AGAINST THE ICE

Chapter2

Max POV

Three days. That was all the time it took for fate to find me again. And it found me in a blazer, high heels, and the sharp, cool stare of a woman I never expected to see again. Rory Ashford. My one-night reprieve from a life built on regret.

I’d walked into Mark Ashford’s office expecting a standard meet-and-greet. Shake hands, fake smiles, rehearse redemption. But when the door opened and Rory walked in, everything tilted.

My heart didn’t race. It froze.

She didn’t flinch, either. That was what hit me hardest. She walked in like I didn’t know every inch of her skin, like I hadn’t kissed her neck in the dark while a snowstorm raged outside a North Dakota motel. She wore her mask well, but her eyes they told another story.

"Nice to meet you, Miss Ashford," I said, the words brittle on my tongue.

Her smile was thin, professional. "Pleasure."

Bullshit.

Mark clapped me on the shoulder like we were old friends. "Max is going to be the turnaround story of the year. We’re giving him the clean slate he deserves."

Rory didn’t miss a beat. "Clean slates are only useful if you understand what dirt was there in the first place."

Ouch.

I gave her the smallest of nods. Fair play. I left her without a word after one of the most honest nights of my life. If I were her, I’d have said worse.

Mark continued, oblivious. "Rory will be your primary liaison. She’ll oversee your reintegration PR, media, behavioral check-ins."

I looked between them. "You’re assigning your daughter to manage my image?"

"She’s more than qualified. You’ll be in capable hands."

Yeah. I already knew that.

Rory arched an eyebrow. "Hope you don’t mind working closely."

There was no good answer to that, so I just shrugged. "I’m here to do the job."

The meeting wrapped fast after that. She left first, posture straight, heels echoing. I stayed behind a few seconds longer, pretending to study the team roster on the table.

Really, I just needed a moment to breathe.

The Wolves’ locker room had that same unmistakable smell of sweat, leather, adrenaline. But it didn’t feel like mine. Not yet.

I’d burned bridges in two cities. Vancouver might be my last shot. Keep your head down, Logan. Don’t start fights. Don’t screw up. Don’t chase the boss’s daughter, no matter how good her legs looked walking out of a room.

"Logan!"

I turned to find Coach Baxter glaring at me. "Skates on. Ice in five."

"Got it."

Practice was a blur of drills and bodies, but I held back. No hits. No taunts. I wasn’t here to be the old Max.

But my focus shattered when I caught her in the observation box, arms crossed, clipboard in hand. Rory wasn’t writing anything. She was watching me.

Just me.

I wiped sweat from my brow and gave her a slow nod.

She turned away.

Still pretending.

After practice, I headed for the elevator. The doors were just starting to close when a voice called out.

"Hold it."

Rory stepped in, brushing past me. The air turned electric.

She hit the button for the 5th floor. "We need to talk."

"Yeah? About what? The weather?"

"Don’t be an ass, Max."

"It's a hard habit to break."

She gave me a tight glare. "I’m serious. We have to set boundaries. Rules. Expectations."

"Right. Because that’s worked out great for us so far."

She folded her arms. "I mean it. We can’t let what happened interfere."

I leaned against the wall. "I’ve got news for you: it already has."

Her jaw tightened. "This job matters. My father is trusting me."

"And I’m trying not to get kicked out of the league. So believe me, I’m not looking to repeat anything."

A beat of silence passed. Tense. Loaded.

Then, quietly, she said, "Why did you leave? That morning. You just disappeared."

I met her gaze. "Because I knew who you were. And I knew if I stayed, it would get complicated."

"And running made it simpler?"

"No," I said honestly. "It made me a coward."

She looked stunned. Then she looked away.

The elevator dinged.

She stepped out without another word.

I couldn’t sleep that night. I replayed every word of that elevator exchange like a film reel in my mind. She wanted rules. I wanted clarity. What we had in that motel room wasn’t a mistake. It wasn’t an accident. It felt like something real. But now she was treating it like a liability.

And maybe it was. I couldn’t afford distractions, and Rory? She wasn’t just a distraction. She was the one person who saw me clearly in the dark, when I had no defenses.

The next morning, I arrived early. The gym was empty, save for one figure at the far wall.

Her.

Rory was boxing. Not gracefully. Not with finesse. But with raw frustration.

I leaned against the doorway, arms folded. "Are you planning to knock out the press corps next week?"

She jumped, startled, then wiped sweat from her brow. "Stress relief."

"Looks like stress is winning."

"What do you want, Max?"

I walked forward. "To understand why you’re pretending that night didn’t matter."

"Because it can’t."

"Wrong answer."

"Max—"

"No," I cut in. "You don’t get to rewrite what happened. I was there, too. You didn’t look at me like I was a mistake. You kissed me like I was a lifeline."

She closed her eyes briefly. "And then you vanished."

"To protect you. To protect myself. I was stupid. But don’t stand there and act like we imagined it."

She opened her mouth, but whatever she was going to say got lost in the sound of a phone buzzing nearby.

She grabbed it from the bench. Her brows furrowed.

"What is it?" I asked.

She turned the screen toward me.

A social media post.

Anonymous. Crude. Accusing Rory of sleeping with players. A picture of us blurred but damning taken at the airport.

My stomach dropped.

She looked up at me, eyes wide. "It’s already started."