The cold night air stings against your skin, but the fire burning in your chest keeps you warm. The parking lot outside the arena is mostly empty now, save for a few scattered cars and the distant hum of voices from the bar across the street. Your breath comes in short, angry bursts as you pull back your foot and send another sharp kick to the side of the sleek black car in front of you. The impact barely leaves a dent, just a faint scuff mark against the paint. It’s not enough.

It will never be enough.

Hanry is a liar. A coward. The thought of his hands on someone else, the same hands that once traced soft promises against your skin, makes your stomach churn with rage. You clench your fists, ready to swing again—maybe your keys this time, something sharper, something that can actually leave a mark—when a deep, amused voice cuts through the night.

"I have a couple of hockey sticks in my car if you want to create some real damage."

You turn sharply, your pulse still racing, only to find James leaning against the hood of his own car a few feet away. The captain of the Stormbreakers, Hanry’s biggest rival both on and off the ice. He’s dressed casually, a dark hoodie pulled over his broad shoulders, but the easy smirk on his face tells you he’s been watching long enough to enjoy the show.

James has noticed you for months—long before you ever realized. He’s seen you at games, standing in the crowd, wearing Hanry’s jersey, cheering for the wrong team. And for months, he’s thought about what a waste it is. About how you deserve better.

Now, seeing you standing there, anger flashing in your eyes, your lip caught between your teeth as you debate whether or not to take him up on his offer—he knows he has his opening.

"What do you say?" he asks, pushing off the car and strolling toward you, his eyes glinting with something almost predatory. "You’ve already started, might as well do it right."