AGAINST THE ICE

Chapter5

Rory POV

The walls felt tighter today, pressing in as I rode the elevator to the executive floor, a little higher, a little hotter, a little more suffocating with every passing second, and I kept adjusting my blazer, glancing at my reflection in the mirrored wall like it could magically make me feel more prepared for what was about to happen.

The HR office greeted me with a silence that wasn’t neutral—it was tense, deliberate, the kind that waits for someone to crack.

Max wasn’t here yet, and for a moment I was thankful, until I realized I had no idea if facing this alone was better or worse.

Marissa, sharp in her gray suit and sharper in her gaze, met me at the door with a clipboard tucked under her arm and the kind of tone that didn’t need volume to cut.

“Rory, come in,” she said, and I followed her into the conference room that looked smaller than it ever had—walls that used to feel solid now looked like they could collapse if someone breathed too hard, and as I sat down, I became hyperaware of the single empty chair beside me.

“This is a preliminary conversation,” Marissa said as she sat across from me, flipping open the file without really looking at it, “not disciplinary.”

Yet, I thought, but didn’t say it, even though the word hung between us like the smell of antiseptic in the room.

Then the door opened, and Max stepped in like he owned the air, all calm confidence in dark jeans and a navy shirt that fit too well and said too much, and the moment our eyes met, I forgot for a second that the room was full of consequences and remembered only that there was something unspoken and unfinished between us.

He took the seat beside me, and Marissa, without even looking up, said, “Mr. Logan, thank you for coming,” and Max’s response “Of course, wouldn’t miss it” landed somewhere between sarcasm and defiance.

“I’ll be direct,” she continued, eyes flicking between us now, “an anonymous report was submitted alleging a personal relationship between the two of you during Mr. Logan’s onboarding.

Is there any truth to that claim?” The silence was immediate, heavy, and then Max said “Yes” without turning to look at me, and I nearly stopped breathing.

Marissa’s pen paused mid-note. “You’re confirming a relationship?” she asked, and he answered evenly, “I’m confirming that Rory and I met before I joined the Wolves, a personal connection formed outside this organization, I stayed in a motel room with her after a flight delay, it was unplanned, circumstantial, and ended before I signed my contract,” and then, without missing a beat, added, “no relationship, no misconduct, no breach of team policy after I joined.”

Her attention shifted to me, and my voice didn’t shake when I said, “His account is accurate,” even though my hands were curled into fists beneath the table.

“That will be all for today,” she said, and the dismissal was as cold as the air-conditioning.

Max stood immediately, and I followed, and we walked out in silence, side by side, but when the door clicked shut behind us, the quiet between us cracked wide open.

“You didn’t have to take the lead in there,” I said as we moved down the hall. “Someone had to,” he replied without looking at me, and the brush of his hand against mine sent a jolt up my arm that I hated for how familiar it felt.

“You think that worked?” I asked, and he shrugged. “Bought us time.”

The elevator arrived, doors opening like a breath we’d been holding too long, and we stepped inside.

“Thanks,” I said quietly as the doors closed. “For what?” he asked. “For not denying it.”

He turned slightly toward me.

“You were the one at risk, it made sense,” and when I tilted my head, he just shrugged again.

“Still,” I said, but he didn’t respond, and we fell into a silence that was too loaded for comfort.

When the doors opened in the lobby, we hesitated, standing there in the glass light, not quite ready to split off, not quite brave enough to say what we really wanted to.

“I’m going to disappear for a while,” I said, and he tensed. “What does that mean?” “Lay low, keep quiet, give HR less reason to dig,” and when he asked, “Can you do the same?” I didn’t answer right away.

“Be invisible for once in your life,” I added, and his laugh was humorless.

“You’re asking a lot.”

“I know,” I said, stepping outside into the breeze that didn’t cool me the way I needed it to, and when I glanced back through the glass, he was still standing there, hands in pockets, eyes locked on me until I turned away.

Max

Practice was hell. The coach didn’t hold back, and the players were tense, the air heavy with silence and suspicion, the kind that wraps around your neck like a noose.

Liam tried to talk to me in the locker room, casual in tone but sharp underneath, and when he said, “People are talking,” I didn’t ask who, because I already knew the answer.

I took it on the ice and didn’t complain, didn’t react, didn’t retaliate—not even when the drills turned punishing, not even when the guys started checking harder, not even when the coach called me out in front of everyone. I just skated.

I skated like the air would tear me apart if I stopped. I skated until the rink emptied out and the lights dimmed and I was alone, moving slow laps on autopilot, trying to silence the noise in my head, trying to forget the feel of her lips on mine, trying to forget how good it had felt to say nothing and have her still understand everything.

When I finally came off the ice, the locker room was quiet.

Then there was a knock, and she was there. Jeans, hoodie, hair up, no pretense.

“You didn’t answer your phone,” she said.

“I was skating,” I replied. She stepped inside. “I’m not disappearing,” and when I blinked, confused, she said, “I changed my mind.” “Why?” “Because I’m tired of hiding.”

I stepped toward her. “This won’t be easy,” and she didn’t back down.

“It already isn’t.” We stood there, not touching but close, and when she said, “I don’t want to lie anymore,” I believed her.

I wanted to reach for her but didn’t. I waited. She reached first, fingers brushing mine, and I let them.

I cupped her jaw, slow, deliberate, and she leaned in. The kiss wasn’t soft—it was earned. It was real.

And when we broke apart, our foreheads touched.

“If this burns,” she whispered, “we burn together.” I nodded. “Then light the match.”

The door creaked.

Coach Baxter stood in the doorway.

Watching.