Love on ice

chapter 5

Grayson POV

The horn blared, and the second period started with a crack of skates against ice. The bench vibrated under me as the first line jumped out, boards rattling when they collided with the other team. I leaned forward, helmet still tight, ribs burning as if someone had set fire inside me. Coach slapped my shoulder.

“You’re up next. Keep it clean, Grayson.”

I nodded, though we both knew clean wasn’t in me tonight.

The door banged open, and I was on the ice again. Cold air sliced into my lungs. The puck dropped, skittering across the circle, and I launched after it. My body didn’t care that it was broken; it only cared about winning. Stick clashing, bodies slamming, blades screeching. I muscled through the defense, shoved a guy off balance, ripped a shot on net. Blocked.

Groans from our fans, cheers from theirs.

“Move it, move it!” my linemate barked.

We cycled back. I took another shift of pounding, ribs screaming every time I twisted. Still, I stayed upright, pretending the pain wasn’t eating me alive.

Play stopped after a whistle, and I drifted toward the faceoff circle. I tugged my gloves tighter, trying to shake off the fog. That’s when it happened.

I looked up.

For a second, just a flicker, my gaze found hers in the crowd.

The girl from before, the one I thought I imagined, the one whose presence gnawed at the edges of my focus. She was there, leaning just slightly forward in her seat. The world around her blurred—the crowd, the players, the rink they all bled out of my vision.

She was still. Too still.

And I froze.

It wasn’t long. Not a drawn-out stare, not the kind of thing people write songs about. It was sharper than that—like two blades meeting midair, the impact ringing through my bones. A snap, a strike, a warning. My ribs ached harder, but it wasn’t pain. It was heat, rushing through me, alive and raw.

I ripped my eyes away first. Couldn’t hold it, couldn’t breathe through it. My gloves felt too tight, my jersey too heavy.

“Grayson, get your head in it!” someone barked behind me.

The puck dropped again. Instinct dragged me back into the game, but the damage was done. That brief lock, that flash of recognition—whatever it was had carved a hole in my focus.

I chased down the puck like a madman, shouldering anyone in my way. Their forward cut left, I followed too fast, stick slashing across his skates, my body colliding into his chest. He went sprawling, crashing into the boards with a groan.

The whistle screamed.

Crowd roared, half in anger, half in glee.

“Two minutes! Interference!” the ref shouted, stabbing a finger at me.

I didn’t move. My chest heaved, ribs stabbing like knives, and still my eyes flickered toward the stands. She hadn’t moved. Not once. That stillness wrapped around me tighter than the penalty I’d just earned.

“Grayson! Box!” Coach’s voice cut through.

I skated stiffly toward the penalty box, heat crawling up my neck. I should’ve argued, should’ve yelled at the ref, but I couldn’t. My body was still buzzing from that lock, that instant when her eyes hit mine and something detonated inside me.

The door to the box clanged shut behind me. I sat, leaning on my stick, the cage of my helmet fogging with breath.

I had no idea who she was. No idea why it felt like she could gut me with a single look.

But I knew one thing as the game rolled on without me.

This wasn’t over.

************************************************

The horn still echoed in my skull when I ripped off my helmet. My chest burned like someone had driven a skate blade between my ribs. But the noise from the stands washed it out—roars, claps, boots hitting the floor. None of it touched me.

I skated off in a blur of sweat and steam, head down, stick tapping the boards. The locker room swallowed me up in a wave of stink—wet gear, old tape, blood somewhere in the air.

Jensen tossed his gloves onto the bench. “You looked half-dead out there, man. That hit early in the third?”

I shrugged, undoing my pads one strap at a time. “He leaned into me. I leaned back.”

“You leaned back like you wanted to die.”

“Still scored,” I muttered.

He barked a laugh. “True. But something’s off. You keep glancing at the crowd like your ex walked in.”

I didn’t answer. My ribs screamed when I bent over to pull off my skates. Jensen’s voice drifted somewhere behind me, teasing, but I barely heard him. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her,Molly, sitting still in a crowd gone feral.

I’d tried to forget. I tried to bury that moment under adrenaline. Didn’t work. Her eyes had locked me mid-shift like I’d been hit with a stun gun. Not fear. Not awe. Just… awareness.

She’d seen me.

The room filled with the hiss of showers and laughter. I sat there longer than I should have, sweat cooling against my skin.

