Page 60 of Lords of Ruin: Cherished

My mask is suffocating me. I rip it off, gulping air that doesn't satisfy the burning in my lungs. Three thousand people watching as I fall apart in my crease.

My coach is suddenly there, crouching beside me. "Damien, talk to me. What's happening?"

I can't answer. My vision tunnels. The ice beneath me seems to tilt and shift. This can't be happening. Not here. Not now.

"Fuck--" My voice breaks.

I push myself up on shaky legs and start skating. Not toward the bench, but toward the exit. Someone calls my name, but I don't stop. My equipment feels massive now, weighing me down, drowning me.

My skates hit the rubber flooring at the gate. I push past a surprised arena attendant, through the tunnel toward the locker room.

The fluorescent lights of the hallway flicker like the hospital. Like the concussion tests. Like the MRI machine. Each step is another admission of failure.

I burst into the empty locker room and collapse onto the bench. My hands shake so violently I can't even begin to remove my leg pads.

She closes the door and leans against it. “And you’re not supposed to be getting undressed.”

I glare at her, the frustration bubbling up. “I fucked up. I can’t do this and you don’t get it.” I throw my jersey into my bag and slam the locker shut.

She steps closer, a challenging look on her face. “Don’t do this, Damien. You’re better than this. You can’t just quit.”

“I’m not quitting!” I snap, spinning around to face her, my voice rising.

“You’re angry?” She seethes, moving closer to me with narrowed eyes and flared nostrils. “Fine, get angry.”

She picks up a water bottle from the bench and throws it across the room, the plastic crashing against the wall. Next, her bag hits the floor with a loud thud, followed by someone’s shoe, both landing with force.

I take a step forward, both hands up.. “What the hell are you doing?”

She doesn’t stop. She throws someone else’s shoe, her phone, kicks over a chair—all of it, one after another. Her eyes are wild, but there’s something raw and broken underneath it all. She slams her hand against the locker, the sound sharp and violent.

“I’m angry, Damien!" she screams, her chest heaving with every breath. “I’m angry that my father is gone. Angry that my mom is pretty great, but depression took her away from me. Angry that I finally know what it’s like to be in love—reallove—and my heart wants to give up on me, but I don’t stop fighting!”

She stands there for a moment, breathing hard, her fists clenched at her sides. Her chest rises and falls, and her eyes are burning with something fierce.

I stare at her, speechless, the weight of her words hitting me harder than I expected. Her hands tremble, but she doesn’t back down.

“I fight, Damien,” she continues, her voice trembling but strong. “I fight, even when it’s hard, even when I don’t know if I have anything left to give. I don’t quit, not even when I feel like the world’s falling apart around me.”

I take a deep breath, my anger momentarily fading as the realization settles in. She’s not just talking about me. She’s talking about herself, too.

Her voice softens, but there’s no less fire in it. “So, stop acting like you’re the only one who’s hurting. Stop pretending that walking away will fix anything. You can’t quit because it’s hard. You have to fight, just like I do.”

I stare at her, the words weighing heavily in the air between us. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know if I can keep fighting. But in this moment, I can’t bring myself to walk away either.

“You think it’s that simple?” I mutter, my voice barely a whisper.

She meets my gaze, eyes steadily. “No. But nothing worth having ever is. So you get back on that ice and you let the entire arena feel how angry you are. You fucking let it rip, Damien and you don’t stop until they make you. You hear me?”

My blood is boiling, every nerve in my body screaming. Her words—god, they get under my skin, and I don’t know if it’s the anger, the frustration, or something deeper, but it snaps something inside me. Without thinking, I lash out, my fist connecting with the locker door. The metal crumples with a loud crash, the sound echoing off the walls.I stand there, my hand still throbbing from the impact, chest heaving, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I don’t know if I’m more angry at her, at myself, or at everything that’s been building up inside me.

Willow stands there, eyes wide for a moment, and then she takes a step toward me, like she’s not afraid of what I just did. “Feel better?” she whispers.

I grab her by the shoulders, pulling her toward me, crashing my lips into hers in a heated, desperate kiss. She’s stiff at first, but then she melts into it, her hands gripping the front of my shirt, her breath mingling with mine. For a second, everything falls away—the anger, the fear, the doubt—and there’s just us.

But then, just as quickly as it started, I pull back, my heart hammering in my chest. “You fucking piss me off, Trouble.”

“Good,” she smiles, scrunching up her nose in excitement. I press my lips to hers one more time before turning around and throwing my gear back on as fast as I can.

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