Chapter 3. Frozen

The locker room had fallen into silence. In the darkness, the only light came from Kaden’s phone screen, its cold glow illuminating his face in a harsh square of blue-white light. His fingers moved across the screen, but with no service, Louis couldn’t figure out what he was doing.

Time crawled. An hour passed, the temperature steadily dropping as the winter air seeped through the concrete walls, with the heating off and nothing to hold it back.

Louis had retreated to one of the corners, his gear bag beneath him and his parka wrapped tightly around his shoulders. The cold was making him drowsy, or maybe it was just the exhaustion of the game finally catching up with him. His eyes grew heavy as he watched the faint outline of Kaden’s silhouette against the dim light.

He was nearly asleep when movement caught his attention. Kaden had stood up, his phone’s flashlight beam cutting through the darkness as he began another methodical exploration of the room. Louis tracked his progress through half-lidded eyes, watching him move between the stalls, the light sweeping across equipment and forgotten gear.

When Kaden returned, he was holding something—a bottle of whiskey that must have been stashed away in someone’s stall. Without ceremony, he raised it to his lips and took a long drink. Then his footsteps drew closer to Louis’s corner.

“Want some?” Kaden’s voice was quiet, the bottle hanging between them like a peace offering.

Louis wanted to say no. It felt like accepting defeat somehow. But the cold had sunk deep into him, making his teeth want to chatter, and suddenly, warmth felt more important than pride. He reached up, his fingers finding the bottle and brushing against Kaden’s hand in the process.

The whiskey burned, but it was a good burn—the kind that promised heat and forgetfulness. He was still processing the sensation when Kaden lowered himself to the floor, settling a careful two feet away. Close enough that Louis could sense his presence, could catch the faint scent of that expensive cologne, but far enough that they weren’t quite sharing space.

They passed the bottle back and forth in silence. Minutes stretched into half an hour, marked only by the soft sound of the bottle changing hands and the occasional swallow. The whiskey was working its way through Louis’s system, making everything softer around the edges. The cold didn’t feel quite so sharp anymore, and the darkness had taken on a comfortable weight.

When Louis reached for another sip, Kaden’s fingers stayed wrapped around the bottle, not letting go.

“I shouldn’t have let you drink,” Kaden said. There was something careful in his voice. “Could be bad for the wound. Let me check it.”

“It’s fine,” Louis said, but Kaden was already moving. The beam of his phone light cut through the darkness as he knelt in front of Louis. He pressed around the edges of the bandage, his fingers steady and careful despite the whiskey they’d shared.

“Looks okay,” Kaden said finally, turning off the flashlight. But instead of going back to his previous spot, he settled down right next to Louis. Closer this time, their shoulders almost touching.

Louis turned his head toward him, the alcohol making his thoughts loose and warm. “Aren’t you cold?” The question came out more concerned than he’d meant it to be as he eyed Kaden’s thin dress shirt, sleeves still rolled carefully to his elbows.

“Why?” Kaden’s voice carried that familiar venomous sweetness. “Are you going to suggest we share body heat?”

Louis snorted, rolling his eyes. It struck him suddenly that they were having what could almost be called a nice moment. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened—it had to be back in juniors.

“You’re acting weird,” Louis said, the whiskey’s warmth loosening his tongue more than he liked. “What’s with the sudden nice-guy act? You’re a complete dick to me on the ice.”

Kaden shifted beside him. “A dick? Me?” He pressed a hand to his chest, mock indignation dripping from every word. “Harsh, Zenith. Name one time I’ve been anything but delightful.”

“Every fucking match,” Louis shot back.

Kaden let out a quiet laugh, the sound tinged with disbelief, almost amused. “Oh, come on.”

“Your whole mission on the ice is to get under my skin.”

“You can be so daft, Zenith.” The way Kaden said his name felt like a caress and a slap all at once, a sting he knew too well.

“And you always make sure to rub your wins in my face,” Louis muttered, the words pointed but not as sharp as before.

“That sounds like a you problem, not a me problem,” Kaden said with a bitter smirk, taking another sip of whiskey. “Every time I score, you look at me like I’ve taken something from you. Like I don’t deserve it.” He shifted closer, their shoulders brushing, his voice low but steady. “Take tonight, for example. That goal wasn’t luck—I spent weeks perfecting that shot. Hours studying your defensive patterns. But you’d rather believe I’m just lucky than admit I earned it, wouldn’t you?”

Louis blinked, something stirring in his chest that had nothing to do with the whiskey. “You…studied my technique?”

“Of course I did.” Kaden ran a hand through his hair in frustration, the movement barely visible in the phone’s dim light. “You’re the best defender in the league.”

The compliment hung in the air.

Louis felt his face grow warm, grateful for the darkness that hid his reaction. He wasn’t used to genuine compliments from Kaden—wasn’t sure how to handle one. The whiskey bottle lay forgotten between them.

“You’re drunk,” Louis finally managed, but there was no bite to it.

“Not drunk enough to lie.” Kaden’s voice was soft but serious. Then, after a pause, he said, “There’s more where this came from, you know.”

