Chapter 68

ADRIEN

The air in the rink had shifted. I felt it the second I got into position, my stick steady on the ice, breath held at the edge of focus. We were up, we were ready, and I was locked in—until I saw Nate skate up beside me, his brows knit tight under his helmet.

"Dude," he said, glancing toward the crowd. "Something's going on up there."

I turned, following his gaze.

And everything inside me went still.

My eyes locked on the back row, on the small commotion starting to ripple through the crowd. Then I saw her.

Kaia.

Standing there with Amy, tension in her shoulders, her posture stiff. They were surrounded by a bunch of guys who were clearly saying too much, too close.

I narrowed my eyes and recognized them instantly.

Callum.

Ian.

The rest of his crew, they were all up there.

What the hell were they doing here?

The game hadn't even restarted yet, and people in the stands were already starting to shift uncomfortably. Whispers. Phones going up. The noise level changed—not the kind of excited buzz we usually hear during a third period lead, but uneasy murmurs.

I yanked my helmet off and held it at my side, the cool air hitting my damp hair.

My eyes scanned up again just in time to see Callum take a step toward Kaia, his mouth moving too fast, too loud, his hands jerking in that cocky, angry way I've seen too many times before.

Amy stepped in front of Kaia, yelling something at him—but she wasn't afraid. She was never afraid.

Kaia, though.

Kaia looked like she didn't know where to go. Her body flinched slightly as Callum got too close again.

I was already moving toward the bench when I saw it.

He swung his arm.

Carelessly. Recklessly.

And his elbow slammed straight into her face.

Hard.

She crumpled.

She didn't even make a sound—just dropped like her entire body shut down.

The arena gasped. Loud. Sharp.

Amy's scream sliced through the noise.

"KAIA!"

"Shit," Nate muttered next to me.

But I didn't hear anything after that.

Everything else went silent.

My pulse pounded in my ears.

And then I saw red.

Before Nate could even grab my arm, I was already moving—skating straight to the bench, my strides cutting into the ice like blades through flesh.

"Adrien, wait—!" Nate called out, but he was too slow.

I heard nothing but the roaring in my head.

I didn't even stop to hand off my stick.

I just ran.

Vaulted over the bench wall, leapt up the stairs of the stands two at a time, knocking shoulders and pushing bodies out of my way.

People tried to stop me.

They couldn't.

I found Callum still standing there like he didn't just destroy everything.

And I lost it.

I shoved through the last person in front of him and punched him hard in the face. The force of the hit made his head whip to the side and he staggered back, knocking into the chairs behind him.

"You son of a bitch!" I shouted, advancing.

He barely had time to react before I raised my stick and slammed it across his ribs. I didn't care that people were screaming at me. I didn't care that they were filming. I didn't even care about the game anymore.

He hurt her.

And he was going to pay for it.

I swung again, hitting him across the arm, the shoulder, the chest. He cried out, trying to shield himself, but I didn't stop. Not until three security guards tackled me from behind and pulled me off him.

I fought them. I didn't want to let go.

They dragged me back, and I twisted to get one last look at Kaia.

I couldn't see her.

Too many people were in the way. My heart dropped.

Then I saw medics rushing up the stairs with a stretcher.

A sliver of relief. But not enough.

Not nearly enough.

Because that fucking asshole had hurt her.

And I don't care if I get benched, suspended, arrested—I swear to God, if anything happens to Kaia...

I'm gonna fucking kill Callum.

OoO

The fluorescent lights in the station were too damn bright. They buzzed overhead like they were mocking me, slicing through the migraine pulsing behind my eyes. I sat stiffly between my father and our lawyer, arms crossed, fingers twitching, trying to stay still.

But I couldn't.

All I could think about was her.

Kaia.

Was she okay?

Was she awake? Was she hurt worse than I thought? Did she get the help she needed?

My knee bounced restlessly under the table, and even when my dad nudged it to stop, I didn't.

Coach and Nate stood a few feet behind us, talking in low voices to one of the officers, trying to de-escalate things. I could hear them say words like "adrenaline" and "emotions running high," but it didn't matter. I had tuned out of the conversation the second we got here.

All of this—the station, the interrogation, the paperwork—it didn't matter.

Because while I sat here in this stale room with my fists still aching from the impact, Kaia was somewhere else. Maybe still unconscious.

The thought alone twisted my insides until it felt like I couldn't breathe.

And the worst part? He—Callum—he got to walk away.

For now.

If I ever saw him again...

"Mr. Dupont," the officer's voice cut through my thoughts. I blinked, realizing I'd been staring blankly at the table.

Our lawyer leaned forward slightly.

"Yes?"

The officer looked between him and my dad before clearing his throat.

"Given the witness statements, the videos circulating, and the reports filed, your son is currently facing charges for aggravated assault and use of a weapon—though, since it was in a sports context, we're talking hockey gear, the judge may be lenient."

My dad's jaw clenched.

"Now," the officer continued, "we're letting him go tonight under supervision. No holding cell. But he'll need to show up for the hearing in two weeks. And if the victim—Callum Morris—presses charges, it could escalate."

"He was not the victim," I snapped, finally speaking.

"Adrien," my dad warned.

But the officer just sighed.

"Legally, that's for the court to decide."

The minute he finished, I was already on my feet.

"I'm done here," I muttered and turned to leave.

"Adrien!" my dad called after me.

I ignored him.

I stormed out of the station into the cool night air and didn't stop until I reached the sidewalk.

The door creaked open behind me. Footsteps. Then a firm grip on my arm.

He turned me around fast.

"What the hell were you thinking tonight?" he snapped. "Do you realize what you've just done?"

I looked at him, eyes bloodshot, jaw tight.

"I did what I had to do."

"You could've ruined everything. You were suspended the minute they saw the footage. You assaulted a kid with your hockey stick in front of an entire arena. Reporters are already swarming the school board."

I stared at him, chest heaving.

"For what, Adrien? For some girl?"

"She's not just some girl," I said, the words leaving my mouth before I could stop them. "I love her."

He froze. Like the air had been knocked out of him.

"I love her," I said again, quieter this time.

And I meant it. I felt it in my bones, in the raw edges of my heart. That's why it hurt so damn much. That's why I snapped.

My dad stared at me, stunned into silence.

"We'll talk about this at home," he finally muttered before turning and walking off without another word.

I turned back toward the station, only to find Nate walking out behind me, phone in hand. His face was pale.

"Hey," I said, voice hoarse. "Anything?"

He nodded.

"Amy texted. They admitted her to St. Luke's."

My stomach dropped.

"She's got a concussion. They're keeping her overnight."

My heart felt like it cracked in half.

"Shit," I whispered. "Is she... okay?"

Nate gave me a look—gentle, but heavy.

"She's stable. But she hasn't woken up yet."

I didn't realize how bad my hands were shaking until I looked down at them.

"I have to go see her."

"I figured," he said. "Come on. I'll drive."

I followed him, silent, numb. The ache in my chest only getting worse with every step. And as we pulled out of the parking lot, all I could do was pray that when I got to her... she'd be awake and waiting for me.

Because if anything ever happened to Kaia—I don't think I'd survive it.