When it was over, I lay on the bench gasping, my skin slick with sweat, my chest rising and falling like I’d just run suicides across the rink. Brody sat beside me, elbows on his knees, head bowed, hands shaking.

Neither of us spoke for a long time.

Finally, he muttered, “That can’t happen again.”

I turned my head to him, hair sticking to my cheek. “You don’t mean that.”

His jaw flexed, his gaze fixed on the floor. “I fucking have to mean it.”

The words lodged in my chest like splinters. But before I could answer, the locker room door creaked.

We both froze.

A shadow stretched across the tiles, footsteps soft but hesitant. Then Baylen’s voice, small and breaking: “I—I knew it. He wasn’t lying.”

My blood turned cold.

Baylen stood in the doorway, hoodie zipped up tight like armor, eyes wide. His face was pale, stricken, and I realized—he hadn’t just seen us. He’d been listening.

“Baylen,” Brody started, standing too quickly. “It’s not what—”

“Don’t,” Baylen snapped, voice trembling. “Don’t lie to me too.” His gaze flicked to me, sharp, wet. “You think Ron won’t find out? You think you can keep secrets when everything’s already cracking?”

I sat up, clutching my shirt around me, throat tight. “Please. Don’t tell him. Not yet.”

Baylen’s laugh was bitter. “Not yet. That’s what everyone says. That’s what Coach said about me.”

The silence that followed was knife-edged.

Then Baylen’s eyes softened, just a fraction. “You want truth? Then help me. Otherwise you’re just like him.”

And before either of us could move, he was gone—vanishing into the night, leaving only his words behind like a curse.

⸻

The Next Morning

Campus looked different under daylight, crueler somehow. Students spilled across the quad, voices bright, faces unknowing. The world hadn’t cracked open the way it had for me last night.

But the crack was there. I felt it under every step.

My phone buzzed with a message.

Ronald.

ronald: Heard you were at the rink last night. With Brody.

ronald: We need to talk.

My stomach sank.

The message burned holes into my screen.

ronald: Heard you were at the rink last night. With Brody.

ronald: We need to talk.

I stared at it until the words blurred, my heart pounding a rhythm that didn’t belong to me. The quad was loud with students crossing between classes, but all I could hear was my brother’s voice inside my head—sharp, protective, suspicious.

Ronald didn’t text like that unless he already knew too much.

I typed three different replies and deleted them all. “Just studying.” Too flimsy. “I wasn’t with him.” A lie that tasted like rust. “We’ll talk later.” Cowardly.

The truth hovered like a guillotine.

I shoved my phone into my pocket and kept walking, hoping the motion would shake the panic loose. It didn’t. By the time I reached the student union, Ronald was already there—leaning against the vending machine like he’d been waiting. His hoodie was half-zipped, hockey bag at his feet, jaw tight.

“Em,” he said.

One word, and I froze.

He pushed off the machine, closing the distance in three long strides. His eyes, usually warm even when he was teasing me, were steel.

“Want to tell me why people are saying you were at the rink last night?” he asked.

“People?” My voice cracked.

“Baylen.” The name dropped like a puck on ice. “He said he saw you. With Brody.”

My stomach lurched. Baylen hadn’t wasted time.

I scrambled for words, any words that would sound less like a confession and more like control. “I—yeah, I went to the rink. I needed air. And Brody was there. That’s it.”

Ronald’s stare was merciless. “That’s it?”

I nodded, too quickly.

His hand curled into a fist at his side. “You know what he’s like, Em. Brody doesn’t do casual. He doesn’t hang around unless he wants something.”

“He doesn’t—”

“He does,” Ronald snapped. The sharpness in his tone cut through me, louder than the chatter of students around us. “And if you think he won’t use you to get at me, you’re insane.”

I swallowed hard, guilt burning hot behind my ribs. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like?” he pressed, stepping closer, towering over me in that big-brother way he’d perfected since childhood. “Because Baylen sure made it sound like you were with him. And if that’s true—”

He broke off, jaw working, eyes dark with something I’d never seen before. Not just protectiveness. Betrayal.

“Ron—”

“Don’t,” he bit out. “Don’t lie to me. Not you.”

The words hit harder than any slap. My throat closed. I wanted to tell him everything and nothing all at once—that Brody kissed me like I was oxygen, that secrets were strangling this team, that Coach’s shadow stretched longer than anyone realized. But Ronald’s expression warned me: if I broke now, if I confessed, nothing would survive.

“I can handle myself,” I whispered.

Ronald’s laugh was humorless. “Not with him. Not with Brody. He’s not just my rival, Em—he’s poison. He’ll ruin you if you let him.”

His bag thudded as he shouldered it. “Stay away from him. I mean it.”

Then he was gone, leaving me rooted in the union, trembling like a liar caught in half-light.

⸻

Later That Night

My dorm felt too small, the walls pressing in with every hour. Ronald’s warning played on repeat in my head. Stay away from him. Poison. He’ll ruin you.

But poison doesn’t feel like poison when it tastes like the only thing keeping you alive.

By midnight, I gave up pretending I could sleep. I slipped on sneakers, pulled a hoodie over my head, and found myself walking back toward the rink like a moth dragged to its flame.

The arena was dark except for the scoreboard’s faint red glow. Brody was there, of course—leaning against the boards like he’d been waiting all along. His jacket hung open, hair damp from a late skate, eyes catching the low light.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, voice rough.

“Neither should you,” I shot back.

His mouth quirked, but there was no humor. “Ronald corner you?”

I stiffened. “How do you—”

“He always does when he’s scared,” Brody cut in. “Tells everyone else how dangerous I am so he doesn’t have to admit he’s afraid I might be better. Or worse—that I might matter more to someone.”

The words sliced too close.

“Brody—”

He closed the distance, his hand brushing mine, and the heat of it made me forget every warning. “Tell me you don’t feel this,” he murmured. “Tell me last night was a mistake.”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came.

His smirk faded into something raw. “That’s what I thought.”

Then his lips were on mine again—less desperate this time, but deeper, like he was claiming ground he knew he’d already won. My fingers tangled in his shirt, pulling him closer, consequences scattering like broken glass.

I knew Ronald would kill us both if he found out. I knew Baylen already held the knife of our secret. But in that moment, under the hum of the rink lights, the only truth that mattered was the one pressed between Brody’s mouth and mine.

⸻

Meanwhile: Baylen

Across campus, Baylen sat cross-legged on his bed, staring at his phone screen. His hands shook as he scrolled through the group chat, Coach’s words replaying in neon across his brain.

Don’t let Ron see. Not yet.

For his sake.

But Ron’s sister had already seen. And now she was tangled up with Brody—the last person who should know any of this.

Baylen typed a message and erased it. Typed again. Erased.

Finally, his thumbs settled:

baylen: if no one tells ron, i will.

He hit send before fear could stop him.

⸻

The Next Morning

My phone buzzed again. A new message. Not from Ronald this time.

From Baylen.

baylen: meet me. noon. library roof.

baylen: it’s about your brother.

The words chilled me more than Ronald’s anger, more than Brody’s kiss. Because Baylen didn’t bluff.

And if Baylen was ready to talk, it meant the secrets weren’t going to stay buried much longer.