Page 32 of Cold Carnage

Chapter 10

Ryker

Islammed the door behind me, the echo reverberating through my empty apartment. My jacket landed on the nearest chair, and I kicked off my shoes without caring where they ended up. The press conference replayed in my head like a bad movie, each moment reminding me of how Paige’s presence gnawed at me.

Why did I feel the need to defend her? The question lingered, twisting like a knife in my gut. She wasn’t anything special—just another naïve face trying to make her mark.

I hated her for it. Hated how she made me feel exposed and vulnerable. Vulnerability was a weakness my father drilled out of me long ago. Yet, here I was, letting a rookie PR manager get under my skin.

The television remote felt heavy in my hand as I flipped through channels mindlessly. Practice started tomorrow. That thought brought a semblance of relief. Physical exertion would drown out the noise in my head, erase any trace of the mistakes I made this summer. Mistakes that had Paige’s face etched all over them.

Maybe I’d never have to deal with her again once the season kicked off. She’d be swallowed by the daily grind, becoming just another cog in the machine.

And what about trying to get rid of her?The thought slithered into my mind, unbidden and unwelcome. I shook it off, focusing on the TV screen as some sitcom characters exchanged meaningless banter.

Get rid of her? As if it were that simple. But part of me knew it wasn’t about simplicity or convenience. It was about control—something Paige had managed to wrestle from me without even knowing it.

The sitcom’s canned laughter filled the room, doing little to drown out the cacophony inside my head. I needed to sleep, to reset before practice began. Maybe then I could put all this behind me—bury it under layers of sweat and determination.

The TV droned on as I sank even more into the couch, its cushions swallowing me whole. Tomorrow would come soon enough, bringing with it a new set of challenges. Ones that wouldn’t involve Paige and her infuriating ability to see through my façade.

At least, that’s what I told myself.

I kept flipping through the channels, my mind a mess. The usual sports recaps and sitcom reruns did nothing to settle me. Then I landed onHockey World News. Mike and Dave’s voices filled the room, drawing my attention.

“Welcome back,” Mike started, his laidback tone almost grating tonight. “Tonight, we’re dissecting that press conference from earlier today that the Detroit Serpents hosted. For those just joining us, video footage of a brawl between members of the Serpents and fans at a local bar was released, and it doesn't look good for a team already riddled with scandal. Ryker Kane took responsibility for the assault."

Dave cut in. “But was it enough, Mike? Was it genuine? Or just a PR move?”

I leaned forward, the remote clutched in my hand. The camera cut to a clip of me at the press conference. My own voice echoed through the room: “I take full responsibility for what happened. It’s on me to make sure we’re better moving forward.”

Mike nodded thoughtfully as the clip ended. “Kane’s words sounded sincere, but actions speak louder, right? Can he really turn things around?”

Dave didn’t miss a beat. “He’s under immense pressure. The fans expect results, not excuses. It’s easy to say you’ll do better—harder to actually do it.”

“Do you think he can?” Mike asked, tilting his head slightly.

“I think he has the skill,” Dave replied, his voice firm. “But skill isn’t enough. He needs support—from his team and his staff.”

Paige’s face flashed in my mind unbidden. I tightened my grip on the remote.

Mike chimed in again. “Speaking of support, there’s been a lot of buzz about Paige Adams's role in all this. She’s new but seems to be making waves.”

Dave chuckled lightly. “Yeah, from what I heard, she handled that sponsorship meeting like a pro. And she’s been pretty visible lately, especially at the press conference.”

Visible was an understatement. She was everywhere I turned.

“Think she’ll help or hinder Kane?” Mike asked.

“That depends,” Dave said slowly. “On how much Kane lets her in and how well they work together. You know he's always been standoffish. He's not exactly the friendly type, which was why I was surprised to see him at that bar in the first place. Kane and socialization? I never thought I'd see the day."

“It does beg the question,” Mike said, his tone serious. “What caused him to snap? Going into the season, has someone finally found a way to pierce that impenetrable armor?”

Dave leaned forward, eyes gleaming with interest. “Looks that way.”

I clenched my jaw; the words hanging heavy in the air. They had no idea what they were talking about. My so-calledarmorwasn’t something anyone could just pierce. It was years of hardening myself against failure, against letting anyone in. But there I was, feeling every bit exposed.

Mike continued, “The Serpents have made some moves over the summer, trying to balance out the veterans and young kids. They picked up the Russian Reaper, as well as notorious anger management candidate, Declan Kincaid, and stoic Ethan Hart. But even with that, the likelihood of making playoffs looks slim.”

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