Chapter 65: Sorry, I can’t make it

​I went completely silent, my tongue instantly gluing itself to the roof of my mouth. I wanted to scream at him, to tell him he was wrong, to defend the one decent professional relationship I had left in this brutal league. But the cold, harsh reality of his question settled deep into my gut.

​Well... no. I couldn’t.

​I couldn’t trust Edward with that truth. I couldn’t trust anyone. The only reason this arrogant, insufferable monster standing in front of me even knew my secret was because he had accidentally walked in on my private crisis.

If he hadn’t caught me red-handed, I would have died before letting him see the vulnerability beneath my gear.

​Seeing the sudden, defeated quiet that washed over my face, Reid let out a low, dark breath, the tense line of his shoulders relaxing just a fraction as he reclaimed his victory.

​"That’s what I thought," Reid murmured, his voice returning to that smooth, snobbish drawl.

He took a step back, sliding his hands back into his pockets as if he hadn’t just completely upended my sanity. "Don’t hang out with our rivals right before a coming game. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth."

​Without waiting for me to reply, he turned on his heel, pushed the heavy corridor door open, and walked back onto Stage Two, leaving me entirely alone in the quiet hallway.

​I stood there for a long time, my back pressing against the cold wall as I tried to calm the frantic, erratic beat of my heart. I couldn’t tell what the hell was wrong with McCoy all of a sudden. The sudden aggression, the intense hostility toward Edward—it didn’t make any sense. But as much as I hated the arrogant brat, he did make a valid point.

​Anyone I could not fully trust was a liability. If Edward discovered the truth, the professional courtesy wouldn’t matter; the league rules and the team’s survival would take over.

Still, the bitter irony of the situation wasn’t lost on me. I had never trusted Reid to begin with, yet he was the one holding the leash.

​Taking a deep, centering breath, I adjusted the collar of my sweater, pulled my blank captain’s mask firmly back over my face, and walked back onto the stage to cancel my plans with Edward.

Edward was still talking to Marcus near the production monitors, laughing at something the manager said, but the moment he saw me walk back onto the stage, he paused and smiled warmly.

​"Everything alright, Kain?" Edward asked, stepping away from the monitors.

​"Yeah, just had to handle a quick team matter," I said, forcing my voice into its usual calm, even register.

I stopped a few feet away from him, my hands buried in my pockets so he wouldn’t see them clenching.

I looked into his honest, dark eyes, and the lie felt incredibly bitter in my throat.

"About tonight, Edward... I’m going to have to take a rain check." I said. "Something came up back at my place, and I have a mountain of administrative work for the front office to finish before tomorrow morning. I just... have a lot to do."

​My response left my heart feeling incredibly heavy. The words felt clumsy, hollow, and completely undeserved.

​The light disappointment that instantly flickered across Edward’s expression made me purse my lips, a sharp pang of guilt twisting deep in my gut.

He didn’t get angry, and he didn’t demand an explanation; he just let out a soft, understanding sigh and nodded, though the slight drop in his shoulders spoke volumes.

​"I completely understand," Edward said smoothly, his tone remaining entirely respectful as he tried to ease my obvious tension. "The Captain’s schedule never really clears up, does it? Don’t worry about it, Kain. We’ll find another time after the dust settles from our match."

​"Yeah," I murmured, the weight in my chest tightening. "After the match."

​"I should get headed up to my meeting anyway," he added, offering me one last, genuine smile before patting Marcus on the shoulder. "Good luck with the rest of the media rollout, guys. See you on the ice in two Fridays, Kain."

​"See you, Edward," I replied, watching his broad, structured coat vanish through the studio doors.

​The stage felt entirely too big and too quiet the moment he left. I let out a slow, jagged breath, my jaw aching as I looked across the room.

Reid was standing near the edge of the catering table, a fresh bottle of water in his hand. He wasn’t looking directly at me, but the lazy, snobbish tilt of his chin and the absolute, unbothered calm in his posture told me everything I needed to know.

He had watched the entire exchange. He had watched me break a genuine bond just to protect the leash he held between his teeth.

​He had won. And I hated him more than ever for it.

​The next morning, the atmospheric pressure inside the Serpents’ practice facility felt entirely different. The ice was cut fresh, a sharp white sheet reflecting the overhead stadium lights, but the mood on our first line was completely fractured.

​Reid was off. Completely, catastrophically off.

​From the moment Coach Devin blew the whistle for the first tracking drill, the rookie was a ghost of his usual efficient self. He was completely distracted, his eyes frequently staring blankly at the far blue line, his mind clearly trapped in a loop of annoying thoughts.

Every time he lined up for a face-off, he wasn’t looking at the puck. His mind was something else I couldn’t see, and it was making his movements tense and erratic.

​"McCoy! Watch your left wing!" I barked from my position near the crease, my voice echoing through the rafters. "You’re dropping your shoulder too early!"

​Reid didn’t even acknowledge my shout. He just gritted his teeth, his skates scraping violently against the ice as he tried to force his way through a high-speed zone entry.

He was skating with raw, hot-headed aggression, completely ignoring the mechanical rhythm we had spent weeks building. He was trying to burn off the restless, possessive anger vibrating in his blood, but on the ice, blind fury only leads to mistakes.

​It happened during the transition drill.