Page 87 of Silver Fox Puck

“And you weren’t going to tell me?”

His fingers flex at his sides. “I was. Just not like this.”

Jake scoffs. “See? He wasn’t even going to tell you.”

I ignore him, my focus still locked on Grant.

“How bad? How bad was the fight?”

His lips press together for half a second before he answers.

“Broken nose for him. Cracked rib for me.”

What the actual fuck. A grown man who solves problems with violence? Then I remember where I am—in the rink of an NHL team. The league took him back. Hired him as coach. So maybe…?

Jake slices through the tension. “He comes with baggage, Kenz. A lot of it.”

And honestly? I don’t have a response. Because I don’t know what to do with this.

I don’t know what this changes. But I do know one thing. This just got a whole lot more complicated.

I don’t know how long I stand there. I don’t know how long the weight of his words presses down on me, heavy and suffocating.

All I know is that I can’t breathe.

The cold from the rink seeps into my skin, but it’s nothing compared to the icy realization settling in my chest.

This isn’t just a hookup. This isn’t just a bad idea I can walk away from without consequences.

Grant has a whole damn history I knew nothing about.

And I’m standing here, staring at him like I have any business being in it.

“Say something.”

He’s calm. Careful. Every word chosen with precision.

But I hear it. The crack underneath. I want to say something.

I want to ask him why he kept this from me.

I want to demand to know what else I don’t know.

I want to understand why this feels like the ground just shifted beneath me.

But I can’t. Because I don’t even know what I’m feeling yet. So I swallow hard, force my spine straight, and tell him the only thing I can.

“I need time to think.”

The words are barely above a whisper, but they land like a brick between us.

Grant doesn’t move.

Doesn’t argue. Doesn’t chase.

He just watches me. And for the second time since this whole thing started…

I walk away first.

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