Page 62 of Cold Carnage

Ryker

Breathless, I crouched under the desk, every nerve on edge. The office felt too small, too suffocating with Gideon standing just feet away. He droned on about strategy or some other nonsense, his words blurring into a meaningless hum. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block him out. Paige’s taste still lingered on my tongue, a tantalizing reminder of our moment. How could I have let myself live without her for this long?

Gideon’s voice finally trailed off. The click of the door closing behind him was a welcome relief. I waited another beat before slowly rising from my cramped hiding spot.

Paige stood by the window, back stiff, eyes cast downward. When she turned to face me, her expression was unreadable. "You should go," she said, voice strained but firm.

I pinned her in place with my gaze, refusing to let this end so easily. "This isn't finished."

Her eyes flickered to the bruise on her wrist. "Yes, it is," she insisted, though her voice wavered slightly. "We need... we need to focus on fixing this."

Her words stung more than I cared to admit. My jaw clenched as I fought the urge to pull her into my arms and erase the distance between us. But the bruise on her wrist stood as a testament to my failure—my inability to protect her.

"Paige..." I began, but she cut me off with a sharp shake of her head.

"Don't," she whispered. "Just... don't. I don't want to make this worse."

I stared at her for a long moment, searching for any sign that she might change her mind. But all I saw was resolve etched into her features.

Reluctantly, I took a step back, allowing the tension between us to settle like dust in the room. The weight of our unspoken words hung heavy in the air as I turned and walked away, each step feeling like an eternity.

Leaving her behind felt like tearing out a piece of my soul. But for now, it seemed there was nothing more to be done.

I stalked down the corridor, my fists clenched at my sides. The memory of the bruise on Paige's wrist gnawed at me, each step I took fueled by a growing rage. Brendan had left that mark. From what Paige insinuated, he’d left more than just a mark. The thought twisted my gut, and I felt an overwhelming need to confront my baby brother.

The locker room door swung open under the force of my push. It was empty, the silence only amplifying the chaos in my head. I moved to my locker, yanking it open with more force than necessary.

Each article of clothing I removed felt like shedding a layer of control, revealing the raw anger underneath. Brendan had crossed a line—one that could never be uncrossed.

I yanked on my training gear, slamming the locker shut with a metallic clang. The noise echoed around the room, butit did little to calm me. If anything, it only heightened my determination to set things right.

Brendan might be my brother, but no one touched Paige like that and got away with it. My hands trembled as I laced up my skates, the anger coursing through me like a live wire.

When I finally stood up, fully changed and ready for practice, I knew what needed to be done. Brendan and I were going to have a conversation—a real one—whether he liked it or not.

I looked over my shoulder, the locker room’s echo still ringing in my ears. Barrett stood there, leaning against the doorframe. "What the hell are you doing here? It's rookie camp," he said, his voice carrying a weight that demanded attention.

I shrugged, the anger still simmering beneath my skin. "Just wanted to get on the ice."

His eyes narrowed slightly as he studied me. "This some kind of outreach?"

"Something like that," I replied, trying to keep my voice even. "Needed to clear my head."

He nodded once, a slow, deliberate movement. "I get that."

For a moment, we just stood there, the silence between us almost comforting. Then Barrett stepped forward, his expression serious.

"Ryker," he began, his tone direct but without any trace of sentimentality, "you can't let this shit eat you alive."

I looked away; the words hitting closer to home than I wanted to admit.

"You think you're doing everyone a favor by keeping it all bottled up," he continued. "But all you're doing is making it worse for yourself—and for those around you. Look." His voice softened just a fraction. "You're a damn good player. But you've got to learn to let people in. You keep pushing everyone away, you're going to find yourself standing alone when it matters most."

I clenched my fists at my sides; the tension coiling tighter within me. "It's not that easy."

He gave a small nod, acknowledging the truth in my words. "No, it's not. But nothing worth having ever is."

His gaze met mine, and for a moment, I saw something there—understanding maybe, or a shared pain. Whatever it was, it struck a chord deep within me.

---