RUINED BY THE RIVAL: THE CAPTAIN’S SECRET SACRIFICE

RUINED BY THE CAPTAIN “You got some nerve showing your face here.” The voice cuts through the noise of skates and sticks before I even clear the locker room doors—deep, rough, like steel grinding over frost-bitten asphalt. I don’t stop. I don’t flinch. I keep walking, shoulders back, boots hitting the concrete hard enough to echo, until every head in the room turns my way. Old teammates. New recruits. Staff who know exactly who I am and exactly what happened the last time I walked through these halls. And then I see him. Kael Voss. Leaning back against the far lockers, arms crossed tight over his chest, the silver captain’s patch catching the harsh overhead light like a badge he never asked to wear. His jersey pulls taut over shoulders built from years of brutal hits and endless drills. That thin, pale scar slicing through his left eyebrow tugs sharp when his eyes land on me—like just looking at me pulls open a wound that never really healed. “Nice welcome committee,” I say, gripping the edge of my notebook until the plastic digs into my palm. “League signed the papers. I’m your new embedded reporter. Every practice, every press conference, every road trip. I’m shadowing you all season.” He pushes off the lockers and moves toward me. Slow. Unhurried. Heavy. Like he’s carrying something invisible that drags at his heels. I can smell him before he’s even within arm’s reach—cold rink air, sharp clean sweat, cedar aftershave, and something darker, wilder, that makes my skin prickle and my breath catch. “Get reassigned,” he says, voice low enough only I can hear, rough like he’s swallowing glass. “Tell them you’re sick. Tell them you quit. Tell them anything. You don’t want to be this close to me right now.” I tilt my chin up, even though my pulse hammers so hard I can feel it in my teeth. “Funny. You didn’t seem to mind being close enough to ruin my whole life five years ago. You didn’t mind the cameras then. You didn’t mind dragging our names through the mud where the whole world could see.” He stops right in front of me. So close I have to tilt my head back just to meet his eyes. For a split second his gaze drops to my mouth—hungry, raw, something I can’t name flashing dark and fast—then snaps back up like he’s burned himself looking. He lifts one hand, knuckles scraped raw, fingers calloused from stick and blade, and I tense waiting for the shove I deserve. Instead he slams his palm hard against the metal locker right beside my head. The bang rings out sharp and loud, bouncing off the walls until the whole room goes dead quiet. “You think you know what happened,” he growls, breath hot against my temple, vibrating through my bones. “You think you got me all figured out—arrogant prick who stole the spot, stole the girl, burned everything down just because he could. But you walked right into something you can’t walk back out of. And I’m the only one who knows how to keep you breathing.” “Then tell me!” My voice cracks sharp, tears stinging my eyes before I can stop them. “Stop hiding behind all this silence and tell me why! Why me? Why him? Why did you have to destroy everything?” His jaw works. His lips part like he’s about to say it all right there, in front of everyone. Like the truth is sitting heavy on his tongue, ready to spill. Then he shuts his mouth tight, swallows hard, and steps back so fast the air between us feels like it snaps. “League rules,” he bites out, grabbing his stick off the bench, grip white-knuckled. “Embedded staff stays with the captain. You wanna dig around? You wanna act like you’re tough enough for this? You do it where I can watch every single move you make. Penthouse keys are at the front desk. Be there in an hour. No excuses.” I stare at him, chest tight and aching. “You’re actually serious?” “Be there.” He pauses at the door, back still to me, shoulders hunched like he’s bracing for a blow. “And Ember? Lock your doors. Don’t open them for anyone. Not old friends. Not people you think you trust. Not even if they say they’re sent by me. If I tell you to run—you run. No questions. No looking back. You just go.” He walks out before I can answer. But I see it—the way his hand shakes around the stick. The way he hesitates for half a second like he’s fighting the urge to turn around. The way he breathes out slow and broken the second he thinks no one’s watching. I stand there for a long minute, fingers pressed hard to my mouth, and all the hate I carried for five years suddenly feels thin and fragile. I’d hated him every single day. I’d built my whole new life around that anger. But standing here, surrounded by the familiar smell of ice and rubber and old memories I tried so hard to bury, my throat feels tight enough to choke on. I remember the way he used to stand quiet in the background at parties, never saying much, just watching me when Liam wasn’t looking. I remember the way he’d always hang back to walk me to my car after practice, even when he barely spoke a word. I remember the night everything fell apart—the way he didn’t look triumphant, or angry, or satisfied. He looked gutted. My notebook slips a little in my grip, and I tighten my hold until my knuckles burn. The room is still quiet, still watching, still waiting for me to blow up or leave. But I don’t blow up. And I don’t leave. I tuck the book under my arm, lift my chin, and walk toward the doors he just vanished through. My boots hit the floor steady, even though my insides are shaking apart. I came here for answers, and I’m not walking away empty-handed. Not this time. CHAPTER 1 END