ICY GAMES: My Brother's Rival

4.CONSUMED BY MADNESS

Chapter 4: CONSUMED BY MADNESS

~QUINTESSA~

I stared at the black reflection of my dead phone screen, my hands shaking so violently I nearly dropped it onto the floor.

Shoving the charger into the port, I crawled into bed without even changing out of my clothes.

The silence of the dark was the only thing I could use as a fragile shield to pretend for just a few hours that my future wasn’t leaking onto a campus gossip page.

The morning sun didn’t bring relief; it brought a headache instead.

My fingers trembled as I unplugged my phone and tapped directly on the bookmarked link for The DCU Blade.

PRE-SEASON LEAK: ICE TITANS CAPTAIN MADDOX JAKES SPOTTED WITH MYSTERY LADY.

My breath hitched as I swiped down to the second photograph, waiting for the absolute worst.

But as the image loaded fully, a wave of relief washed over me.

The deep shadow cast by the SUV’s passenger door, combined with the motion blur of the lens, completely obscured my features. My face was a smear of pixels.

Unless someone was looking for my exact height and outfit, I was unrecognizable.

I was safe. For now.

But that was the wake-up call I needed.

Last night hadn’t been an accident the second time. It was deliberate, heavy, and intoxicating. An absolute luxury I couldn't afford.

I knew I had to draw the line. Immediately.

Later during the day, I walked into the athletic training ground with my clipboard gripped against my chest like a shield.

I’d spent the morning burying myself in paperwork, avoiding the training rink until I had no choice but to drop off the weekly medical compliance sheets at the team bench.

The arena was filled with the deafening sound of scraping steel blades and heavy pucks slamming against the plexiglass.

"Hey, Tessa" George called out, coasting toward the barrier with a teasing grin. "You saw the Blade this morning? Our golden captain’s got some secret girl."

“Any idea who’s brave enough to handle that grumpy bastard?"Bryan added, skating toward George.

I kept my expression entirely blank. "I don't read the gossip, George. I just handle the team affairs."

"Right, affairs." Ryder’s gravelly deep voice echoed from behind, but he wasn't looking.

Maddox skated up to the bench, his jersey damp with sweat, his dark knowing eyes instantly locking onto mine as he rested his gloved hands on top of the plexiglass barrier, looking entirely unbothered.

"The Blade makes a lot of assumptions," George continued, "Care to give our coordinator a hint, Maddox?"

A slow, knowing smile tugged at the corner of Maddox’s lips—an arrogant look that told me exactly how clearly he remembered the taste of my lips in the dark.

"She doesn't need a hint, George," His voice dropped an octave. "Our coordinator already knows exactly who I spend my time with."

My heart skipped violently, but I maintained my rigid mask of pure professionalism.

"Actually, Mr. Jakes, I only know what's listed on your official training schedule," My tone clipped at every syllable as I handed him the compliance pen with a stiff, unyielding arm.

"Please sign at the bottom. We have an immense amount of work to do before the Championship Qualifiers, and I don't have time for distractions."

The knowing smile vanished from his face instantly, replaced by a sudden, rigid tension that locked his jaw.

He exchanged glances with George, before shoving the clipboard to George's chest.

Right. I should've remembered he hadn't changed his decision yet.

I watched his back as he left without a word.

Everyone skating stopped to watch him as he walked out. He was really done… but I wasn't even an inch near giving up.

"Thank you," I said to the rest of the teammates and they scribbled down their signatures. "Have a good practice."

I turned, headed out as if I was in my right mind.

But the moment I reached the locker room corridor, my chest flipped in a way it'd never before.

Days stretched into a brutal routine of strict avoidance.

I’d become a total ghost holding either a jotter or clipboard that vanished the exact millisecond practice ended.

If I had to be in the same room as Maddox, I placed other players between us. I’d stopped answering his lingering glances.

It was working. Or at least, I’d kept telling myself it was.

"You're missing a signature on the equipment inventory, Tessa," Ryder said, stepping into the small coordinator's office without knocking.

He leaned casually against the wooden doorframe, a relaxed smile on his face, but his light eyes were sharp.

"I'll have it sent to the manager by noon, Ryder." I replied, keeping my voice level.

"No rush," he said, stepping fully into the small room. "Just noticed you've been acting like the ice is radioactive since that Blade article dropped. And Maddox looks like he wants to tear the head off anyone who skates near his line. Coincidence?"

My heart did a slow thud, but I forced a dry laugh. "Maddox always looks like that. If that’s all, I really need to finish entering these statistics."

Ryder lingered for a second longer, his gaze dropping briefly to my sneakers before returning to my face. "Sure thing, Tessa. Don't work too hard."

The moment his footsteps faded, I let out a ragged breath. Ryder was entirely too observant for my own good.

