Roxy POV
The explosive, deafening roar of a stadium erupting filled the cold air as thousands of fans threw matching black-and-gold team scarves onto the ice.
A suffocating rain of wool scarves, plastic beer cups, and golden confetti fell from the high rafters, covering the white ice like a thick blanket.
The final buzzer was still screaming across the loudspeakers, but it was drowned out by the thunderous chants of people screaming one single name over and over again.
“MONTGOMERY! MONTGOMERY! MONTGOMERY!”
Down on the rink, the Kingston Blackwells had officially won the qualifier match.
They were going to the championship tournament.
In the luxury box, the quiet, arrogant stillness vanished instantly.
Reporters from national sports networks were already pushing past the security barriers down by the rink walls, their television cameras flashing blinding white lights through the thick glass.
Microphones mounted on long poles shoved over the glass partitions, eager to capture every drop of blood and triumph from the league’s most dangerous player.
Richard Montgomery stood up slowly.
He buttoned his dollar suit jacket, his expression smoothing out from cold rage into a polished, billionaire father smile.
“Open the door,” Richard commanded, his deep voice slicing through the noise.
His three huge private security guards immediately moved into action, forming a wall in front of him.
Richard adjusted his gold cufflinks and turned his dead grey eyes toward me.
I was still standing near the glass, my hands shaking against the emerald silk of my dress, my throat raw from holding back my tears.
“You stay here, Miss Brooks,” Richard ordered, his tone flat and dismissive.
“The cameras are down there. The press does not need to see my son associated with a scholarship girl accused of taking bribes. Sit down and shut your mouth until the board finishes writing your resignation.”
“Mr. Montgomery—” Coach Owen started, stepping forward.
“I said she stays,” Richard snapped, cutting the coach off with a sharp flick of his wrist.
He turned to Cassandra, who was already smoothing her expensive white blazer, getting ready to step out beside him.
“Cassandra, come with me. Your father will want us in the picture when ESPN interviews Jaxon.”
“Of course, Mr. Montgomery,” Cassandra replied smoothly, giving me a victorious, icy glance as she stepped into the center of the security escort.
They walked out of the suite, the wood-paneled door slamming shut behind them.
My heart felt like it was being crushed inside a iron grip.
I looked down at my hands.
The emerald silk dress felt like a cruel joke now.
I was just a ghost in the background of their wealthy, powerful world—a girl from Ashenvale meant to be hidden away in a quiet room while the rich people claimed the spotlight.
“Roxy,” Nate’s voice sounded softly from the back of the box.
He stepped forward, his dark eyes filled with a deep, quiet concern.
“Don’t listen to him. You don’t have to stay here.”
“He’s going to take my scholarship, Nate,” I whispered, my voice breaking as the tears finally spilled over my eyelashes.
“He’s going to ruin everything my family worked for.”
“Look at the ice, Roxy,” Nate said gently, pointing a finger toward the glass.
“Look at Jaxon.”
I wiped my wet cheek with the back of my hand and forced myself to look down at the rink.
The chaos on the ice had reached a boiling point.
Dozens of news reporters, camera crews, and university photographers were crowding near the player benches.
Bright television lights blinded the ice, making the fresh red blood on Jaxon’s cut cheek shine like fresh paint.
Richard Montgomery stepped out onto the red carpet laid down near the player entrance, flanked by his security team and Cassandra.
Richard raised his arms, flashing a confident, fake smile for the cameras, ready to pull his son into an embrace for the national broadcast.
The reporters shoved their microphones toward Richard, shouting questions about his son’s future in the professional hockey draft.
Richard extended his right hand toward Jaxon, his voice booming over the news microphones.
“Great game, son! Come over here!”
Jaxon didn’t acknowled him.
He didn’t even slow down.
Number 17 skated right past the flashing cameras.
He ignored the ESPN reporters screaming his name.
And right in front of live national television, Jaxon skated right past his father’s outstretched hand, pushing through two security guards like they were made of paper.
Cassandra’s fake smile froze instantly.
Richard’s face turned into a dark mask of fury as the cameras caught his son snubbing him on live air.
Jaxon didn’t seem to care.
His chest was heaving wildly under his black jersey, blood still dripping down his sharp jawline, his stormy grey eyes locked onto a single target.
He was skating straight toward the front-row barrier directly beneath the legacy box.
Toward me.
“Roxy, go,” Nate murmured behind me, a faint, genuine smile touching his lips.
“He’s not waiting for his father. He’s waiting for you.” This chapter was taken from novelping.com without permission.
My legs moved before my brain could even process what was happening.
I shoved past the shock-frozen athletic board, past Dean Cooper who was staring out the window with his mouth wide open, and threw open the glass door of the luxury suite.
I ran down the steep concrete stairs of the stadium, my scuffed heels clicking loudly against the stone.
The cold air of the arena hit my bare chest and shoulders, but I didn’t feel it.
I pushed through the sea of cheering students, shoving past thick ropes and screaming fans who were trying to grab Jaxon’s attention.
I reached the front-row glass barrier, my hands slamming against the cold plastic divider.
Jaxon brought his skates to a sudden stop on the other side of the glass, spraying a cloud of white ice over the lower boards.
He stood right in front of me.
He looked huge, terrifying, and wild.
Blood was smeared across his cheek and neck, his dark hair soaked with sweat, his breathing harsh and rough.
But when his eyes met mine through the barrier, the dangerous storm inside them melted into something so soft, so raw, and so deeply desperate that it made my breath catch in my throat.
The cameras turned away from Richard Montgomery.
The bright television spotlights shifted across the dark arena, washing over both of us, pinning us in a blinding white circle of light in front of the screaming fans and the national press.
Jaxon didn’t look at the cameras.
He didn’t look at his father standing frozen twenty feet away.
Slowly, Jaxon reached up with his gloved hand and unlatched the small ice gate separating the rink from the front row.
He stepped out off the ice and onto the black rubber matting, towering over me in his thick pads.
The stadium went silent as the crowd realized what they were witnessing.
Jaxon reached out, his thick, calloused fingers wrapping firmly around my waist, pulling my emerald-clad body flush against his hard, burning chest, ignoring the sweat and blood that threatened to stain the expensive dress.
“Jaxon,” I breathed, my hands automatically coming up to rest against his broad, padded shoulders.
“Your face… you’re bleeding—”
“I don’t give a damn about the blood, Roxy,” Jaxon rasped, his deep, gravelly voice trembling with an emotion so raw it shook his entire huge form.
He leaned down until his forehead rested directly against mine, his dark grey eyes burning into my soul.
He looked at me with open obsession.
“Tell me you saw it,” Jaxon whispered, his hot breath fanning across my lips, loud enough for the nearby court microphones to catch every single word.
“Tell me you saw what I did for you out there.”