His Dangerous Love On Ice

The blinking cursor on my laptop was a tiny, mocking heartbeat in the quiet of my bedroom. Finish the Q3 marketing presentation. My boss’s voice echoed in my head, but the words on the screen blurred into a meaningless jumble. All I could think about was the two hundred miles separating me from Leo.

Two months. It felt like a lifetime. We’d promised that long distance wouldn't change a thing, that moving to a new city for his rookie season with the Chicago Wolves was just a temporary hurdle. But the late-night calls had become shorter, the texts less frequent. A cold knot of anxiety had taken up permanent residence in my stomach.

I pushed back from my desk, the chair rolling silently on the hardwood floor of my garage apartment. For the last ten years, this little space above the main house had been my sanctuary. And for ten years, my stepdad, Marcus, had been the one constant, the solid, dependable rock in the swirling chaos of my life with my mother. He’d taught me how to change a tire, how to grill the perfect steak, and how to spot a liar a mile away. Ironic, considering I couldn’t seem to spot one two hundred miles away.

My body ached with a familiar, frustrating loneliness. I missed the weight of him in my bed, the scent of his skin, the easy way his hand would find mine. Annoyed with my own distraction, I went to my nightstand and pulled open the top drawer. The sleek silicone of my vibrator was cool against my palm. Fine. If Leo wasn't here to take my mind off things, I’d have to do it myself.

I lay back against the pillows, closing my eyes and picturing him—the sweep of his dark hair, the cocky grin he’d flash after a good play, the feel of his hockey-toned muscles under my hands. I switched the device on, the low hum vibrating through my bones as I let the fantasy take over.

The click of my bedroom door opening was like a gunshot.

My eyes flew open. My mother, Helen, stood in the doorway, a laundry basket propped on her hip, her expression a mixture of mild amusement and utter indifference. She didn't knock. She never knocked.

"Show's over?" she asked, her voice laced with a familiar, cutting brand of humor.

Heat exploded across my entire body, a mortifying flush that I was sure was visible from space. I fumbled, yanking the comforter up to my chin as if it could somehow erase the last thirty seconds. The vibrator was still buzzing insistently under the covers.

"Get out!" I choked out, the words tangled in shame.

Helen just raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Don't be so dramatic, Ivy. We're all adults here. Marcus and I are downstairs. We have some news." She turned and left as casually as she’d arrived, leaving the door wide open. Leaving me stewing in a puddle of humiliation and rage.

My hands shook as I switched off the buzzing traitor beneath the sheets. My moment of private release had been twisted into a public spectacle. All I wanted was the comfort of my boyfriend, the one person who was supposed to make me feel safe and desired.

Ignoring my mother’s summons, I grabbed my phone, my thumb flying to Leo’s contact. I needed to hear his voice. I needed him to tell me everything was okay. I hit the video call button, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

It rang once. Twice. Then the screen flickered to life.

But it wasn't Leo's face that greeted me. The camera was angled awkwardly, showing a sliver of a headboard I didn't recognize. And then I saw her. A blonde, her back to the camera, her body moving in a slow, unmistakable rhythm.

My blood ran cold.

Then I heard it. A low groan. Leo's groan.

"Chloe," he breathed, the name a ragged sigh of pleasure. "Oh, God, Chloe."

The world tilted on its axis. My phone slipped from my numb fingers, clattering onto the floor. The sound was distant, as if it was happening in another room, to another girl. I stared at the dark screen, at my own horrified reflection. The call was still connected. I could still hear them—the slick sounds of their bodies, her soft giggles, his guttural moans.

My lungs refused to work. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. There was only a vast, roaring emptiness where my heart used to be.

Somehow, I found my feet. I stumbled out of my apartment and across the driveway to the main house, moving like a robot. I pushed open the front door and walked into the living room where my parents were sitting.

One look at my face and Marcus was on his feet. "Ivy? What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."

The dam broke. A sob tore its way out of my chest, raw and ugly. "Leo," I whispered, the name tasting like ash. "He… he was with someone. I saw them."

Marcus swore, his face darkening with a protective rage that was so familiar, so comforting. He wrapped his strong arms around me, pulling me into a hug that felt like the only solid thing in the universe. Helen was beside me a second later, her hand on my back, her usual sharp edges momentarily softened. "That son of a bitch," she hissed. "I never liked him."

I let them hold me, letting the tears fall until my eyes were raw. When my sobs finally subsided, my mother pulled back, her expression shifting from sympathy back to business.

"Well," she said, her tone brisk. "On a happier note, we have some incredible news."

I stared at her, uncomprehending. How could there be anything happy in this moment?

Marcus cleared his throat, his arm still tight around my shoulders. "It's about Ethan," he said, his voice gentle. "He made the team, sweetheart. His first official NHL game with the Wolves is next week in Chicago."

The words hit me like a physical blow. Ethan Sinclair. My stepbrother. The golden boy. And now, Leo's teammate. The thought of going to Chicago, to the city where Leo lived, to the arena where he played, was unthinkable.

"I can't," I whispered, shaking my head. "I can't go. Not now."

"Of course you can," Helen said, her voice firm, leaving no room for argument. "You promised Ethan you'd be at his first game. A promise is a promise, Ivy. You don't let some pathetic boy break that."

The pressure was suffocating. The guilt. The thought of facing Leo. I felt like I was drowning.

Just then, my mother picked up a magazine from the coffee table and thrust it at me. On the cover was Ethan, grinning in his new Chicago Wolves jersey. "Look," she said, as if this would solve everything.

My fingers felt clumsy as I took it. I flipped through the pages numbly, not really seeing them. And then I stopped.

It was a full-page ad for an energy drink. But it wasn't the can that caught my eye. It was the man holding it. He was leaning against the boards of an ice rink, his gear sweat-slicked, his expression a cold, dangerous challenge. Tattoos snaked up a thick, muscular arm. His eyes, a startling shade of blue, seemed to bore right through the glossy paper, holding a universe of secrets and a promise of beautiful ruin. The name at the bottom read: Damien Blackwood. Center. Chicago Wolves.

A strange jolt, something like electricity, shot through me. It was the first thing I had felt besides pain in what felt like an eternity.

"Him," Marcus said, his voice suddenly hard. I looked up to see him staring at the picture, his jaw tight. "Damien Blackwood. My nemesis."

The word hung in the air, heavy and strange. I looked back at the photo—at the unapologetic power in his stance, the cold fire in his eyes. He was the captain of the Wolves. Leo's captain. Ethan's captain.

And he was, without a doubt, the most lethally attractive man I had ever seen.

My mother was still watching me, waiting for an answer. I looked from her expectant face to Marcus's grim one, and then back to the man in the magazine. To Chicago. To the scene of the crime.

A crazy, reckless idea began to form.

I closed the magazine, my decision made. "Okay," I said, my voice steadier than I expected. "I'll go. I promised Ethan."

But as I tucked the magazine under my arm and headed back to my apartment, I knew it wasn't just about Ethan anymore. For the first time all night, I had something to focus on besides my shattered heart.

Maybe, just maybe, there would be something worth seeing in Chicago after all.