Chapter 32 CHAPTER 32

Chapter 32 CHAPTER 32
Rafael's POV
The puck hit my stick with a satisfying thwack.

I was already moving, skating hard down the ice, weaving between defenders like they weren't even there. My breathing was steady. My focus sharp.

This was where I felt most in control. On the ice. Where everything made sense.

"Steele, left side!" Carter shouted, but I'd already seen the opening.

I faked right, and the defenseman bit hard. I cut left, my skates carving into the ice, and suddenly there was nothing between me and the goal except twenty feet and a goalie who was already shifting his weight the wrong way.

I pulled back and fired.

The puck sailed past the goalie's glove and slammed into the top right corner of the net.

Goal.

"Goddamn it, Steele!" The goalie—Jenkins—threw his stick down. "How am I supposed to stop that?"

"You're not," Mathias called from the bench, laughing. "That's the point."

Coach Walsh blew his whistle. "Reset! Blue team, tighten up that defense. You're giving Steele way too much space."

I skated back to center ice, barely winded. This was my third goal of practice, and we'd only been going for twenty minutes.

The curse might be slowly killing me, but it hadn't affected my game yet. If anything, I was playing better this season. More focused. More aggressive.

Probably because hockey was the only time I didn't have to think about everything else.

About Vivienne. About the mate bond. About witches and solutions and ticking clocks.

Coach blew the whistle again, and we were moving.

Carter won the faceoff this time, slapping the puck back to defense. I pressed forward, harrying the defenseman, not giving him space to think.

He panicked and tried to pass it across the blue line.

I intercepted it easily, already moving toward the goal again.

Two defenders converged on me. I dropped my shoulder like I was going to cut right—

And Vivienne's face flashed through my mind.

The way she'd looked three nights ago. Bruised. Terrified. Those marks on her throat.

My concentration slipped for half a second.

Just half a second.

But that was all it took.

The defenseman's stick hooked mine, and the puck went flying. Before I could recover, someone checked me hard from the side.

I hit the boards with a thud that rattled my teeth.

"Yeah!" The defenseman who'd hit me—Rodriguez—pumped his fist. "Finally got you, Steele!"

I pushed off the boards, shaking my head to clear it. What the hell was that?

"Steele! Focus!" Coach Walsh's voice cut across the ice.

I nodded, getting back into position. Focus. Right.

The puck dropped again.

This time I managed to get possession and make it halfway down the ice before my mind wandered again.

Was Vivienne okay? She'd seemed fine this morning at breakfast. Quiet, but fine.

Had she slept well? Emma said she'd been having nightmares.

And what if her uncle tried to come back? What if he—

A stick hooked my legs, and suddenly I was down, sliding across the ice on my side.

The whistle blew.

"Steele!" Coach's voice was sharp now. "What the hell is going on with you?"

I got to my feet, ignoring the helping hand Rodriguez offered. "Nothing. I'm good."

"You're not good. You've been off for the last five minutes." Coach skated over, his expression concerned. "You feeling okay?”

"I'm fine," I said quickly. "Just distracted."

"Distracted?" Coach's eyebrows rose. "You? Mr. Ice-Cold-Focus? What's got you distracted?"

I didn't answer.

Coach studied my face for a moment, then sighed. "Alright. Everyone, water break! Five minutes!"

The team scattered toward the benches. I stayed on the ice, hands on my knees, trying to get my head back in the game.

Mathias skated over, concern written all over his face. "Dude, you good? You never lose focus like that."

"I'm fine."

"You got knocked on your ass twice in five minutes. That's not fine." He lowered his voice. "Is it the curse? Are you feeling weak?"

"No. It's not the curse." I straightened up. "It's just... Vivienne."

Understanding dawned on his face. "Ah. The mate bond."

"I can't stop thinking about her. About whether she's okay. Whether she's safe. Whether—" I stopped myself. "It's driving me crazy."

"That's normal for mates," Mathias said. "The bond makes you hyperaware of them. Especially when they're nearby."

"She's not nearby. She's in class."

"But she's in the same building. That's close enough for the bond to affect you." He clapped me on the shoulder. "Look, I know it's intense. But you need to find a way to compartmentalize. At least during practice."

"I'm trying."

