Married To My Rival

Elliot POV

I learned a long time ago not to want things that could be taken away. Hockey was the only exception.

For six years I trained harder than anyone, followed every rule, and hid one secret. No one could know what I really was, not my teammates, not the coaches, and especially not Sebastian Wolfe.

One minute left on the clock and we were down by one, the championship on the line. I pushed across the ice, hearing only my own breathing inside the helmet, fast and uneven. My legs burned. One goal was all I needed.

“Gray!”

The puck came hard. I took it, cut left, saw the open lane, and drove forward.

Sebastian hit me from the blind side.

His shoulder slammed into mine, forcing the air from my lungs as pain shot through my ribs. My hands jerked, and the stick snapped with a loud crack before I hit the ice hard.

The buzzer sounded, and we lost.

Sebastian’s team rushed onto the ice while I pushed myself up, ribs aching. He stood over me with wet hair and calm eyes.

“Stay down, pretty boy.”

I hated that name. When he said it, it always felt personal.

“Go to hell.”

He almost smiled. “You first.”

He looked at the broken stick for a second, then skated away.

We had been rivals since I was nineteen. Every game against him turned into a fight, and the fans loved it. They called us enemies, but they had no idea how close that was to the truth.

Sebastian watched too closely. He noticed things other people missed, and that made him dangerous.

I went through the handshake line fast. When he reached me, his glove hit mine harder than needed. He did not look away, and neither did I.

I left the ice and went straight to the tunnel. Heat sat under my skin, and my pulse would not slow down. I told myself it was the loss and the hit, nothing else.

The locker room was empty, which was good. I dropped my bag, pulled off my gloves, and clenched my shaking hands before throwing my helmet onto the shelf hard.

“Get it together.”

I leaned on the bench and forced myself to breathe slower.

The door opened. Sebastian stepped inside and locked it.

My stomach dropped.

“What are you doing here?”

He looked at the broken stick, then at me. “You look angry.”

“I just lost a championship.”

“I noticed.”

“Then leave.”

He did not leave. He walked closer instead.

“Why are you always so friendly?”

“Only with people I can’t stand.”

“That’s disappointing.”

“Live with it.”

He stopped a few feet away while I started unstrapping my chest protector.

“Did you come here to gloat?”

“I already won.”

“Then what do you want?”

“You.”

My hands froze. “What?”

A small smile crossed his face. “Relax. I just wanted to see if you’re always this angry after a loss.”

“You saw it. Now get out.”

He took another step.