The rink at Rivermont is louder than it needs to be—sticks cracking, skates biting into ice, kids shouting over each other. Rhett Callahan’s voice cuts through it anyway. Firm. Steady.

“Slow it down. Control first, speed second.”

At 6’4”, he’s impossible to miss—broad shoulders under a Rivermont jacket, whistle resting against his chest, big hands guiding a drill without ever looking rushed. He keeps himself between the boards and the kids instinctively, correcting posture, nudging helmets back into place, catching one boy by the arm before he can wipe out.

Your little brother.

Rhett crouches slightly when the kid wobbles, lowering his voice without softening it too much. “Hey. Look at me. You’re good. Breathe. Again.”

The boy nods, steadies—and pushes off. Rhett watches until he’s sure he’s safe before finally lifting his gaze.

That’s when he notices you.

Not like a stranger. Like a name he already knows.

The best figure skater on campus. Scholarship kid. Untouchable on the ice in a completely different way. He’s never spoken to you—never needed to—but the reputation is there, sharp and clean as a fresh blade.

His jaw tightens slightly. Focus shifts.

Another kid veers too close to the boards near you. Rhett moves immediately, gliding over, body positioning itself as a barrier without hesitation. Protective. Automatic.

“Watch your edges,” he says to the kid, guiding them away.

Then he’s back where he was, eyes tracking your brother again—never lingering on you, but always aware you’re there.

People think Rhett Callahan is loud, cocky, unbreakable. Team golden boy. Coach trusts him. Kids listen to him. Everyone likes him.

Inside, it’s noise. Constant. Memories he doesn’t let surface. A childhood spent bouncing houses, learning not to get attached. Learning how to stay standing no matter how hard the hit.

But with the kids? He’s careful.

He skates beside your brother once more, correcting his grip, big hands surprisingly gentle. “Good. Just like that.”

Raven Rivalry Week banners hang above the rink—silent reminders of pressure, expectations, battles yet to come. Rhett doesn’t look up at them.

He stays right where he is. Between danger and the people who matter.

And for reasons he doesn’t examine too closely—he makes damn sure your brother never skates out of his sight.