He was up before Louis could respond, phone light sweeping across the room again as he made his methodical way through the stalls. When he returned, he was holding a bottle of rum—probably Lopez’s secret stash, though Louis decided not to think too hard about that.

Kaden came back and sat down on the bag beside him, setting the bottle of rum between them. After a moment, his voice came quiet, slightly slurred. “Why don’t you have a girlfriend? Girls are crazy about you.”

Louis’s head felt heavy, thoughts moving slowly like honey. He turned the question over in his mind, tasting the familiar bitterness of it. “Are you seriously asking?” The words came out thick on his tongue. “Because I think you already know the answer.”

Kaden shifted slightly beside him, his thigh brushing against Louis’s. “What? Not into relationships?”

Louis let out a low hum, considering, his eyelids drooping under the weight of the whiskey and the pressing darkness around them. Everything felt both uncomfortably close and strangely distant. “Not into girls, dumbass,” he muttered, his voice barely above a murmur.

“Oh.” The word hung in the air between them, quiet but weighted. Louis could hear the slight hitch in Kaden’s breathing, the pause as he processed what had just been said.

“It’s kind of obvious, isn’t it?” Louis muttered, the alcohol loosening his tongue more than he intended. “I kissed you.”

Kaden’s voice came after a beat, slower now but still holding that edge of curiosity. “You could be bi.”

“I’m not.”

“So, it’s just guys, then?”

“Mm-hmm.” The word lingered, simple but heavy.

Kaden paused, then asked, “Do your teammates know?”

“No.” Louis leaned his head back against the cold concrete wall. “And I’d rather they didn’t. For now.”

“Fair enough,” Kaden said, his tone even, offering nothing more.

The silence dragged, comfortable and heavy with alcohol. Louis could feel each point where their bodies touched—shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, the heat of Kaden’s body against his own through the thin barrier of their clothes.

“Where’s your girlfriend?” The question tumbled from Louis’s lips before his alcohol-addled brain could catch up with his mouth. He hadn’t meant to sound quite so interested, but if Kaden noticed, he didn’t let it show.

“Don’t have one.” His voice was closer now, quieter. The heat of his breath ghosted against Louis’s neck, making something flutter in his chest.

“What about that supermodel?” Louis pressed, desperate to maintain some semblance of their usual antagonism. “What’s her name—the one from all those fashion week photos?”

“Kara?” Kaden said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “That was just for publicity. My agent thought it would look good in the press.”

Louis turned his head toward Kaden’s voice, grateful for the darkness that hid whatever his face might be revealing. “Do you usually date people for publicity?”

“Actually, yeah.” Kaden’s laugh was low and hollow, startlingly honest. “My father thinks it’s great for engagement metrics. The fans eat it up. Every appearance gets tracked, every photo analyzed. It’s all very scientific.”

“What about serious relationships?” Louis knew he sounded more curious than he intended, the question dangerously raw.

“What about them?” There was something carefully neutral in Kaden’s voice now.

“Ever had one?”

For half a minute, only their breathing and the distant howl of wind broke the silence. Finally, Kaden spoke, his voice stripped of its usual polish. “Not really. No time for that.”

“Right,” Louis snorted, a hint of amusement warming his voice. “Too busy with all your charity galas and press conferences?”

“Am I just some spoiled rich brat in your head?” Kaden’s voice had an edge to it now, but not the familiar venom—something vulnerable, barely masked.

“Aren’t you?” Louis shot back without missing a beat.

“That’s hilarious,” Kaden muttered, but Louis could hear the ghost of a smile in his voice.

Neither of them moved, their shoulders still pressed together. They sat like that for a while. Then Kaden turned slightly, his voice cutting through the silence. “But anyway, who needs serious relationships when you can just have sex, right?” The words sounded strained, almost forced, as though he was trying to make them land casually and failing.

Louis noticed the shift in Kaden’s tone, the way the question hung awkwardly in the air before Kaden spoke again. “When was the last time you had sex, Zenith?”

“Yeah, that’s none of your business,” Louis said, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Been a while, has it?” Kaden teased, though this time it felt different—less sharp, more playful.

“Are you coming onto me?” Louis meant it as a joke, but the words caught in his throat as Kaden’s hand found his thigh. The touch was deliberate, unmistakable. In the darkness of the locker room, Louis could barely make out Kaden’s face, but he watched him shift closer until only inches separated them, Kaden’s breath warm across his face.

“Kaden,” Louis whispered, but any other words died on his lips as Kaden closed the final distance between them.

The kiss started tentative—just a gentle press of lips against lips. Louis held perfectly still, afraid any movement might shatter whatever was happening between them, his heart hammering against his ribs. Seven years of tension, of wanting, of pretending not to want, collapsed into this single moment.

When Kaden pulled back, the absence of his warmth lasted only a heartbeat, but it felt endless. Then he was leaning in again, and this time, when their lips met, Kaden’s tongue traced slowly, deliberately along Louis’s bottom lip. Louis’s breath caught in his throat—it was just like their first kiss by the pool, both of them tasting of alcohol, but this time, Louis was drunk enough not to care about tomorrow.

