CHAPTER 8

BLADES & BREAKAWAYS

Chapter 8: Unexpected Warmth

Blake Sinclair's POV

Something about Ryker Hayes had changed.

I wasn't sure when I started noticing it-maybe it was the way he lingered after practice, stretching longer than necessary, watching me go through my routines like he had nowhere better to be. Or maybe it was how he had stopped snapping back so harshly whenever I teased him about his horrific skating form.

He still rolled his eyes, still grumbled under his breath, but... I don't know. It wasn't the same.

And then there were the excuses.

"I should probably practice that stupid spin again."

"Coach told me to work on my balance. Guess I'll stay a little longer."

"You're doing that jump wrong. Let me-"

He was full of shit, obviously. But I didn't call him out on it.

Because the truth was?

I didn't mind.

I wasn't a huge hockey fan.

Too much brute force, too little grace. But somehow, I found myself watching Ryker's game from the VIP box, my arms crossed as I observed him tear across the ice like he had something to prove.

He was fast, aggressive-like a storm bottled up in a six-foot-something frame, ready to explode at any second. And yet, something was off.

His usual sharp movements were reckless, his focus fractured.

I could tell from the way his plays were just slightly mistimed, the way he checked someone harder than necessary, how his shoulders tensed even when the puck wasn't near him.

And then it happened.

A hard shove. A crash against the glass. A fist flying.

The arena erupted as Ryker and some guy from the opposing team went at it, gloves dropped, fists swinging. The referees scrambled to break it up, but Ryker wasn't letting go.

I gripped the railing, my stomach twisting.

What the hell was going on with him?

I didn't mean to wait for him.

I told myself I'd leave right after the final buzzer, but somehow, I found myself standing near the exit, arms crossed, watching as Ryker stormed out of the locker room.

He looked like hell.

His damp hair clung to his forehead, his knuckles were still red from the fight, and his expression was pure thunderclouds.

He almost walked right past me.

Almost.

"You looked like an idiot out there," I said casually, leaning against the wall.

Ryker stopped in his tracks, his shoulders tensing. His head turned, his dark eyes locking onto mine, and for a second, I thought he might actually snap at me.

But then he just sighed, rubbing his temple. "Yeah? Thanks for the expert opinion."

I studied him. "You can talk to me, you know."

His jaw clenched. "There's nothing to talk about."

Lie.

I could see it-the way he wouldn't meet my eyes, the way his fingers twitched like he needed to hit something just to feel grounded again.

I exhaled, shoving my hands into my pockets. "Fine. Then at least let me buy you coffee or whatever hockey players drink after punching people."

That got a snort out of him. His lips twitched-just barely-but it was there.

"You're a pain in the ass, Sinclair."

I smirked. "You're just figuring that out now?"

The next morning at practice, I decided to do something about it.

Ryker had been off, and I had a theory-it wasn't just hockey messing with his head.

"You need to loosen up," I told him, hands on my hips as he stood awkwardly in the middle of the rink.

He shot me a look. "I'm plenty loose."

"Yeah, if 'loose' means moving like a refrigerator on skates."

He groaned. "I hate you."

I grinned. "No, you don't. Now shut up and let me teach you something."

Skating behind him, I placed my hands lightly on his waist.

He stiffened immediately.

"Relax," I murmured, nudging him into a spin. "You're too tense."

"Maybe because you just grabbed my waist without warning," he grumbled.

"Oh, please. You'll live."

It took a few tries-Ryker tripping over his own skates, me laughing until my stomach hurt, Ryker cursing me out-but eventually, he got it.

A clumsy, barely-there spin, but a spin nonetheless.

I clapped. "Look at that, you're almost elegant."

Ryker shot me a dry look. "Shut up before I check you into the boards."

I just laughed.

For the first time in weeks, it didn't feel like we were walking on eggshells.

For the first time, it felt... easy.

Somehow, we ended up at his place that night.

An old hockey game played on the TV, but I wasn't really paying attention. My thoughts were elsewhere.

On Ryker, mostly.

The way he sat so close, his arm stretched along the back of the couch, his body warm beside mine.

The way his laughter sounded softer here, away from the rink, away from the cameras.

I didn't even realize I was drifting off until my head tilted, landing against his shoulder.

For a second, I expected him to pull away. To grumble, to shove me off.

But instead...

He just stilled.

His breathing slowed, his entire body going rigid-but he didn't move.

I barely processed it, half-asleep, too comfortable to care.

And Ryker?

Ryker just sat there, unmoving, staring at me like he was trying to figure out when the hell I had started feeling so damn important.