Breaking the Ice

Chapter Thirty-Three: Foul or Fair Play?

Anna's POV

I sat on the cold metal bleachers, the stadium lights casting long shadows across the rink. The Hawks and the Lions were at each other's throats once again in the final qualifier game for a coveted spot in the league. The scoreboard glowed: The Hawks were ahead by a narrow margin. The crowd was half cheering, half biting nails. In the middle of the ice, I saw Marcus and his brothers, huddled together, helmets pulled low, determination in their eyes.

The Lions had been trailing for much of the game; they knew this was make-or-break. Then, Marcus raised his hand, called for a timeout. On the ice, the referees signaled. His coach skated over, and the team clustered around. I could hear snippets because of where I sat and Marcus's voice rang out as he shouted over the noise of the crowd: “…switch to the left wing…,” “…gap’s closing too fast…,” “…go for the break at the thirty-five mark….” The huddle broke, and the whistle blew; the Lions came out of the timeout with fresh energy, pushing forward with renewed drive. Marcus's head angled to me and I didn't miss his crooked smile and easy wink. He had a plan, and I was sure it was certain as hell going to piss off Carter. I couldn't help the grin that pulled across my face even though my heart was hammering about what was going to happen here between my school team and the team led by the guy after my heart.

"Wipe that grin off your face, Anna," Courtney nudged me in my rib with an elbow. "You're once again sitting on home ground seats while you're drooling over the opposing team's hot captain."

"Yeah, well...." a sigh escaped me as the rink came alive once more with movement.

Ice swirled beneath their skates; Marcus's eyes locked onto the puck coming from the corner. He took off, weaving, his brothers supporting his flank. My heart thumped harder as the Lions gained momentum. Suddenly, the tide of the game turned. The Lions surged ahead, threatening to take the lead.

And then: chaos. As Marcus sprinted down the ice, trying to punch through the defense, a hard check came. A player I instantly recognized as Carter, aggressive in pursuit, collided with him. Not a clean check—Marcus went down hard. He hit the ice with a heavy thud, the rink echoing the sound in the bleachers. The crowd gasped. For a moment, the world slowed. I froze.

The moment I saw Marcus lying there—helmet askew, his body still—something inside me snapped. I leaped from my seat and ran onto the rink. The official called a stoppage; coaches and staff skated over. My sneakers squeaked on the floor beside the rink as I made my way across the boards.

Marcus’s coach was right there, kneeling beside him, momentum forgotten. Richard McKay stood nearby, anxiety etched on his face. I reached the group and exchanged a glance with Marcus's father before pushing past the coach and looking down at Marcus. My voice trembling, I asked, “Is he okay? Did the check go too hard?” The coach looked at me, his jaw set. His gaze wandering to Marcus's father before looking at me once more.

“He’s been hit hard, but we’ll get him up,” he said.

I watched as Marcus coughed a bit and shook his head as Peter and Damian reached his side, worry etched on their faces. “You guys okay? Was that too late?” Marcus's words fell on deaf ears as the emotions swirled on his brother's faces. Peter's hands clenched at his sides as Damian's face turned dark. Marcus's father didn’t respond immediately; his eyes held a mix of frustration, concern and something harder—maybe blame. I felt the weight of that expression: this game, so full of ambition and hope, had tilted into something darker.

I helped Marcus to his feet after the medic did their checks. Slowly, carefully, Marcus sat up, rubbed his helmet, eyes blinking. I looked at Marcus.

“You okay?” I asked quietly. He nodded slowly, the fight still in his eyes, but his breath heavier. “Good. Let’s sit you down for a minute.” I guided him to a bench seat, pulled his gloves off for a moment, and rummaged for water.

The coach came by again, placing a steady hand on Marcus’s shoulder: “Take your time. We’ve still got a chance.”

I watched as Marcus took a few sips of water, looked out at the ice where his team peeled away from the bench, ready to restart. The energy in the rink was electric again—but my gaze kept flicking to Marcus, to the tension in his leg, the slight hesitation in his movement.

"Are you sure you're okay to go back out there? If you're hurt...." My words were stopped by Marcus's lips clashing with mine.

My breath got stuck in my chest as his lips meshed with mine and his tongue teased my mouth open. He tasted of salt and toffee and my mind became a puddle of goo as I wrapped my arms around his neck and he pulled me flush against his chest. I didn't even bother to complain when the stiff exterior of his vest dug into my flesh as his tongue dove deep, as though reaching for something further.

As we came up for air, Marcus shot me that devilish grin before leaning in again to press a soft kiss to my lips.

"I'm all better now. Best therapy ever," he grinned as I felt my face flush.

"You're insane," I pressed my palms to my face as he continued to grin sheepishly at me. He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear before leaning down to my right ear.

"My dad saw that, by the way. Pretty sure Peter sprained something while trying to hold him back." Marcus once again silenced my protest with one more kiss before grabbing my hand and leading me back to the rink.

"Marcus, that's not funny," I said as he adjusted his helmet and shot me another wink. "Are you sure you're good?"

"I'm fine, babe. After we win this, you could strip me down and check for yourself. I'll be a willing participant."

I felt my face go red again as he entered the rink once more and joined his brothers with his teammates at the center line.

Carter and the rest of the Hawks were watching Marcus closely as the referee gave them all a stern warning before play commenced. I made my way back to my seat next to Courtney, who had a foul look on her face.

"What's up with you?" I asked her, but her eyes were glued to the rink and she didn't answer me.

I shouted encouragement to my own team, cheered every shift. I could feel the minutes ticking down, the pressure mounting. Finally, in a burst of speed and coordination, Marcus executed a play that cut through the Hawks defense. Marcus carried the puck at the top of the circle, popped it to Damian, Damian fed it back, Marcus shot—goal. The rink exploded. The Lions had taken the lead.

My breath caught. I stared, rooted to the spot. The Hawks coach skated off his bench, shaking his head, jaw tightening. The game clock flashed: the final seconds. The Hawks scrambled to launch one last attack—and then the buzzer. Marcus’s team had flipped the script and clinched the qualifying spot.

Marcus skated over to me on the bench, helmet off, hair plastered to his head, sweat and relief mingled on his face. He offered her a shaky grin. He mouthed something inaudible that I couldn't make out, but before I could ask him, he was bombarded by his teammates and coach.

Courtney stood from her seat and walked off just as Damian skated to the edge of the rink and watched her leave. His eyes met mine for a second as a small smile played on his face before joining the rest of the team in celebration.

Carter and the rest of the Hawks bustled past me and I didn't miss the scornful looks on their faces as they walked by. A heaviness settled in my chest as my heart was torn between the loss my team suffered and the achievement Marcus and his brothers made today.

I stood at a crossroads, not quite sure what to make of it.