Kaden’s tongue slipped into Louis’s mouth, and their tongues met in a heated rush. A quiet moan escaped Kaden’s throat, the sound shooting straight through Louis, making his blood run hot. Kaden’s hand began a slow, deliberate journey up Louis’s thigh, and Louis’s body went rigid, pulse thundering in his ears. When Kaden’s hand found Louis’s hardness, Louis cursed, and Kaden let out an audible gasp. But before Kaden could do anything else, Louis caught his wrist, gripping it to stop him.

Kaden exhaled sharply against his lips. “Buzzkill,” he whispered.

“You’re drunk,” Louis said, disappointment welling in his chest.

“Not that drunk,” Kaden insisted for the second time that evening.

“Yeah, you are.”

“But you want me,” Kaden purred, squeezing meaningfully. His voice dropped lower, dripping honey and venom. “I can feel how badly you want me, Lou. You’ve wanted me for seven years, haven’t you? Every time I score against you, every time I get under your skin—this is what you’ve been thinking about.”

“Shut up,” Louis growled, but his grip on Kaden’s wrist wavered.

“Make me,” Kaden breathed against his mouth, the words a challenge and a plea. His free hand slid up Louis’s neck, fingers tangling in his hair. “Is that what keeps you up at night, Lou? Knowing you had me right there, and I slipped through your fingers?” His lips grazed Louis’s jaw.

Louis’s breath hitched. “Why did you run?”

“Does it matter?” Kaden whispered, teeth grazing Louis’s earlobe. “Why didn’t you come after me?” Louis’s grip tightened on his wrist, and Kaden let out a soft, dangerous laugh. “All these years of watching me, hating me, wanting me—and you still can’t take what you want.” His hand twisted in Louis’s grip. “So take it now.” His voice dropped lower, darker. “Because after tonight, Lou? I might not make it this easy again.”

Louis was still for a long moment, his grip on Kaden’s wrist like iron where it held Kaden’s hand against his hardness. The Kaden from earlier tonight had been measured, real—but now the whiskey had stripped something loose in him, something Louis had never seen before.

“You don’t get to play games with me anymore.”

“Don’t I?” Kaden’s voice was breathless but still taunting. His palm rubbed Louis’s cock deliberately through his clothes. “Isn’t that what you like about me, Lou? That I never make anything easy for you?”

“No,” Louis said roughly, ignoring the way his cock twitched in response to the touch. “I liked you better an hour ago when you weren’t hiding behind this act.” Something flickered across Kaden’s face then—raw and unguarded—before the mask slipped back into place.

“Maybe that was the act,” Kaden said with a smirk, his fingers still working Louis’s cock with precision. “Besides, we both know you love hearing me taunt you.”

Louis fought back a shudder as Kaden’s fingers moved against him, his hand finding Kaden’s throat, thumb pressing against his pulse point. “I could make you stop talking.”

“You could try,” Kaden whispered, leaning into Louis’s touch instead of away. “I was hoping to get a mouthful—” His words cut off in a gasp as Louis’s mouth found his neck, teeth scraping against sensitive skin—not enough to hurt, just a warning.

“I don’t want you like this,” Louis murmured against his skin.

Kaden went still. In the dim light, Louis could feel the subtle shift in his body language—the way tension crept into his shoulders, how his breath caught and held for just a moment too long. When he pulled away, the cold air rushed between them, making Louis’s skin prickle.

The screen lit up as Kaden picked up his phone, the beam catching the side of his face—just enough to show how his facade had crumbled. The cockiness was gone, replaced by something raw that made Louis’s chest ache. His blue eyes, usually sharp with challenge or mockery, now held a vulnerability Louis hadn’t seen since that night by the pool seven years ago.

Without meeting Louis’s gaze, Kaden reached for the bottle of rum. His hands weren’t quite steady as he brought it to his lips, taking one long pull, then another. The quiet sounds of swallowing seemed too loud in the stillness of the darkened locker room. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and slumped against the wall, the expensive fabric of his dress shirt catching and dragging against the concrete.

The minutes stretched between them, marked only by the soft sound of their breathing and the distant howl of the storm. Gradually, Kaden’s breaths grew deeper, more even. The tension began to leave his body in slow waves until his head drooped slightly to one side. Soon, his breathing had settled into the steady rhythm of alcohol-induced sleep.

In the dim light, Kaden’s face had softened, the sharp edges of his usual mask smoothed away by unconsciousness. He looked younger somehow, more like the boy from seven years ago—before the rivalry, before their public personas, before everything between them had become so complicated.

Louis leaned his head back against the wall, willing his heartbeat to slow and his body to cool down. His erection faded slowly, replaced by a hollow ache in his chest that felt worse than any hit he’d taken on the ice. Seven years of wondering what could have happened if Kaden hadn’t run that night, and now here they were—drunk and locked in a locker room, still running in their own ways. He closed his eyes, letting out a long breath that clouded in the cold air.

Maybe it was better this way. In the morning, Kaden would put his mask back on, and they’d go back to being what everyone expected them to be: rivals, nothing more.