Samson Avery

The cool air of the arena nips at my face. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, letting the crisp air cut through my lungs. You're in my seats tonight.

The thought settles into my bloodstream and courses through my body in a low, grounding pulse. It's been months of a quiet bubble, letting you set the pace with how much of my public life you wanted to be a part of, but tonight... You're here, in my seats, for me.

My name rings through the speakers, followed by a deafening roar of the crowd. I stride onto the ice, my blades carving into the sheet and I glance up. The second I see your face, the arena falls silent. There you are. Your eyes on me, watching. You're perfect.

I don't smile, the corner of my mouth twitches, but I've turned as my arc takes me around the rink before I allow myself to stare.

I watch as my teammates break onto the ice one-by-one, my blades continuing to slice into the sheet.

I let myself steal one more glance at you. Just one. My eyes flick up and I see you again, but this time your expression has frozen as if you've been struck by something that has knocked the colour from your cheeks. I feel a sudden visceral heat flash through me, and an aching need to know what has stolen the pride you had in your eyes just a moment ago. My gaze immediately cuts to where you are looking.

Then I see him.

Finn. Finn McCredie.

You don't give a look like that to just anyone. And my mind immediately flies. The noise of the arena is now completely silent. All I hear are the scrape of Finn's blades on the ice.

This fucking guy shows up a week before the opener, derails my contract negotiations, and now swipes the smile from your face... I knew he was going to be a problem... But there is no fucking way I'm letting him be that for you.

Warm up flies by. The anthem... Puck drop.

Let the games begin.