Page 93 of Lords of Ruin: Owned

My feet throb as they meet the cold air, raw and stinging, but it’s nothing compared to the fire raging in my chest. The thick and suffocating silence presses down on me as if the whole room is mocking me, reminding me of everything that slipped away.

Alone in the cold, sterile locker room, the skates lay abandoned—useless—just like me. A slow clap echoes through the space, startling me. I spin around, my eyes landing on Coach Christopher Jackson, staring at me with a bored expression.

"You got it out of your system?"

I painfully pull my bottom lip into my mouth. My nostrils flare, and my knuckles curl into numbing a ball of anger. I stepforward, eyes narrowed in on his glowing golden eyes. "Didn't I tell you to fuck off?"

He scoffs, rolling his neck on a deep breath. "I heard you; I just didn't think you would say it to my face."

"Why not?" I roll my eyes, placing both hands on my hips, a nasty smile on my face. "Because you're the big bad NHL veteran coach?"

"No, because I am fifteen years your senior."

"Is that supposed to mean something?"

"It means you should respect me." Coach Jackson growls.

The low rumble rolls over my skin like the bite of the ice. I take in a shaky breath, closing my eyes in a slow blink. My eyes lock on his, and the roll of his jaw makes my core clench.

"Respect is earned." I snarl. "You don't know anything about figure skating. You know nothing about me, saying that I am afraid of the ice...do you know how wild that is?"

"I know what I saw." He sighs, scrunching up the sleeves of his gray thermal shirt, showcasing a mirage of colorful ink encased in thick black lines.

There is nothing hotter than a man covered in tattoos with muscles that look like they could crush you into a million pieces. I yank my ponytail out of my head, suddenly feeling suffocated. I need to get out of these wet clothes and away from Coach Jackson's intense dark gaze. I need to breathe somewhere; I can't see my breath with every exhale. I need to be warm for the first time in my life. I need the sun but can't move; instead, I fist my wavy blonde stands and huff.

“You are afraid of the ice.” Coach stretches his neck and arms, straining the veins in his forearms as he approaches me.

I shake my head, taking a step back with each of his steps forward because fuck this! He tackles people and runs after a puck all day. I am flinging my body into the air, hoping that asshole Dylan saves me from cracking my skull open again or that I extend my leg to the right more and catch myself before I fall.

"My life is on the line every time I skate," I whisper.

Coach Jackson stops just inches away, his eyes locked on mine. The air between us grows dense, and I can practically feel the heat radiating from him. I want to be closer, to run my hand along his skin and find where the core of his warmth is. I want his sun to be mine. I avoid his eyes, looking at my bare feet.

"You think hockey is just a game of chasing pucks? Whenever I stepped onto the ice every shift, someone could slam me into the boards hard enough to break bones. Or worse." His voice lowers to a ticklish whisper, crawling across my skin.

"That’s different," I snap back, my voice rising in frustration. "You're wearing layers of padding, and you’re in control. I’m out there in practically nothing, with blades strapped to my feet, hurling myself through the air?—"

"Don’t act like you’ve got it worse because you're spinning in sequins while we get bruises and bloodied."

My breath hitches, my mind racing, the frustration boiling over. "I’m not saying you don’t get hurt, but?—"

"But what? Our risks aren't valid because we wear helmets?" His jaw tightens, his stormy blue eyes blazing. "You want to talkabout danger? I’ve seen guys go down and not get back up. I’ve been hit so hard I didn’t know where I was. And guess what? I still get back on the ice."

His voice rings through the locker room, and my head tucks into my chest. I feel like I want to scream. I feel like I am in so much trouble that he has no excuse but to punish me.Punish me? Have I lost my freaking mind?

"You don't look like you want to be on that ice, “ he whispers, his palm flat against the wall above me. His body encases me in a warm cocoon, and his smokey firewood scent invades my nostrils.

I freeze, watching the rise and fall of his chest, holding my breath like it is the only thing that will keep me alive. The ice is my home. The ice is everything to me. I can't be afraid of the one thing that makes me, right?

"Let's say you're right, Coach." I look up at him through my eyelashes, slowly licking my dry lips and watching as his eyes follow the lines of my tongue. "What do I do now?"

"You let me coach you."

I lean back against the wall and click it to the right. "And what makes you qualified?"

His eyes darken, and I gulp, fidgeting when he spreads his lips into a Cheshire smile. “I can make you fear me more than the ice."

Chapter 3

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