Page 104 of Cold Carnage

"Kane, what about your sudden anger?" one journalist dared to ask. "You've always been known for maintaining control even in high-pressure situations, but recently, that's changed. Care to explain why?"

I took a deep breath, feeling the tightness in my chest. "I've always been angry," I admitted. "I've just allowed myself to express it recently." The words felt raw but liberating. "I've bottled up most of my emotions for too long. What I did to that fan was unacceptable. However," I paused, meeting their eyes with unwavering intensity, "I don't regret defending my teammates on and off the ice. I'd do it again."

"And Miss Adams?" another voice chimed in.

"What about her?" I shot back.

"Would you defend her?"

"If anyone hurt one hair on her head," I snarled, feeling the ferocity of my emotions boiling over, "I'd kill them."

A low murmur spread amongst the journalists, their pens scribbling furiously on notepads. The silence that followed was thick with unspoken questions and lingering tension.

I stood there, chest heaving slightly as I tried to regain control. The truth had slipped out in raw fragments, each piece revealing more than I'd intended but somehow necessary.

A journalist in the back raised his hand, his voice cutting through the murmur. "Mr. Kane, what do you say to those who claim the Serpents are known more for scandals than skill?"

I clenched my jaw, biting back a sharp retort. Gideon's words echoed in my mind. Paige thought we should embrace our role as the bad boys of the league, that it gave us an edge.

"Perhaps," I said, meeting their gazes head-on. "And if other teams want to underestimate us, just as you all do, let them. They'll see what happens when they do. We're a passionate team, and while we won't start a fight, we will finish it."

The murmurs intensified. A couple of phones went off, the screens lighting up with breaking news alerts. I could sense something big was happening.

"News just broke," someone shouted over the noise. "The Serpents signed Jared Crowder. Thoughts?"

I couldn't help but smirk. She did it. She signed him.

"I have no comment on the matter other than to welcome him to the team," I said.

"What about his issues with Weston Cole?" another journalist pressed.

I took a breath, considering my words carefully. "Jared Crowder is a Serpent now," I said slowly. "That means he's family. We don't always like each other, but we will defend each other. Because that's what real families do."

The crowd buzzed with renewed energy, questions flying faster than I could keep up with. But I'd said what needed to be said.

I stepped back and turned toward the door, heading inside without another word.

Inside, the quiet enveloped me like a protective cloak. The chaos outside seemed like a distant storm, its thunderous roars muted by the walls around me.

But for once, I didn't care.

The newsof Crowder's signing had dominated the airwaves all evening, shifting some attention away from the photos that had caused such a stir. It wasn't a complete reprieve, but it was something.

I laced up my skates, the familiar ritual calming my racing thoughts. The cool air of the rink bit at my skin, a welcome distraction from the chaos swirling in my mind. When I finished, I slipped on my gloves and grabbed my stick before carving the ice with my blades. There was nothing like stepping onto a clean sheet of ice. After warming up, I grabbed a few pucks from a bucket on the home bench and made my way to the net. Witheach puck I fired, I tried to drown out the noise, to find that place of clarity I so desperately needed.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

The pucks slammed against the boards, a staccato rhythm that mirrored my heartbeat. I didn't know how long I had been out there, losing myself in the motion, in the physicality of it all. The ice was where I could be free, where the weight of expectations and responsibilities melted away.

But even here, she lingered in my thoughts. Paige Adams. Her name alone sent a ripple through me that I couldn't quite understand or control. Part of me wanted to see her, to explain things—maybe even apologize—but another part knew I should keep my distance. She deserved better than to be dragged into my mess. Again.

Thunk.

I paused for a moment, resting on my stick and catching my breath. The rink was quiet now, just me and the ghostly echoes of my shots reverberating off the walls.

When I finally looked up, she was there. Paige stood at the edge of the rink, her eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made my chest tighten.

For a moment, we just stared at each other across the expanse of ice. Her expression was unreadable, a mix of curiosity and something else—something softer that I couldn't quite place.

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