Chapter 15: False peace

Leo doesn't speak to me at breakfast. He drinks his coffee, stares at the wall, and leaves for the garage without a word. He doesn't ask where I'm going, which is worse than him shouting. It means he’s already decided I’m guilty of something.

At 2:00 PM, my phone buzzes on the nightstand.

JAXSON: Practice at 6:00. Coaches are pushing a heavy scrimmage. Miller called out—said he has some family emergency in the city, so he won't be there. It’s just us. Come to the captain’s room at 5:30. My wrist is a mess.

A wave of relief washes over me so fast I almost feel dizzy. Miller won't be there. No prying eyes, no calculating smiles, no feeling like a camera lens is following my every move. For the first time in days, I can actually breathe.

I tell Leo I'm going to Sarah's to study. He doesn't even look up from his truck. "Be back by ten," is all he says. He’s given me more time, but the lack of eye contact feels like a physical blow.

The ice rink is a cavern of freezing air. I head straight for the back hallway, my sneakers silent on the thick rubber floor mats. When I enter the captain's office, Jaxson is already there, stripped down to his thermal base layer.

"Miller’s really gone?" I ask, dropping my bag.

"Yeah. He texted the coach an hour ago. Some crisis with his sister," Jaxson says. He looks less tense than usual. The jagged edge of his anger has smoothed out. "It’s quiet, Vance. Too quiet."

"Don't jinx it," I murmur. I sit on the bench beside him and take his hand. His skin is hot. I begin to massage the analgesic cream into the angry, red swelling of his wrist.

Jaxson lets out a long, ragged breath. He leans his head back against the wall, closing his eyes.

"You're good at this," he whispers, his voice low and husky.

"I’ve had a lot of practice with Leo," I say, focusing on the rhythmic circles of my thumbs.

I wrap his wrist with practiced precision, making sure the tension is exactly right. When I’m finished, Jaxson stands up. He doesn't grab his jersey immediately. He looks down at me, and for a heartbeat, I think he’s going to say something about the bridge. But he just nods. "See you in the stands."

The scrimmage is intense, but without Miller there to bait him, Jaxson plays with a fluid, terrifying grace. He isn't fighting the ice; he’s owning it. When the practice ends, he meets me at the side exit, his hair still damp from the shower, smelling of that cedar soap and victory.

"Hungry?" he asks.

"Jaxson, we shouldn't. I told Leo—"

"Leo thinks you're at Sarah's. And Miller is fifty miles away. One hour, Maya. Just one hour of being normal."

I cave. I want that hour more than I want my next breath.

We drive to a small, out-of-the-way diner three towns over, where nobody knows the him as the king of Eastview or me as the girl from the flats. We sit in a red vinyl booth, sharing a basket of greasy fries and talking about things that don't matter—music, movies, how much we both hate the school's cafeteria pizza.

When he drops me off a block from my house, the car is silent. The engine hums, a low vibration that echoes the racing of my heart.

"Tonight was... nice," I say, my hand on the door handle.

"It was perfect," Jaxson says. He reaches across the center console, his hand sliding behind my neck, drawing me toward him.

His lips hit mine. His mouth is warm and tastes like the peppermint he chews before games. I melt into him, my fingers tangling in the soft hair at the nape of his neck. The world outside the car windows disappears. There is only the heat of his breath and the way his other hand find the small of my back, pulling me closer until there’s no space left between us.

It’s intense. It’s heavy. If we weren't in this car, if we weren't a block from my brother, I know exactly where this would go. The air in the SUV is thick with a hunger that scares me as much as it thrills me.

We pull apart, both of us breathless, staring at each other in the dim light of the dashboard.

"Wow," I whisper, my voice trembling.

"Yeah," he breathes, his thumb grazing my swollen lower lip. "Wow."

I slip out of the car and float toward my house. I sneak through the back door and into my room, my skin still tingling from his touch. I fall onto my bed, staring at the ceiling, a stupid, giddy smile plastered on my face.

I check my phone.

Nothing.

No texts from the unknown number. No photos of the diner. No threats.

A weird feeling pricks at the back of my mind—a tiny seed of dread—but I push it down. Maybe the stalker got tired. Maybe Miller being away broke the link. Maybe, just maybe, the nightmare is finally over.

I replay the kiss in my head, over and over. I think about how close we were to losing control, how his hands felt on my skin, and I giggle into my pillow like a girl who hasn't a care in the world. I feel safe. I feel loved.

I fall asleep dreaming of what was close to happen. I almost had sex today. With the king!