Are. The. Wolves. Ain’t nobody going to take us on our turf!” Banksy, one of our other players yells.

“Let’s go show those assholes what we’re made of!” Stipes hypes up as he pounds on a locker.

There we are. We’re back in the excitement and the game!

The second period starts, and the intensity ramps up even further. The Swarm comes out swinging, and the hits just keep coming. I can feel my body protesting with every movement, but I push through it, focusing on the puck, on the game.

The rest of the team is quick to interfere with any hits at this point. We’re all playing together like a well oiled machine. The Swarm is wearing themselves out by skating harder and faster to get the hits and tricks they want.

They’re not getting them anymore.

We finally catch a break when one of their players is called for tripping. With another power play, we have a chance to run this up. I take the faceoff, winning it cleanly, and pass the puck to our right wing, who fires a shot at the goal. The Swarm's goalie blocks it, but the puck rebounds to me. I don’t hesitate—I shoot, and this time, it finds the back of the net.

The crowd erupts, and for a moment, the pain and exhaustion fade away. We’re in the lead, and it feels incredible. But the Swarm are far from finished. They come at us with renewed ferocity, determined to even the score. Their hits are harder, their checks more aggressive, and the game devolves into a series of brutal, bone-crunching collisions.

“Hey you little bitch,” Carter calls out as he comes up behind me. “You pay off the refs with daddy’s money, or what?”

He grabs the back of my jersey and yanks me backward. He’s a towering figure, and his punches land like sledgehammers. I manage to land a few of my own before the referees pull us apart, sending both of us to the penalty box. I sit there, catching my breath, feeling the bruises forming, but also feeling a grim satisfaction. We’re not backing down, and neither are they.

The second period ends with the score still in our favor, but just barely. The locker room is a mix of adrenaline and exhaustion, our bodies battered but our spirits high. We know we’re in for the fight of our lives in the third period.

As the final period begins, the Swarm comes out with a vengeance. They’re desperate, and it shows in their play. They’re hitting harder, pushing the limits of what’s acceptable, and the penalties pile up on both sides. It’s a brutal, chaotic mess, but we hold our ground.

The puck drops again, and we’re off. I race down the ice, eyes locked on the play unfolding ahead of me. Our forward charges towards the goal, but the defense is closing in fast.

I move into position, ready for the pass. But just as I’m about to make my move, I feel a sharp pain in my knee. One of their skaters collides with me, his skate making brutal contact. The pain is immediate and excruciating. I go down hard, clutching my knee as the whistle blows.

The culprit jumps up immediately, puffed out and ready to fight. Luke Denny, resident hothead of our rival team. He’s known for his temper and doing shady stuff like purposely injuring other players.

I jump up as well to protect myself, the refs jump in between us immediately.

“That one’s for Kiara. Leave my girl alone.”

Did I just hear him right?

Did I take a hit to the head?

Trainers rush out onto the ice. The crowd's cheers turn to murmurs of concern. I can see Ellie in the stands, her face pale with worry. The trainers want to take me back for an MRI, but I refuse. There’s no way I’m leaving my team now.

“Ethan, this is bad. It’s…it’s more than a cut.”

“Just tape it up,” I insist, gritting my teeth against the pain. “I need to be out there.”

The trainer hesitates but eventually starts bandaging my knee. “Ethan, you need to be careful. This could be serious.”

“I’ll be fine.” I lie.

Once I’m bandaged up, I limp back onto the ice. My knee protests with every movement, but I push through it. I can’t let the team down. Not now.

The game resumes, and I try to focus on the play. But every stride, every turn, sends jolts of pain through my leg. I force myself to ignore it, to push through. The puck comes my way again, and I manage to pass it off, but it’s clear something is wrong.

The intensity on the ice is contagious. The other team senses my weakness and starts targeting me, trying to exploit the injury. I fight them off as best as I can, but my movements are sluggish, and my knee feels like it’s on fire.

Despite the pain, I manage to stay on the ice, playing through it. The game is a blur of adrenaline and agony. I can see Ellie and Daniel in the stands, their faces tense with worry, but I push it out of my mind. I have to focus. I have to keep going.

The final minutes of the game are the hardest. Every second feels like an eternity. But I don’t let up. I push through the pain, the sweat pouring down my face, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The crowd is on its feet, the noise deafening.

I can barely see straight through the sweat and the pain, but I keep going, driven by sheer willpower. The Swarm manages to tie the game with a lucky shot, and the crowd is on edge, the tension in the arena thick enough to cut with a knife.

With just a minute left on the clock, I see my chance. The puck comes to me, and I take off, dodging defenders, skating with every ounce of strength I have left. I can hear the roar of the crowd, the pounding of my heart, and I focus on the goal, on that one final shot.

As long as this leg holds up.

I shoot, and time seems to slow down. The puck sails through the air, past the outstretched glove of the goalie, and into the net. The arena explodes with noise, and my teammates surround me, shouting and cheering. We’ve done it—we’ve won.

The final buzzer sounds, and the Wolves emerge victorious. The relief is overwhelming, and I collapse onto the bench, my knee throbbing mercilessly.

Everyone is congratulating me on a great game, but I can barely hear them. All I can think about is the pain and the worried look on Ellie’s face. I’ve made it through the game, but I know this is far from over. Something is seriously wrong with my knee, and I can’t afford to let anyone else know that.

Being an owner and a player, I hold myself to a different standard. I can’t be seen as weak with any sort of injury.

I head to the locker room with a million different thoughts going through my head. I need to get this taken care of as quietly as possible.

No one needs to know. Not even Ellie.

That was just a warning. Stay away from Kiara or the next time will be worse, champ.

The text is from an anonymous number but it’s clearly from Luke as those were similar words to what he’d said on the ice.

Is Kiara dating Luke? Good for her. But what the Hell is she telling him about me?