CHAPTER 4

BLADES & BREAKAWAYS

Chapter 4: Off the Ice

Blake Sinclair's POV

The last place I wanted to be was in a press room, sitting next to Ryker Hayes, pretending we didn't want to kill each other.

Yet, here we were.

Bright lights, rows of reporters, cameras flashing-it was the kind of attention I was used to, but today, it felt suffocating. The charity ice show was still a month away, and somehow, the media had turned it into the biggest spectacle of the season.

I wasn't surprised. A hockey enforcer and a figure skater being forced to work together? People ate up stories like this.

Ryker sat beside me, arms crossed, looking like he'd rather take a slap shot to the face than answer a single question. He was stiff, jaw clenched, his usual scowl in place.

I sighed internally. Was it really so hard for him to act civil for an hour?

A reporter cleared her throat. "So, Blake, how has it been working with Ryker so far?"

I smiled, my media-trained reflexes kicking in. "Oh, it's been... interesting."

Ryker scoffed under his breath. I nudged his shin with my skate, warning him to behave.

"Interesting how?" another journalist pressed.

I glanced at Ryker, daring him to say something nice. He didn't. Of course, he didn't.

I plastered on another smile. "Let's just say we have very different approaches to skating. But we're figuring it out."

Ryker finally spoke, voice low and gruff. "Yeah. He nags a lot."

I turned to him, raising an eyebrow. "And you don't listen."

A few chuckles rippled through the room. The reporters were eating this up.

The moderator moved on. "Ryker, what's been the biggest challenge for you so far?"

He exhaled sharply, shifting in his seat. "Uh... not punching Sinclair in the face."

Laughter erupted, but I just rolled my eyes. This guy really had no filter.

"Charming," I muttered.

"Honest," he shot back.

The moderator smiled, clearly entertained. "Well, it sounds like there's a bit of a rivalry here."

I shook my head. "No rivalry. Just... adjustments."

Ryker didn't argue. Maybe he was actually trying to behave now.

But then one of the reporters-Ethan-leaned forward, eyes sharp with interest.

"Blake," he started, "you've been in the public eye for a long time. After your accident last year, do you feel like this charity event is your way of proving something?"

I stiffened.

I should've seen this question coming.

"Not at all," I said smoothly. "I'm doing this because I believe it's a great cause."

Ethan didn't let up. "But the pressure must be intense, right? Especially with the Olympics coming up. Do you ever worry about whether you'll be able to compete at the same level again?"

My stomach twisted. I felt Ryker shift beside me.

I forced a smile. "I appreciate the concern, but I'm focused on the present."

Ethan turned his attention to Ryker. "And you, Ryker? You're known for being one of the most aggressive players in the league. Do you think this event will change how people see you?"

Ryker's expression darkened. "Don't really care how people see me."

Ethan smirked. "Interesting. You care enough to be here, though."

Ryker's fingers curled into a fist on the table.

I didn't know why I did it, but I reached under the table and tapped his knee. A warning. A reminder to let it go.

He exhaled sharply but didn't say anything else.

The interview wrapped up soon after, but the tension in the air still lingered.

As soon as we stepped out of the press room, I was ready to shake off the whole thing.

But Ryker wasn't.

He turned to me, expression unreadable. "That Ethan guy. He always asks crap like that?"

I shrugged. "It's his job."

Ryker frowned. "Still. You don't have to take that."

I blinked. "Why do you care?"

He hesitated. "I don't."

Liar.

I studied him for a moment. He looked... uncomfortable. Like he didn't even understand why he was annoyed on my behalf.

I smirked. "Didn't peg you for the protective type, Hayes."

His jaw ticked. "I'm not."

"Uh-huh."

He exhaled sharply. "Let's just go."

Later that night, after hours of practice, I found myself sitting in a hotel bar with Ryker Hayes.

It wasn't planned. We just... ended up here.

The place was quiet, dimly lit, with only a few people scattered around. Ryker had a beer in front of him, and I had a whiskey, because if I was going to deal with his brooding silence, I needed something stronger.

He hadn't spoken in a while. Just sat there, staring at his drink like it held the answers to life's problems.

I swirled the ice in my glass. "You always this fun to drink with?"

He let out a dry chuckle. "Depends on the company."

I smirked. "So I'm bad company?"

He glanced at me. "Didn't say that."

Something about the way he said it made my stomach flip.

I looked away, focusing on my drink. "You don't talk much about yourself."

"Neither do you," he countered.

Fair point.

I took a sip, letting the warmth settle in my chest. "You ever think about what you'd be doing if you weren't playing hockey?"

Ryker was quiet for a moment. Then, he exhaled. "No."

"Liar."

He shot me a look. "I don't."

I tilted my head. "So, what? Hockey is your whole life?"

His fingers tightened around his glass. "It's what people expect."

I frowned. "And what do you expect?"

He didn't answer right away. When he finally did, his voice was quieter. "Doesn't really matter, does it?"

Something in my chest ached.

I studied him, the way his shoulders were tense, the way his gaze was distant. For the first time since meeting him, Ryker Hayes looked lost.

I didn't know why, but I wanted to say something. Do something.

Instead, I just raised my glass. "To expectations, then."

His lips twisted into something that wasn't quite a smile. But he clinked his glass against mine anyway.

"Yeah," he muttered. "To expectations."

And for the first time, sitting in this dimly lit bar, I realized something.

Maybe Ryker Hayes and I weren't so different after all.