The coach walked by, voice rough from yelling. “Good game, Wood. You’ll hit the trainer before next practice. You’re taped wrong.”

“Fine,” I said.

He gave me a look that said he didn’t believe a word. “Don’t be an idiot.”

Too late.

************************************************

Outside, the cold punched through my sweatshirt. The parking lot was a blur of taillights and exhaust. My duffel felt heavier than usual.

Jensen jogged up, half-dressed, hair dripping. “Are you good to drive?”

“I’m fine.”

He smirked. “You keep saying that like it makes it true.”

I didn’t bother replying. He studied me for a second, hands shoved in his hoodie. “Look, man. Whatever’s in your head, get it out before the playoffs. You can’t afford distractions.”

I gave him a flat look. “I’m not distracted.”

“Sure.” He grinned. “Tell that to the ref who had to call you off the glass because you were staring at row six like it owed you money.”

“Go home, Jensen.”

He chuckled, raised both hands, and headed toward his car. “Don’t wrap your ribs too tight, hero.”

When he was gone, the silence hit. The kind that hums in your ears, heavy and full.

************************************************

The drive home was a blur of streetlights and ice patches. My ribs pulsed with every turn. I rolled down the window, letting the cold slap me awake.

Halfway through a red light, my phone buzzed. Coach:

“Good effort. Need you checked out tomorrow. Don’t tough it out”. the text says

I stared at the text until the light turned green. Then came another buzz. Jensen:

Seriously, what’s her name? You’ve been weird since the hit.

I didn’t reply. I tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and tightened my grip on the wheel.

Her name sat on the edge of my tongue anyway. Molly.

The way she’d looked at me, it wasn’t the kind of thing you could mistake. It wasn't an attraction, not at first. It was recognition. Like she’d seen through the armor, through the noise, and right into the part of me I didn’t let anyone near.

That scared me more than the ribs ever could.

************************************************

The apartment was dark when I got in. I didn’t bother with the lights. I kicked off my shoes, dropped the bag, and went straight to the freezer for an ice pack. The sound of the fridge door thudding shut echoed too loud.

I sat on the couch, ice pressed against my ribs, TV dark in front of me. The hum of the city outside barely reached up here.

I tried to think about the game. About the win. The stats. Anything. But my brain didn’t cooperate.

All I saw was that stillness. The way she’d looked at me when everyone else moved. The calm in it. Like she knew something I didn’t.

My chest tightened. Not from pain this time. From memory.

************************************************

My phone buzzed again. Jensen, of course.

Text: “ Are you alive or dead”?

I thumbed back:

Alive. Stop texting!.

He shot another one right back:

Text: Are you ever gonna tell me what’s up?

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

The ice pack melted down my side, cold water dripping onto the couch. I didn’t care. I leaned back, head against the wall, and let the quiet settle.

Molly’s face drifted up in the dark behind my eyes. The line of her mouth. The sharp focus in her stare. The tiny flinch when she realized I was looking back.

It had been a split second, maybe less. But it landed deep.

And the more I tried to push it down, the harder it clawed back.

************************************************

A part of me hated it.

The idea that one person could crack me open like that—an omega, no less when I’d spent years building walls high enough to choke out feelings. I didn’t do bonds. Didn’t do the mess that came with them.

But that scent, that look… it was like the universe had other plans.

I stood and stretched, groaning at the pull in my ribs. Walked to the window. The city lights blinked back, indifferent.

Somewhere out there, she was probably asleep. Or trying to be.

And here I was, still hearing her name in my head like it was carved there.

I picked up my phone again before I realized it. Thumb hovering over messages. I didn’t even know her number. Didn’t know if she’d ever want me to.

But I could still see those eyes. Still feel the way the world had gone quiet when she looked at me.

Something in me shifted then. Not big. Just enough. Like the first crack in a frozen lake before it gives.

************************************************

The clock on the wall blinked past midnight.

I dropped the melted ice pack in the sink and went back to the couch. Sleep wouldn’t come. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her again. That stillness. That calm in the chaos.

And the way it hit me like a challenge I didn’t understand yet.

I exhaled, slow. “Hell,” I muttered to the empty room.

The silence didn’t answer.

But deep down, under the ache and the noise and the cold, I knew this thing wasn’t fading.

It was just starting.