Ruined on Ice

~Taylor~ The roar of the crowd inside Linden Arena was already building like thunder rolling in from the mountains. I leaned forward on the cold metal bleacher, my breath fogging in the frigid air, and tugged the sleeves of Rory’s oversized jersey over my hands. Number 19. Calloway stitched across the back in bold white letters. God, I loved wearing it. It still smelled like him, his cologne mixed with the faint trace of hockey gear and that stupidly expensive laundry detergent his mom sent every month. “Taylor, girl, you need to calm down,” Becky said, elbowing me with a grin. She was bundled in a Linden Wolves hoodie, her dark curls spilling out from under a beanie. “Chill. The game hasn’t even started yet.” “Leave her alone, Becks,” Samantha—Sam—laughed from my other side. “She’s in full WAG mode. Let her glow.” I couldn’t help the smile that stretched across my face. WAG. Wife and Girlfriend. I wasn’t a wife, well, obviously, but after eight months with Rory Calloway, it felt real. He was everything. Star forward for the Wolves, charming as hell, the type of guy who remembered my coffee order and left little notes in my textbooks. Everyone on campus wanted him. And he was mine. Linden University sat tucked in the foothills of the Cascades, where winter started in October and didn’t quit until April. Hockey wasn’t just a sport here, it was religion. The Wolves were having their best season in a decade, currently sitting first in our conference. Tonight's game against our biggest rivals, the Northwood Hawks, could put us three points clear at the top of the standings. The arena was sold out, the student section a sea of black and silver. My phone buzzed in my lap. Sis flashed on the screen. I answered immediately. “You’re actually here? I thought you were going to bail again.” Lila’s voice came through, slightly breathless. “I’m walking in now. This place is insane. Where are you guys?” “Section C, row twelve. I’ll wave when you get close. Hurry—the warm-ups are about to start.” I hung up and bounced on my toes, scanning the tunnel where the teams would eventually spill out. Rory had texted me earlier from the locker room: Gonna score one for you tonight, baby. Love you. My heart did that stupid flip it always did when I thought about him. He was my first everything. First real boyfriend. First guy I had ever slept with. The only guy. And even after all these months, the memory of his hands on me still made my skin heat. Becky nudged me again. “Your sister’s finally caving to the hockey cult?” “Apparently. I’ve been begging her for weeks. She hates sports, but she said she wants to see what all the fuss is about.” Sam smirked. “She’ll get it once she sees Rory fly down the ice. Or Maverick Stone throwing someone into the boards like a rag doll. That man is violence wrapped in muscle.” I rolled my eyes. “Maverick’s on the other team, Sam. We’re not supposed to notice the enemy.” “Speak for yourself. I notice everything about that man. Brown hair, hazel eyes, shoulders like a damn mountain. The enforcer who actually enjoys his job.” The arena lights pulsed as the Jumbotron started hyping the crowd. I stood up, scanning for Lila near the entrance. My phone buzzed again, a text from an unknown number with a video attachment. Probably spam, but the thumbnail caught my eye. It looked like……skin? I almost deleted it, but curiosity won. I tapped play, turning the volume low. The video was shaky, shot in low light. A guy’s bare back. Familiar tattoo on the shoulder blade, a small wolf outline. Rory’s tattoo. My stomach dropped. Then the camera panned. A girl underneath him, moaning, legs wrapped around his waist. Maeve. My roommate Maeve. Her red hair spilled across the pillow I had bought her for Christmas. The angle shifted, and I saw Rory’s face, eyes closed, mouth open in that way I knew too well. I couldn’t breathe. The video kept playing. Thirty seconds of them. Together. In our dorm. “What the f**k……” I whispered. Becky turned. “Taylor? You okay?” Fuck no. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Rory wouldn’t—He loved me. He called me his good luck charm before every game. The video ended with a text overlay: Thought you should know. My vision blurred. The arena noise faded into static. I shoved the phone at Becky without thinking. “I can’t— I have to—” “Taylor, wait—” I was already moving, pushing past knees and coats and excited fans. My boots slapped against the concrete steps. The cold air hit harder as I burst through the side exit into the concourse. People were still streaming in, laughing, wearing jerseys. I felt like I was drowning in the middle of a party. Tears burned my eyes. He was my first. The only one. I had trusted him with every piece of me, and he had been f*****g my roommate behind my back. Probably laughing about it. I turned a corner too fast and slammed straight into a wall. Except it wasn’t a wall. Strong hands caught my arms to steady me. I looked up, way up, into hazel eyes framed by dark brows. Brown hair slightly damp, like he had just showered. Broad shoulders stretching an Northwood Hawks hoodie. Maverick Stone. Just great. Everyone knew him. The quiet enforcer. The guy who made opposing players bleed without saying a word. And once upon a time, when we were kids, he had lived three houses down from me. I’d had the dumbest crush on him at twelve years old, watching him shoot pucks in his driveway, heart fluttering every time he looked my way. “Watch where you’re going,” he said, voice husky, nothing like the light tone he had once had. Yeah, puberty would do that to you. Then his eyes narrowed in recognition. “Jensen?” For a second, something almost like concern flickered across his face. “Are you—” “Mind your f*****g business, d**k,” I snapped, wrenching out of his grip. Tears were already spilling over. I didn’t wait for his reaction, which granted could have been explosive since I called him a d**k. I ran, past the concession stands, past the security guards, out into the freezing night air where snow had just started to fall. My phone kept buzzing. Texts. Calls. Probably Becky and Sam. Probably Rory wondering where his perfect little cheerleader girlfriend was. I didn’t stop running until my lungs burned and the arena lights were far behind me.