Page 35 of Ruthless Blade

Well, not all of the trash. My gaze met Ivy’s as she stood there watching me with a weird look in her eyes. She quickly left the house as well, following behind Garcia. Something told me we weren’t done with either of them, and if Ivy was anything like the mean girls I’d witnessed in high school, I was screwed.

He turned away from the guys, took my hand out of Hazel’s and steered me toward the kitchen and to the back porch. The crowd parted for us like the Red Sea, whispers starting up again the moment our backs were turned.

Hazel followed us outside, laughter on her face. “Wow, you really put on a show back there.”

I shook my head, not saying anything. There was a slight pang in my heart as my thoughts drifted to my brother. Is this what things would’ve been like if he were here? I couldn’t help but think if it hadn’t been for me, he would’ve been with his friends making memories. He always fit in with people better than I did. I couldn’t help but wonder if Kayden blamed me too. “Lex, you okay?” Hazel leaned forward, her hand resting on my shoulder.

I could feel Kayden’s gaze on me, but I refused to look at him. I couldn’t show signs of weakness. Not in front of them.

I gritted my teeth and nodded. A small, pathetic smile came on my face, but I didn’t utter a word. Kayden’s friends and teammates came out, and I was once again forgotten...

Chapter Seventeen

LEXI

Friday morning, I was excited, and a little too eager to get up. I’d gone to the party like Hazel had asked, and Kayden ordered, which meant it was time for me to get down to business.

I was up at four this morning, enough time to get dressed and get to the rink before the hockey team showed up for practice. Hazel gave me a ride in, since she had to be there to help her dad, anyway.

The rink this early in the morning was an entirely different beast. It smelled like steel sweat and damp rubber. It’s perfect.

I stepped onto the fresh sheet, instantly feeling at home. At peace. My thoughts ventured back to Kayden’s speech on the ice a week ago. How he thought he owned the rink because a few NHL scouts were sniffing around his stats. He thought my anxiety and my past injury meant I was fragile enough to break under a little intimidation. Under pressure.

He’s obviously forgotten who I am.

I glided towards the center of the ice, right over the painted Timberwolves logo where he usually took his face-offs. The ice doesn’t belong to him. It belonged to whoever was willing to bleed for it. I threw my arms out, locked my core, and launched into a routine.

The freezing air bit at the bare skin of my neck, but I didn't care. It feels so good. I let my blades glide over the blue line, tracing the exact path where the team had run drills.

I looked down at the freshly flooded surface, smooth as glass. His ice.

"Fuck you Kayden," I whispered to the empty bleachers.

I started with simple crossovers, building up momentum, letting the familiar rhythm wash away the months of doubt. My ankles throbbed slightly, protesting the leather of my skates, but the ache felt good. It’s like I’m living again. Not a broken shell of a girl. I pushed harder, accelerating into the neutral zone, my heart hammering fiercely against my ribs.

I threw myself into a three-turn, transitioning effortlessly to backward skating, my eyes locking onto the logo.

His territory.

This was where he took his draws, where he commanded his team, where he thought he was untouchable. I dropped my hips, deepened my edge, and prepared for the entrance to a double salchow.

One, two, spring...

I launched into the air, drawing my arms tight to my chest. For a split second, the gravity of my past failures vanished. I spun, the rafters blurring above me, before landing clean on my right edge, my left leg extending beautifully behind me.

A loud, slow clap echoed through the empty arena.

I slammed my left foot down to brake, spraying a wave of fine ice crystals into the air. My head snapped toward the player’s bench.

Sitting on the boards, wearing hockey track pants and a gray hoodie with the sleeves pushed up, was none other than the world’s biggest jerk. He had a roll of black stick tape in one hand and a bottle of Gatorade in the other. He wasn't smiling. His dark eyes locked onto mine, tracking the heavy rise and fall of my chest.

Go away, Kayden. I can’t fucking think around you.

"Nice jump," his voice carried across the quiet rink. He put the Gatorade and tape down and hopped off the bench. The plastic of his skate guards crunching loudly against the rubber flooring as he walked toward the open gate. "Too bad I told you to stay off my ice."

I placed my hands on my hips, resisting the urge to wipe that stupid smirk off his face.

I prayed he would go away and leave me alone. Things between us were weird. One minute we were pretending to be the happy couple we wanted everyone to think we were, and the next we were at each other’s throats.