Page 7 of Rivals on Lockdown

“Want some?” Kaden’s voice was quiet, the bottle hanging between them like a peace offering.

Louis wanted to say no. It felt like accepting defeat somehow. But the cold had sunk deep into him, making his teeth want to chatter, and suddenly, warmth felt more important than pride. He reached up, his fingers finding the bottle and brushing against Kaden’s hand in the process.

The whiskey burned, but it was a good burn—the kind that promised heat and forgetfulness. He was still processing the sensation when Kaden lowered himself to the floor, settling a careful two feet away. Close enough that Louis could sense his presence, could catch the faint scent of that expensive cologne, but far enough that they weren’t quite sharing space.

They passed the bottle back and forth in silence. Minutes stretched into half an hour, marked only by the soft sound of the bottle changing hands and the occasional swallow. The whiskey was working its way through Louis’s system, making everything softer around the edges. The cold didn’t feel quite so sharp anymore, and the darkness had taken on a comfortable weight.

When Louis reached for another sip, Kaden’s fingers stayed wrapped around the bottle, not letting go.

“I shouldn’t have let you drink,” Kaden said. There was something careful in his voice. “Could be bad for the wound. Let me check it.”

“It’s fine,” Louis said, but Kaden was already moving. The beam of his phone light cut through the darkness as he knelt in front of Louis. He pressed around the edges of the bandage, his fingers steady and careful despite the whiskey they’d shared.

“Looks okay,” Kaden said finally, turning off the flashlight. But instead of going back to his previous spot, he settled down right next to Louis. Closer this time, their shoulders almost touching.

Louis turned his head toward him, the alcohol making his thoughts loose and warm. “Aren’t you cold?” The question came out more concerned than he’d meant it to be as he eyed Kaden’s thin dress shirt, sleeves still rolled carefully to his elbows.

“Why?” Kaden’s voice carried that familiar venomous sweetness. “Are you going to suggest we share body heat?”

Louis snorted, rolling his eyes. It struck him suddenly that they were having what could almost be called a nice moment. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened—it had to be back in juniors.

“You’re acting weird,” Louis said, the whiskey’s warmth loosening his tongue more than he liked. “What’s with the sudden nice-guy act? You’re a complete dick to me on the ice.”

Kaden shifted beside him. “A dick? Me?” He pressed a hand to his chest, mock indignation dripping from every word. “Harsh, Zenith. Name one time I’ve been anything but delightful.”

“Every fucking match,” Louis shot back.

Kaden let out a quiet laugh, the sound tinged with disbelief, almost amused. “Oh, come on.”

“Your whole mission on the ice is to get under my skin.”

“You can be so daft, Zenith.” The way Kaden said his name felt like a caress and a slap all at once, a sting he knew too well.

“And you always make sure to rub your wins in my face,” Louis muttered, the words pointed but not as sharp as before.

“That sounds like ayouproblem, not ameproblem,” Kaden said with a bitter smirk, taking another sip of whiskey. “Every time I score, you look at me like I’ve taken something from you. Like I don’t deserve it.” He shifted closer, their shoulders brushing, his voice low but steady. “Take tonight, for example. That goal wasn’t luck—I spent weeks perfecting that shot. Hours studying your defensive patterns. But you’d rather believe I’m just lucky than admit I earned it, wouldn’t you?”

Louis blinked, something stirring in his chest that had nothing to do with the whiskey. “You…studied my technique?”

“Of course I did.” Kaden ran a hand through his hair in frustration, the movement barely visible in the phone’s dim light. “You’re the best defender in the league.”

The compliment hung in the air.

Louis felt his face grow warm, grateful for the darkness that hid his reaction. He wasn’t used to genuine compliments from Kaden—wasn’t sure how to handle one. The whiskey bottle lay forgotten between them.

“You’re drunk,” Louis finally managed, but there was no bite to it.

“Not drunk enough to lie.” Kaden’s voice was soft but serious. Then, after a pause, he said, “There’s more where this came from, you know.”

He was up before Louis could respond, phone light sweeping across the room again as he made his methodical way through the stalls. When he returned, he was holding a bottle of rum—probably Lopez’s secret stash, though Louis decided not to think too hard about that.

Kaden came back and sat down on the bag beside him, setting the bottle of rum between them. After a moment, hisvoice came quiet, slightly slurred. “Why don’t you have a girlfriend? Girls are crazy about you.”

Louis’s head felt heavy, thoughts moving slowly like honey. He turned the question over in his mind, tasting the familiar bitterness of it. “Are you seriously asking?” The words came out thick on his tongue. “Because I think you already know the answer.”

Kaden shifted slightly beside him, his thigh brushing against Louis’s. “What? Not into relationships?”

Louis let out a low hum, considering, his eyelids drooping under the weight of the whiskey and the pressing darkness around them. Everything felt both uncomfortably close and strangely distant. “Not into girls, dumbass,” he muttered, his voice barely above a murmur.

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