Roxy POV
The immediate, chest-tightening chill of sub-zero air hit my warm lungs the second I slipped through the side entrance.
Before I could even adjust my grip on my backpack, a loud, echoing boom vibrated through the dark arena.
The metal exit doors had locked automatically behind me from the inside.
The sound felt final.
Like a trap snapping shut.
I stood at the edge of the dark, deserted campus ice rink, shivering violently inside my thin cotton hoodie.
The cold seemed to rise straight from the concrete floor, soaking right through the thin canvas of my sneakers.
My breath rolled out of my mouth in thick, white clouds of vapor.
The only light came from the small, red emergency exit signs over the doorways, casting eerie, bleeding shadows across the vast rows of empty spectator seats.
The stadium looked hollow at night, a massive cavern of steel and concrete that felt entirely separate from the rest of the university.
Suddenly, a loud, mechanical sound echoed from the control box high above.
A row of massive, high-powered stadium lights clicked on all at once overhead.
The sudden, brilliant glare was blinding, cutting through the darkness with a harsh intensity.
I raised my hand quickly to shield my eyes, blinking hard against the bright white light that flooded the pristine sheets of ice below.
Then, I heard it.
The sharp, aggressive scrape of steel blades slicing through solid ice.
The sound echoed through the empty space like glass fracturing under immense pressure.
Jaxon Montgomery was already out there.
He didn’t wear his full protective pads—just his black and gold Kingston Blackwells jersey over a tight training shirt, his thick hockey skates, and his heavy leather gloves.
He was skating with terrifying speed, moving in wide, powerful circles around the rink.
He looked like a predator marking his territory, his broad shoulders cutting effortlessly through the cold mist rising off the surface.
He spotted me standing by the player gate.
His eyes narrowed, and he changed direction instantly, accelerating straight toward where I stood.
He didn’t slow down.
He charged directly at the glass barrier at full speed, his massive frame moving like a freight train.
He looked like he was going to plow right through the wall and crush me.
My heart leaped into my throat, and my instincts screamed at me to run, but my boots felt glued to the floor.
At the very last minute, he dug his blades deep into the ice, turning his entire body sideways.
The stop was so fast and sudden that a massive spray of shaved ice flew over the low wall, hitting me directly in the face.
The cold crystals stung my cheeks and eyelids.
I gasped, wiping the freezing moisture away with the damp sleeve of my hoodie, my chest heaving with a mixture of fear and sudden anger.
“You’re late, Tutor,” Jaxon said.
He wasn’t even out of breath.
He leaned his thick arms over the top of the padded barrier, looking down at me with a lazy, arrogant smirk.
His stormy grey eyes were bright with malice under the glaring stadium lights, mocking my distress.
“It’s exactly midnight,” I snapped, my teeth chattering slightly from the biting chill.
I forced my hands into my pockets to hide the fact that they were shaking.
“I’m here to do my job, Jaxon. Grab your books so we can get this over with. I don’t have time for your little high school games.”
Before he could answer, the sound of footsteps came from the shadows near the locker room tunnel.
I spun around, my pulse spiking in my chest.
A tall, broad-shouldered guy stepped into the harsh light.
He wore a dark team jacket and had a calm, quiet expression on his face.
It was Nate Miller, Jaxon’s defensive partner and the co-captain of the team.
He didn’t look at me with the same cruelty Jaxon did, but his face was unreadable.
He didn’t say a word to me.
He walked straight to the main gate control, slid a steel deadbolt into place, and clicked it locked with a definitive, metallic snap.
“Nate’s here to keep us official,” Jaxon murmured, his voice a low, rumbling rasp that carried easily across the quiet ice.
He didn’t look back at his friend, his focus remained entirely locked on me.
“What is this?” I demanded, backing up until my spine hit the cold metal railing of the spectator walkways.
I looked between the two massive athletes, feeling incredibly small in my oversized clothes.
“Let me out of here. This isn’t part of the tutoring agreement.”
“You wanted to lecture me about rules in the lounge, Roxy,” Jaxon said, his tone dropping into something darker, more possessive.
He tapped the blade of his hockey stick against the ice.
The sound echoed loudly in the silence.
“But on this ice, I make the rules. You want to change my life? You play by my terms.”
He hooked the curved toe of his stick under a spare, wooden hockey stick lying near the player bench.
With a single, fluid flick of his wrist, he launched the stick high into the air.
It flipped twice, catching the bright stadium light, before he caught the shaft perfectly mid-air with his gloved hand.
He tossed it over the barrier.
It clattered loudly against the concrete floor, sliding forward until it landed right at my sneakers.
“You want me to open an economics book?” Jaxon asked, leaning closer over the glass until I could smell the scent of his mint gum mixed with the cold metallic tang of the arena.
His face was inches from mine, his eyes boring into my soul.
“Pick up the stick and get out here on the ice. Score a single goal on me. You do that, and I’ll sit down and listen to every single word you say. I’ll pass your little class.”
He paused, his smirk growing wider, sharper, and heartless.
“But you miss,” he whispered, his voice vibrating in my chest, “you walk out that door, you quit the job, and you keep your mouth shut about my grades to Owen and the board forever. What’s it going to be, Tutor?”