"Try harder. Because if you play like this on Saturday, we're going to lose. And Coach is going to bench you."

He was right. I knew he was right.

But knowing it and actually being able to focus were two different things.

My wolf was restless today. More than usual. He kept pushing at my consciousness, wanting to shift, wanting to find our mate, wanting to make sure she was safe.

It was taking more effort than it should to keep him contained.

"Five more minutes," I muttered. "I'll get my head straight."

"You better." Mathias skated back toward the bench.

I stayed on the ice, doing slow circles, trying to center myself.

Focus on the game. Focus on hockey. Focus on—

The door to the rink opened.

Not unusual. People came and went during practice all the time. But something made me look up.

Mrs. Patterson, the office secretary, stood in the doorway. Her eyes scanned the ice until they landed on me.

"Rafael Steele!" she called out. "I need you to come with me, please."

The entire team went quiet. Everyone stopped what they were doing to stare.

Being called out of practice by the office secretary was never good.

Coach skated over, frowning. "What's this about?"

"Principal Morrison needs to see him. Immediately."

My stomach dropped.

The principal? Why would the principal need to see me?

I ran through the last few days in my head. Had I done something? Skipped class? Failed a test?

No. My grades were fine. I'd been to all my classes. I hadn't been in any fights—

Well. Except for the one with Vivienne's uncle.

But there was no way they knew about that. Right?

We'd been careful. No witnesses. We'd even dropped him at the hospital anonymously.

Unless he'd told them. Unless he'd filed a police report and given my description.

Shit.

"Steele." Coach's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. "Go. Whatever this is, deal with it. We'll talk when you get back."

I nodded and skated toward the exit, my mind racing.

Mrs. Patterson waited by the door, her expression unreadable. "Hurry, please. Change quickly and meet me outside the locker room."

She left before I could ask questions.

I practically ran to the locker room, yanking off my gear as fast as I could. My hands were shaking slightly. Not from fear—from adrenaline.

If this was about what I'd done to Vivienne's uncle, I'd deal with it. I'd face whatever consequences came. Because I'd do it again in a heartbeat to protect her.

But, I hoped it wasn't that.

I threw on jeans and a t-shirt, not bothering with anything else, and headed out to find Mrs. Patterson waiting exactly where she said she'd be.

"This way." She started walking without another word.

"Can you tell me what this is about?" I asked, keeping pace with her.

"Principal Morrison will explain."

That was it. No other information.

We walked through the hallways in tense silence. Students were still in class, so the corridors were empty. Just the sound of our footsteps and my heart pounding in my ears.

We reached the main office, and Mrs. Patterson held the door open to the principal’s office inside. "He's waiting for you."

I stepped inside.

And stopped dead.

Because sitting in one of the chairs in front of Principal Morrison's desk, her face pale and her eyes red-rimmed, was Vivienne.

My wolf immediately surged forward, a growl building in my chest.

What the hell was going on?

Vivienne's eyes were damp—she'd been crying. Recently. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, knuckles white, and she wouldn't look at me.

Every protective instinct I had roared to life.

"Mr. Steele," Principal Morrison said from behind his desk. "Please, have a seat."

I didn't move. My eyes were locked on Vivienne, searching for injuries, for signs of distress, for anything that would tell me what had happened.

"Rafael." The principal's voice was firmer now. "Sit down."

My wolf was screaming at me to grab Vivienne and get her out of here. To tear apart whoever had made her cry. Even if it was the principal himself.

But I forced myself to stay calm. To think.

Whatever was happening, losing control wouldn't help her.

I crossed the room slowly and sank into the chair next to Vivienne. Close enough that our arms almost touched.

She glanced at me then—just a quick look—and I saw the fear in her eyes. The exhaustion.

Something had happened. Something bad.

I reached over and gently placed my hand over hers. Those sparks hit immediately, racing up my arm, and I felt her relax slightly at the contact.

"It's okay," I said quietly, just for her. "I'm here."

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

I turned to face Principal Morrison, keeping my hand on Vivienne's. "What's going on?"

The principal studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. He was an older man—maybe late fifties—with graying hair and sharp eyes that didn't miss much.

"Mr. Steele," he said finally, "I need to ask you some questions. And I need you to be completely honest with me."

My jaw tightened. "About what?"