Page 4 of Rivals on Lockdown

“You’re not getting out through that window, Spiderman.” Kaden’s voice was sharp with amusement. “First of all, that broad chest of yours won't fit through there, and secondly, there’s no handle—the window doesn’t open. And you’re definitely not making it if broken glass gets involved.”

Louis ignored him, climbing onto the stacked benches. The wooden structure swayed precariously under his weight.

Behind him, a book snapped shut, and Kaden’s voice cut through the air. “Do you want to break your fucking neck?”

Louis ignored him and reached for the window, fingers searching for any grip. No handle. He pushed against the glass experimentally, then banged on it.

“Taking all those hits must have really scrambled your brain, sweetheart,” Kaden said, but there was an edge to his voice. “Though watching you fail is always entertaining—”

The benches shifted beneath him. Louis felt his balance waver, tried to catch himself, but it was already too late. The world tilted sideways as he fell, and the crash of his body hitting the bench echoed through the locker room. A sharp burst of pain shot through his leg.

“Fuck, you absolute moron!” Kaden’s expensive shoes appeared in his field of vision, and then suddenly, he was there, dropping to his knees beside Louis, his face shadowed with worry. “Hey, can you hear me?”

Louis blinked, head pulsing. As he tried to sit up, spots danced in his vision, and then he felt the warm wetness trickling down his leg. Blood was seeping through his pants where he’d caught his ankle on the bench.

“Oh shit—” The room tilted as Louis stared at the growing dark stain.

But Kaden was already moving. He yanked up Louis’s pant leg, then pulled a crisp white handkerchief from his pocket, folded it into a pad, and pressed it against the wound.

“Hold this,” he ordered, voice tight. Then he unwound his silk scarf—the gold “Hermès” lettering glinting in the fluorescent light—and, with surprisingly skilled hands, began wrapping it around Louis’s ankle as a makeshift bandage.

“There’s a medkit somewhere in here,” Louis said as Kaden pulled the ends of the silk scarf tight around his ankle.

“This is just to keep you from bleeding all over the floor,” Kaden said, “Now that we have time, we can find the medkit, clean the wound, and wrap it properly before it gets infected.” His arm slid around Louis’s waist, warm and steady, as he helped him up. “Come on, tough guy.” When Louis tried to take a step, pain shot up his leg. He grabbed Kaden’s shoulder instinctively, fingers digging into the wool coat.

They made their way to the intact bench, each step a careful negotiation. Louis could feel Kaden’s breath against his neck.

“I’ll look for the medkit,” Kaden said.

“It’s fine,” Louis muttered, dropping onto the bench. “Don’t need anything else.”

Kaden’s eyes found his, holding that familiar mix of mockery and something unreadable. “If you want to get an infection and have your leg amputated mid-season, then sure, it’s fine.” His gaze swept the room before landing on a white cabinet mounted on the far wall. “Ah. There it is.”

Louis didn’t protest this time. He watched Kaden retrieve the kit, then carefully lay his wool coat and suit jacket across the bench beside them. He folded back his shirt sleeves in neat, precise rolls up to his elbows before kneeling in front of Louis.

Something in the room shifted. The snap of latex gloves punctuated the silence as Kaden pulled them on. One by one, he laid out bandages, antiseptic, and gauze on the bench in front of him with the same methodical focus he brought to the ice.

“Hold still,” Kaden murmured, carefully lifting Louis’s injured leg to rest on his thigh. His fingers ghosted over the makeshift bandage where blood had begun to stain the silk, darkening its pattern. Louis found himself studying the familiarintensity in Kaden’s expression—a look he usually only saw during games.

“I could’ve done this myself,” Louis said, his voice rougher than he intended.

Kaden’s laugh was soft and bitter. “You’d probably bleed to death just to spite me.” His touch was careful as he cleaned the wound, the sting of antiseptic making Louis hiss. Kaden pressed the pad against the wound, his hands steady as he wrapped the fresh bandage with slow, deliberate movements.

“There,” he said finally, fingers lingering at Louis’s ankle. “That should hold.”

Louis swallowed hard. “Thanks.”

Kaden peeled off the latex gloves, those blue eyes finally meeting Louis’s. “Well, you’re welcome. Can’t have you dying on me—no one would believe I didn’t murder you.” He stood up, brushing invisible dust from his knees. “Though I have to admit, the headlines would be delicious. ‘Hockey’s Golden Boy Snaps, Murders Rival on Christmas Eve.’“

Louis snorted before he could stop himself, hating how easily the sound had escaped. He pulled out his phone again, powering it off and on in desperate hope of finding a signal. Nothing. Then, the reality of their situation hit him like a punch to the gut. “Oh god,” he breathed, panic creeping into his voice as the pieces clicked into place. “Tomorrow’s Christmas. Everyone’s gone home. Nobody’s going to check this place for days.”

Something flickered across Kaden’s face—a crack in his usual smug composure. His perfect facade slipped for just a moment as the reality of their situation sank in. “Wait, what?” He tried to mask his growing unease with a dismissive wave of his hand, but his voice betrayed him, the practiced confidencewavering. “Someone’s bound to come looking for you. We’ll be found. Today or tomorrow morning, latest.”

Louis shook his head. “Nobody’s going to look for me.”

“You have a family, don’t you?” Kaden’s tone was oddly serious now, studying Louis with unexpected intensity.

“Just my aunt. We can go days without talking. She won’t realize anything’s wrong for a couple of days at least.”

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