Page 4 of Sticks & Serpents

Me?

I was just the spare, forever caught in my father’s shadow, cursed with his relentless drive for success.

Forgotten for the most part until I acted out.

“Show them you’re not weak,” my father had barked before I stepped onto the ice.

The words clung to me like a heavy fog, suffocating any desire to play for anything other than survival. He didn’t care about this charity nonsense; he only cared about how I presented myself—the Sinclaire name carried weight, and I was expected to uphold it.

The game resumed around me, but my focus remained on that hollow gaze from above. Each move became a statement—a rebellion against being treated like a pawn in his game of perfection. The rink transformed into my battleground; every check was a blow against years of pressure and disappointment.

As the whistle blew again and Logan lay on the ice, picking himself up, I caught sight of her—Holly—standing there at the edge of my world.

She looked small, yet there was something powerful in her stillness that made me pause momentarily. A flicker of memory ignited within me; those summer nights when everything felt possible before life tightened its grip.

But no time for nostalgia now.

I turned back to Logan, sneering down at him like a conqueror surveying his domain. But my eyes drifted back to Holly again—my connection to something real—and it filled me with rage that she could ever be part of this farce orchestrated by my father.

This wasn’t about winning or losing; it was about breaking free from chains forged by expectation and resentment—and she had unwittingly walked right back into it.

I’d seen the messages on her phone, even caught glimpses of her texting Logan when she thought I wasn’t looking.

I had software tracking her.

Ever since she and her stupid friend got involved with that frat, I had to.

To protect her.

It gnawed at me, that little flicker of intimacy she shared with Logan fucking Hartley, the way she laughed at his jokes and seemed so at ease. We’d gone out a couple of times before the breakup, but that was nothing compared to what I felt for her.

Logan didn’t know what he was getting into. He thought he could waltz in, throw around some charm, and win her over like it was some kind of game. He didn’t realize that Holly had been mine once—still fucking was, whether or not she agreed with it.

When I found out about them, my hands curled into fists. The urge to slam Logan against the boards again burned in my gut. The asshole was lucky I didn’t just lose it and kill him right there on the ice.

Holly had ruined everything two years ago when she walked away from me without looking back. She tore apart the one thing that felt real in my world. All those moments we shared—late-night talks under the stars, laughter echoing across summer nights—flashed before me like a movie reel, each memory a reminder of what I'd lost.

I wanted her back more than anything, yet all I could do was watch from a distance as she slipped further away, tangled in someone else's life while I remained trapped in mine. The rage inside me simmered, but there was also something deeper—a hollow ache that no amount of aggression could fill.

It made sense that Holly would be drawn to someone like Logan; he seemed safe and normal, everything I wasn’t. But did she really think he could handle her? Did she believe he’d love her fiercely enough to withstand everything we’d been through?

Every time I thought of them together, it sent a jolt through me—a mix of jealousy and despair—and yet here I stood, unable to break free from the spell she cast over me.

Holly turned away, and just like that, I felt the world dim. She probably had some stupid role in this charity event—an over-glorified babysitter for the real players. The thought twisted my gut.

Tom Morgan glided over, his presence like a storm cloud rolling in. He blew the whistle with a shrillness that cut through the arena noise and skated up to me, a scowl etched on his face.

“Sinclaire!” he barked, shaking his head like I was a child who’d just drawn on the walls. “This ain’t a goddamn NHL showdown; it’s a scrimmage for charity. You’re gonna need to dial it back, or I swear to God, I’ll bench you faster than you can sayhockey stick. For fuck's sake, it's a fucking charity game.”

I smirked at him, unable to suppress the urge to push back. “What? You think I should give him a hug instead? Maybe some cookies after I put him into the boards?”

His eyes narrowed, and he leaned closer, towering over me like an angry hawk ready to pounce. “You want me to get all motherfucker on your ass? Because I’ve got no problem turning this ice into your personal purgatory if you keep this crap up.”

I chuckled dryly. “And here I thought we were just playing hockey, Coach. Guess you missed that memo.”

He huffed out an annoyed breath but finally skated away as if he couldn’t be bothered to deal with me any longer.

Which I was used to from most everyone.

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