(Kane)
The Wolves’ locker room smelled of sweat, icy hot, and the usual post-practice bullshit.
I sat on the bench, unlacing my skates with more force than necessary, trying to drown out the noise in my head. The last scrimmage against Harrison still played on repeat — Danica Jones refusing to fall, her eyes meeting mine through the visor like she saw straight through every wall I had built. I told myself it was hatred. Contempt. The same righteous fury that had fueled me since Lila’s injury. But the lie was getting harder to swallow.
My linemate, Jax, dropped onto the bench beside me with a s**t-eating grin.
“So, Captain,” he drawled, loud enough for half the room to hear. “You gonna admit it yet? That little Jones girl’s got you twisted. We all saw how you shoved me out of the way wh
