CHAPTER 10

BLADES & BREAKAWAYS

Chapter 10: Damage Control

Blake Sinclair's POV

The kiss shouldn't mean anything.

It was too short, too hesitant, too unfinished to be anything more than a mistake. At least, that's what I keep telling myself.

But the problem with mistakes is that they don't leave behind the kind of silence this one does.

Ryker hasn't spoken to me since that night. No texts, no sarcastic remarks, no lingering glances when he thinks I'm not looking. Just avoidance-like the kiss was some kind of crime and I was the scene of it.

And honestly? It pisses me off.

I pull my skate laces tight, inhaling sharply as I sit at the edge of the rink. The charity ice show is in just three days, and we're nowhere near ready. We should be working on our synchronization, refining our movements, not pretending the other doesn't exist.

But Ryker Hayes is a coward.

I'm not.

"You're off-balance."

My voice cuts through the tension as Ryker stumbles out of a spin, his skates skidding against the ice.

Ryker exhales sharply, running a hand through his dark hair. "Yeah? No shit."

I cross my arms. "Maybe if you weren't avoiding looking at me, you'd actually stay upright."

His jaw tightens, but he doesn't respond. Instead, he skates to the other end of the rink, gripping his hockey stick like it's the only thing keeping him grounded.

I exhale, my breath visible in the cold air. This isn't working. The tension between us is wrecking our performance.

"Again," I say, skating to the center. "We need to get this right before the show."

He hesitates for half a second before taking his position beside me. The moment our hands brush-just barely-he flinches.

I clench my jaw.

Fine. If this is how he wants to play it, I'll play.

After an hour of failed attempts at our routine, Ryker storms off the ice, muttering something about needing to cool off.

I watch him go, frustration curling in my chest.

"Damn," a voice says beside me. "You two are a disaster."

I turn, finding Cole Ramirez leaning against the rink's barrier, arms crossed, an amused but knowing look on his face.

I exhale sharply. "If you're here to give me some 'hockey bro' wisdom, spare me."

Cole chuckles. "Nah, I'm here to talk some sense into that idiot over there." He jerks his chin toward Ryker, who's currently pacing near the benches like he's debating whether to punch something or run.

I watch him, something tight pulling in my chest.

Cole sighs. "Look, I don't know what's going on between you two, but I do know Ryker. And when he starts acting like a cornered animal, it usually means he's scared of something."

I swallow. "Yeah? Well, he's not the only one."

Cole raises an eyebrow, but I don't elaborate. Instead, I skate off, leaving Cole to deal with Ryker's mess.

Because I have my own thoughts to untangle.

That night, the rink is quieter.

I expected Ryker to be long gone by now, but when I step onto the ice for one last run-through, he's still there.

He's standing at the center of the rink, his hockey stick resting against his shoulder, his expression unreadable.

I exhale and skate toward him. Enough is enough.

"If you regret it," I say, voice steady despite the storm raging inside me, "just say it."

His grip on his stick tightens, but he doesn't look at me.

I let out a bitter laugh. "God, you really are a coward, aren't you?"

That gets a reaction. His eyes snap to mine, sharp and defensive. "You don't know what you're talking about."

I raise an eyebrow. "Don't I?"

Something flickers in his expression-something raw, something vulnerable. But before I can name it, he turns away.

I clench my fists. "You kissed me, Ryker. You. And now you're acting like it didn't happen. Like I don't exist."

He exhales, running a hand down his face. "It's not that simple."

I shake my head, anger and hurt swirling in my chest. "It is. You just don't want to face it."

He doesn't answer.

I wait. But when it becomes clear that he isn't going to say anything, I scoff and skate away, leaving him standing alone in the center of the ice.

I don't know why I linger outside the rink later that night. Maybe I just need air. Maybe I think too much.

Or maybe I'm just waiting for something I know won't come.

The night air is sharp against my skin, my breath visible in the cold. I lean against the railing, watching the empty parking lot.

Then-footsteps.

I don't have to turn around to know it's him.

Ryker doesn't say anything. He just steps beside me, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, his body tense like he's fighting an invisible battle.

I exhale sharply. "You're exhausting."

He huffs a quiet laugh. "Yeah. I know."

Silence stretches between us, thick with unsaid things. I should walk away. I should tell him to figure his shit out on his own.

But then-warmth.

A heavy weight settles on my shoulders. I blink, startled, as Ryker's jacket drapes over me.

I turn to look at him, heart stuttering. He stares straight ahead, jaw tight, like he doesn't want to acknowledge what he just did.

I exhale, something inside me softening despite myself.

I pull the jacket tighter around me, the scent of Ryker lingering in the fabric.

Neither of us speaks.

But something shifts again.

And this time, neither of us runs.