By the second week of my self-imposed exile, the tension had shifted from cold to explosive.

Maddox’s play on the ice had become terrifyingly aggressive, letting out his frustration through raw violence.

On an afternoon, I was hiding in the auxiliary equipment shed behind the main arena, counting replacement pucks to lose myself.

The air inside was isolated and thick with the scent of heavy rubber and old skate wax until the heavy metal door suddenly slammed shut, cutting off the sunlight entirely.

I snapped my head up, my heart leaping into my throat.

Maddox. His frame blocked the exit as he stood against the shut door.

He was wearing his dark grey athletic sweats and a tight black t-shirt that accentuated the rigid lines of his shoulders.

His dark eyes burned through the dim lighting.

“Captain," I breathed, stepping back until my spine hit the cold metal shelving. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be in video review."

"I walked out," he said in a rumble that vibrated through the small space. He took a slow, deliberate step toward me. "Because if I had to sit in that room and watch you look at every single person on the roster except me for one more minute, I was going to lose my goddamn mind."

I blinked, throwing my face to the other side.

“I don't know what you're talking about, Captain.’ I lied, but the look on his face told me he wasn't buying it.

He scoffed. " It's Maddox, Wren."

I shook my head, disagreeing. “It's Captain Jakes—"

"Maddox, Wren." He corrected. “We kissed…" His cruel stress on the last word reminded me of every reason I’d been avoiding him.

“There are rules."

"I don't give a damn about the rules, Quintessa," he growled, closing the remaining distance in two heavy strides.

He didn't touch me yet, but he leaned in so close I could feel the furious heat from his skin.

The intoxicating scent of winter air and clean sweat shattered every defense I had built.

"You think you can just erase it? You think you can just look at me like I’m a stranger after what happened?"

"But it's not supposed to mean anything to you. " I whispered, my eyes stinging with sudden, frustrated tears.

His expression softened for a second, a flicker of something raw and deeply pained crossing his features before the cold, possessive wall locked right back into place.

He reached out, his large, calloused hand gripping the edge of the metal shelf right beside my head, trapping me against his chest.

"And you think I want it to?…" he asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous, intimate whisper. His gaze locked onto my mouth, his breathing turning heavy.

All of a sudden, I didn't know what words to put together.

"You think I want to be jealous of my own teammates? I’ve spent two weeks watching you smile at George, watching you talk to Ryder, while I get absolutely nothing from you. I’m not built for this, sophomore. I don't do the whole 'ignore each other' game."

"Then don't do it," I pressed my palms against his chest to maintain distance.

The solid, pounding rhythm of his heart only made my own pulse race faster.

"Just leave me alone. Let me finish my project, let me pass this year, and we can both go our separate ways."

"Separate ways?" Maddox let out a dark chuckle, his face dipping lower until his lips were barely an inch from mine.

The proximity was a beautiful yet torturous gravity.

"Too late for that, Wren. You crossed the line when you told me to stop trying. You don't get to run back across it just because you're scared of the fire."

"Yes, I am…" I admitted, my emotions betraying me as a tear strayed down my face. "And so what?"

He stared down at my tear, his jaw tightening.

Slowly, with an unexpected gentleness, he lifted his other hand and gently brushed the tear away with his thumb.

The contrast of his rough skin against my cheek made me gasp, my fingers instinctively tightening in the fabric of his t-shirt.

"There's nothing to be terrified of, Wren." he murmured against my skin with a heavy, unyielding certainty. "Stop ignoring me. It's driving me f*****g crazy."

Before I could reply—before my brain could remind me of the gossip columns, or the dangerous text message from my brother—Maddox leaned down and closed the remaining distance.

The kiss wasn't like the one in the dark arena.

It wasn't hesitant. It was a possessive, territorial claim that utterly consumed my entire being.

His hand slid into the hair at the back of my neck, tilting my head up and pulling me firmly against his chest until there was no air left between us.

I groaned softly, my clipboard slipping from my fingers and clattering to the floor as I wrapped my arms around his neck, surrendering to the madness.

Every single logical thought I had maintained for the last two weeks dissolved into absolute nothingness.

I was a second-year student with a shattered life, and he was a dangerous, arrogant hockey captain with too many secrets—but in the heat of the equipment shed, with his mouth moving hungrily against mine, he was the only thing that felt real.

When he finally pulled away, his breathing was ragged, his dark eyes darker than I had ever seen them.

He rested his forehead against mine, his grip on my neck still unyielding, refusing to let me slip away again.

"Strictly professional," he mocked softly, a faint, breathless trace of that familiar, arrogant smirk returning to his lips. "How's that working out for you, sophomore?"

I couldn't find a witty retort.

I just looked at him, my lips tingling and my chest heaving, knowing that whatever boundary I had tried to build was gone forever, buried completely under the ice.