Page 3 of Rivals on Lockdown

The words sliced through him with surgical precision, finding the old wound Louis had spent years trying desperately to bury. Ice seemed to crystallize in his veins, but he kept his face carefully blank—a skill learned through too many cameras, too many moments like this. With deliberate movements, he grabbed his thermal shirt and turned away, using the motion of pulling it over his head to hide whatever truth might be showing on his face.

“I don’t hate you, Faulter,” Louis said, voice low and caustic, even as his heart hammered against his ribs. “You’re nothing to me.” The lie tasted like copper on his tongue, familiar and sharp, perfected over years of practice.

Kaden stepped closer again, the expensive wool of his coat brushing against Louis’s bare arm. “That’s cute,” he purred. “Is that why your heart’s pounding?”

Heat flooded Louis’s face, spreading down his neck. There was no way Kaden could know about his racing pulse, but that realization only made his face burn hotter. He hated how Kaden could read him so easily, how every defense he’d built meant nothing under that knowing gaze.

The locker room suddenly felt too small, too warm despite the winter air seeping through the high windows; he could hear the distant rumble of the cleaning crew’s vacuum, the last echoes of life in the building. Louis grabbed his underwear and pants from the stall, anger twisting in his gut. “Can you leave? I want to put some clothes on and get the hell out of here.”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” Kaden said, voice dripping with false sweetness. He took a few measured steps back and turned away, adding with honeyed venom, “Don’t worry about the size, Lou—I know it’s cold in here, no judgment.”

Louis yanked on his clothes with sharp, angry movements, then sat to pull on his socks and boots. Through it all, he could feel Kaden’s presence—still there, perched on the bench with his back turned like some brooding statue in that ridiculous designer coat.

Shoving the last of his things into his bag, Louis zipped up his parka and made for the door. His fingers closed around the handle, turned—and met solid resistance. He tried again, harder this time, but the door didn’t budge.

Something cold settled in his stomach as his eyes tracked between the handle and the lock mechanism. “What the fuck?” He turned to glare at Kaden. “Did you do this?”

“Do what?” Kaden’s voice held that same aristocratic boredom that made Louis want to punch him.

“We’re locked in.”

That got Kaden’s attention. He stood, all fluid grace even now. “What do you mean,locked in? I came in like thirty minutes ago.”

“Were there cleaners in the hallway?” Louis demanded.

“How should I know? I was too busy watching you take your pity shower.” But there was an edge to Kaden’s voice now, something less controlled.

“Did anyone come in here?”

“No.” Kaden’s perfect facade cracked just slightly as he crossed to test the handle himself. “I don’t know.”

Louis yanked his phone out of his pocket, but he already knew there was no service in the locker room—there never was, the thick concrete walls blocking any hope of a signal. He ran his fingers through his hair and let out a sharp breath. “Well, this is just fucking perfect.”

Chapter 2. Locked In

The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting harsh shadows across the room. A strand of Christmas lights Taylor had strung around the equipment cage flickered intermittently, their cheerful blinking at odds with the growing tension in the room. A forgotten Santa hat hung limply from one of the coat hooks, mocking their predicament.

“Check your phone,” Louis demanded, his voice echoing off the lockers.

Kaden pulled out his smartphone with exaggerated slowness. “No service,” he muttered, then dropped it back into his coat pocket. “Guess you’re stuck with me, darling.”

Louis slammed his fist against the door, pain shooting through his knuckles. The hollow sound echoed through the empty room. “Hey! Anyone out there?” Another hit, then another, each impact a desperate plea into the silence. He kept going, hoping some late-night security guard or cleaning staff would hear him, but the only response was the dull thud of his own fist against metal. After a full minute, his hand aching and useless, he let it drop to his side. Of course, no one would hear them—it was Christmas Eve, and the cleaning crew was long gone.

Louis huffed in annoyance, dropping his bag by the door with a thud before shrugging off his coat and letting it fall carelessly on top.

Kaden had already made himself comfortable on the bench again, pulling a leather-bound book from his bag as if this were some planned vacation. The casual way he turned each page made Louis’s blood boil.

“Are you fucking kidding me? You’re just going to read?”

“What would you prefer?” Kaden’s eyes flickered up, a hint of mockery in their blue depths. “We could cuddle for warmth. Play truth or dare or strip poker.”

“Go to hell.” Louis stalked to the high windows, studying the narrow rectangles near the ceiling. Outside, snow was still falling heavily, coating the glass. He dragged one of the wooden benches across the floor, the scraping sound satisfyingly harsh.

“What exactly are you doing?” Kaden asked, finally looking up from his book as Louis started wrestling a second bench on top of the first.

“What does it look like?” Louis grunted, steadying the makeshift tower. “I’m getting out of here. Some of us have places to be.”

He didn’t have anywhere to be, but Kaden didn’t need to know that.

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