Page 105 of The Roommate Remodel

With the crowd erupting in cheers and adrenaline surging through my body, I do it without thinking—look up to where Jaz normally sits, expecting to see her smiling face and that brief connection between us.

But this time, there is no moment. Her seat is empty. My stomach clenches as the anger comes roaring back.

She knew Alex’s secret and didn’t tell me.Why?

I barely have time to think before Felipe is out of the penalty box and on the hunt for me. His eyes burn into me from across the rink.

That man is nothing if not persistent.

Coach Thompson calls us out for a line change. When I reach the bench, I wipe the sweat off my neck with a towel.

“What happened to Sloan and Jaz?” Vale asks when he sits next to me. “Jaz would never miss a game.”

Now’s not the time to tell him what happened. I doubt even Coach Thompson knows about Alex’s plans.

“Don’t know,” I growl, keeping my eyes on the game.

“Do you think Sloan’s okay?” he asks, his forehead wrinkled in concern. “Why else would they leave before the end?”

Vale can’t let it go, and I don’t want him to worry needlessly. “Sloan’s fine. I had a fight with Jaz. She probably left for that reason. Can we stop with the questions now?”

Vale stares at me like he refuses to believe it. “No way would she leave a game. Even if you had a disagreement, she wouldstay. Sloan wouldn’t let her walk away.”

I won’t meet his eyes. “It was more than a disagreement. She kept something from me.”

“You’ll get over it,” he says, trying to reassure me.

“I trusted her,” I say, refusing to look at him. “If she can’t be honest with me, what future is there for us?”

Vale turns away from me, stunned.

At least he’s respecting my wishes by not asking more questions.

“Now isn’t the time to make a rash decision,” he mutters.

“Then we both agree on something.”

The crowd groans as bodies clash and sticks fight for the puck. Rourke and Felipe battle against the boards, followed by the shrill blast of whistles. Rourke flashes Felipe an angry look before pushing him hard in the chest.

“Not good,” I mutter as Rourke gets sent to the penalty box.

If the team can’t stay under control, we’re going to lose this lead.

“Rourke’s itching to fight,” Vale notes, taking one last swig of his water bottle. “At least he didn’t throw a punch at Felipe. He saw the way you were being treated and couldn’t wait to get his hands on the guy. Can’t say I blame him.”

We’re down a player, and it will be tough keeping Felipe from using that to his advantage.

We head back on the ice, and when the puck drops, I’m ready to end this game with Felipe.

My shoulder gives a familiar throb as I weave between opponents, while trying to keep my anger in check. I glance over at Felipe, who’s locked on me with a sickly glare, like he’s waiting for an opportunity to take me out.

The cold, crisp smell of the ice fillsmy nostrils as the puck hurtles across the rink toward my opponents. We’re outnumbered until Rourke can return, which means we’re going to need to play better than we ever have before.

Fear and adrenaline spiral through my chest as Felipe watches my every move. I keep my distance so I can stay two steps ahead while my mind churns through a whirlwind of strategy. How will I outmaneuver the man who knows his playbook almost as well as I do?

I push away that seed of doubt, lunging forward to gain speed.

As soon as Leo gets the puck and passes it to Vale, Felipe switches direction and skates toward me with a hunger in his eyes. I instinctively hustle away from him, my skates carving the ice with precision. He’s chasing my heels, trying to bear down on me, waiting for the right time to attack me.