Page 78 of Fractured Faceoff

“What do you mean?”

“Look around.” He gestured toward the ice, where our teammates were still practicing hard, pushing themselves for the next game. “The Reapers in Blackwater Falls? Each player dangerous and lethal—on and off ice. You think they’re not aware of how easy it is to get what they want?”

I felt my brow furrow at his words. It was true; there was something eerie about Blackwater Falls. Rumors flew around about curses and old grudges in that small town—a dark legacy hanging over every player who wore that jersey.

“You glad you're not there anymore?" I asked. From what I heard, Volkov had been traded to Detroit.

He nodded slowly. “I have seen what it does to men.” His smirk faded for a moment as if lost in thought before he snapped back to me with renewed intensity. “Three women—each with their own fire. Settling for just one? It’s too predictable.”

“Right.” I shook my head, unable to fathom his logic.

He leaned closer, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret: “Life is chaos, Crowder. Why tame it? Embrace it.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at his reckless bravado while still feeling that knot twist tighter within me—the conflict between wanting Isla and worrying she might be slipping away weighed heavy on me like an anchor pulling me down into murky waters.

Warmups ended, and the buzzer echoed through the rink as we skated off the ice, adrenaline still pulsing through my veins. But just before I stepped onto the tunnel, I caught a glimpse of Brody leaning against the glass where Isla would sit. My stomach twisted.

He leaned in, flashing that infuriating grin as he waved at some fans—definitely not her. The sight of him, all cocky confidence and easy charm, made my teeth clench. What was he doing there? I had no time for this bullshit.

I shook it off and moved into the hallway with my teammates, but the unease gnawed at me like a relentless pest. The Zamboni roared to life behind us, scraping the ice clean as players stretched or huddled together in silence. Some chatted casually, but I couldn’t focus on their words. My mind raced with questions: Why was Brody here? Where the hell was Isla?

I rubbed my jaw and took a deep breath to calm myself down. We talked about this. She agreed to it.There was no way she wouldn't show. At least, not without telling me first.

“Crowder!” Cole’s voice broke through my thoughts as he clapped me on the shoulder with that same bluster he always carried. “You ready for tonight?”

“Yeah,” I muttered, forcing myself to sound upbeat even though every muscle in my body felt tight with tension.

“Just keep your head clear out there. The last thing we want is you fucking up. That would be embarrassing. For you."

“Yeah,” I replied tersely.

The Zamboni glided across the ice while I tried to shake off this nagging feeling. The noise buzzed around me—the chatter of players getting louder—but all I could think about was Isla’s absence and how Brody seemed too damn close to her side of things.

Why was it so hard for me to let go of this unease?

The Zamboni finished its work, the ice gleaming like a fresh canvas under the bright lights. The crowd roared as we filed back onto the rink, the energy palpable. My teammates skated past me, focused and ready to put on a show against the Newport Seagulls.

I took my place on the bench, adjusting my gear and trying to shake off that uneasy feeling. The national anthem started, and I stood up, my heart pounding with anticipation. But as I glanced over at Isla, my stomach twisted again. She sat near the glass, arms crossed tightly against her chest, her brow furrowed in what looked like frustration. Brody stood close by, leaning down to whisper something into her ear.

I forced myself to focus on the anthem—the stirring melody rising above the din of the arena—but all I couldthink about was Isla’s expression and Brody’s proximity. Something was off.

As the last note faded and the lights brightened again, I caught sight of them more clearly. Brody's mouth moved rapidly, gesturing wildly as Isla shook her head vehemently. It looked like an argument—one that had clearly escalated while I’d been lost in my thoughts.

“Hey, what’s with her?” Kellan leaned forward on the bench beside me, following my gaze.

“Dunno.” I clenched my jaw. “But it doesn’t look good.”

Brody stepped closer to Isla as she backed away from him slightly, her body language screaming discomfort. My pulse quickened; every instinct told me to jump over that bench and confront him.

“Looks like he’s digging his own grave,” Kellan said with a smirk, but there was no humor in it for me.

The game officials skated out to center ice as the teams lined up for face-off; still, my eyes remained glued to Isla and Brody's exchange. The tension crackled in the air around me as players shifted into their positions for play while I wrestled with this nagging worry that clung like fog in my mind.

“Let’s go!” one of our forwards shouted from across the bench as he leaned in to fist-bump another player before taking his position on the ice.

I gritted my teeth but couldn’t tear my gaze away from Isla; she didn’t deserve whatever Brody was throwing at her right now. It wasn’t just anger radiating off her—it was hurt mixed with indignation.

The game kicked off, and the adrenaline should’ve surged through me like a jolt of electricity. The crowd roared as our forwards took the ice, butmy focus wavered, trapped on Isla and Brody instead. Every shout from the stands, every stick clash on the ice faded into a dull hum.

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