Page 10 of Devil on Skates
I quickly scroll through his photos. On the ice. With a trophy. Grinning with his teammates. That same cocky half-smile I remember from the party.
The words under one of the photos sear into my brain. Captain. Men’s hockey.
My mind starts racing, and I can only think about one thing. My dad is his coach.
Xavier Gallagher. He’s one of my dad’s best players, and I had sex with him.
Shit! Shit! Shit!
I scroll like a crazy person, trying to put everything together and maybe figure out if he has a twin brother or something. But no, it’s him.
I stare at his message again, and my chest tightens. If my dad finds out—ifanyonefinds out—that I hooked up with his star player while he’s trying to lock in an alliance with the Costellos... It won’t just be a disaster. It’ll benuclear.
Has Xavier realized who I am? That I’m not just the girl from the party, but the daughter of his coach? Probably. Maybe that’s why he messaged me. Maybe he thinks he’ll get some benefit out of the whole thing or blackmail me so I don’t tell my dad about what we did.
It’s a fucking mess. I open his profile again, my finger hovering over the block button.
It’s the smart and responsible move. The only move.
But still... I hesitate.
Because last night was the first time in forever I felt like myself.Not someone’s daughter or a pawn, just a girl making her own choices.
And now the guy remembered me, found me, and reached out. None of that should’ve happened. He was supposed to be a distant memory.
My dad’s footsteps return, echoing all the expectations—the debts, the pressure, and the plan.
I take a deep breath, steady my hand, and quickly hit the block button. Then I stuff my phone into my pocket.
No second guesses. No slip-ups. Some doors need to stay closed, no matter how much I want to crack them open again.
Because this is my life now. I’m Coach’s daughter and maybe soon-to-be Keith’s polite plus-one. And there’s no space in that story for hookups with complicated boys.
Chapter 5
XAVIER
EVERYWHERE AROUND ME, students are buried in their textbooks and laptops, their faces tense with focus, which isn’t unusual for the library. I should be one of them. My paper is open in front of me, the blinking cursor on the empty page basically mocking me, and I need to make it submission-ready ASAP.
But I just stare at it, completely checked out. My head is still stuck on one thought.
Irina blocked me.
It still stings, which is kind of pathetic. I’ve replayed that night more times than I want to admit, trying to figure out if anything went wrong. Did I misread her? No way. The connection was real. Her reaction wasn’t vague or confusing. It was clear. Mutual.
Was my message too much? Maybe. It wasn’t exactly subtle, and maybe I overdid it with the likes, but she can’t be thinking that I’m some crazy stalker.
Still, the most likely explanation is Keith, the potential boyfriend. He might be the reason why she wants zero contact.
I slam my laptop shut. There’s no point in pretending I’m getting anything done. That drive I always feel—the one that keeps me at the top of my game—is already shifting gears. This isn’t just curiosity anymore.
It’s focus. Determination.
I’ve never walked away from a challenge, not on the ice and not anywhere. And this thing with Irina isn’t going away quietly just because there’s a complication.
I’ve looked up Keith a little more carefully. He checks every box. The golden boy and heir to a pro hockey dynasty and some investment empire. A student with a perfect record, groomed for greatness.
And boring as hell.
