Break My Heart: An Enemies-to-Lovers Coach’s Daughter Sports Romance (Western Wildcats Hockey)
Break My Heart: Chapter 7

The noise is deafening as I step inside the arena. The sports venue is packed tonight with a sea of fans wearing Western Wildcats jerseys and hats. The hardcore supporters are easy to spot with their orange and black face paint. Near the plexiglass, a group of girls are holding up glitter-bedazzled poster boards in a desperate plea for attention.

The way some of these chicks lose their minds over the hockey players around here is ridiculous. It’s like they forget these guys aren’t out there curing cancer or solving climate change.

As I scan the crowd, I spot my new friends. Britt pops up from her seat with a wave. A smile tugs at the corners of my lips, and the knot of tension in my belly loosens as I make my way toward them. When Britt first introduced me to her crew, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Girls like them—tight-knit, supportive, genuinely nice—didn’t exist in my world. I was always on the ice, too busy training to make real connections. And even when I did get close to people, the relationships felt catty and filled with jealousy.

But these girls?

They’ve done the unexpected and welcomed me with open arms.

Britt pulls me in for a warm hug the moment I reach her. “Ava!” she chirps, her excitement contagious. “I’m so glad you were able to make it.”

My muscles relax as I settle into the seat next to her. The others—Fallyn, Juliette, Carina, Stella, Viola, and Willow—are scattered around, all engaged in various conversations. It’s noisy with the music blasting through the loudspeakers, hyping fans up for the game.

I try to focus on anyone other than Hayes Van Doren, but my gaze is reluctantly drawn to him. Even with the helmet covering his head and face, I can still pick him out in the crowd of players.

He’s taller and broader in the shoulders than most of the others.

From across the sheet of ice, our gazes collide, and a jolt of electricity shoots through me. Instead of glancing away, he smirks.

Ugh.

His ego is so massive, he probably thinks I’m here just for him.

It takes effort to sever the connection and turn my attention back to Britt, who loops her arm through mine. Like me, she’s new to this group of friends. The difference is that she’s with one of the hockey players, so she fits in perfectly. All of these girls are dating—or married to—guys on the team.

The only other girl not with one of the players is Holland. She’s Willow’s bestie and roommate. I’ve only met her a handful of times. What I’ve noticed is that she tends to hang back and feel out the situation before loosening up. She has a razor-sharp sense of humor and seems to detest hockey players in general. The only time she shows up for games is when Willow drags her along. And she certainly never parties with them afterward.

Then again, neither do I.

It’s only when Britt nudges me that I blink back to our conversation. “Where have you been hiding? I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

Funny she would say that. Britt has no idea how close she is to the truth.

I shrug, wanting to keep the convo light. “Just busy with classes. You know how it is.”

She nods. “It’s a juggling act, for sure.”

“How’s married life treating you?” I waggle my brows. “Still enjoying it?”

Her cheeks flush as a wide smile spreads across her face. “It’s pretty amazing. I couldn’t be happier.”

It still blows my mind that Britt and Colby secretly tied the knot in Vegas while there to celebrate the marriage of their friends, Wolf and Fallyn. From what I can tell, they’re head over heels in love with each other, and he treats her like a total queen. Honestly, all the guys are that way with their significant others. My guess is that these girls have snapped up all the good ones. I’ve spent enough time around hockey players to know that most of them are exactly that—players who enjoy all the perks that come along with being a high-profile athlete on campus.

My attention is once again ensnared by Hayes.

As much as I try not to stare, I just can’t seem to help myself.

He’s way too handsome for his own good.

Mine as well.

It would be for the best if he lost interest. Although, I’m sure it won’t be long before he moves on to the next warm body. I doubt he has much of an attention span.

The lights dim, and a voice booms through the arena, announcing the starting lineup. The energy in the place kicks up a notch as the Wildcats hit the ice to a chorus of cheers. Hayes is in the center of it all, probably eating up the adoration like sugary candy. This time, I do roll my eyes when a group of girls a few rows ahead scream his name, hoping to snag his attention.

He gives them exactly what they’re so desperate for. With a grin, he lifts his gloved hand to wave. He’s the epitome of cocky confidence.

Typical.

Finally, the coaching staff is introduced, and I whistle, cheering for my dad. He’s always been my rock, and as complicated as life has become, I realize how lucky I am to have parents who love me unconditionally. They’ve supported me through everything—even when I made the impossible choice to walk away from professional skating.

I tamp down the grief threatening to surface, refusing to let it in.

The puck drops, and the game explodes to a start in a frenzy of motion. Hockey is fast, aggressive, and chaotic. A well-oiled machine of players crashing into each other with precision. I remind myself to stay focused on the game, but my attention continually drifts to Hayes.

He’s all over the ice, involved in every play, moving with an ease and fluidity that’s mesmerizing. It’s hard not to notice how good he is, how he makes the toughest plays look effortless.

It doesn’t take long for him to rack up three goals, securing a hat trick. His teammates surround him, slapping his back and grinning through their visors.

When he looks up, our eyes lock, and my pulse stutters.

Damn him.

I tear my gaze away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of thinking I’m impressed by his talent.

As I force myself to scan the packed stands across the ice, unease settles in my stomach. There, in the sea of fans, is a man in a black hoodie, his face obscured. My breath catches, the air freezing in my lungs.

No. It can’t be.

I rise, trying to get a better look as the visiting team’s fans jump to their feet when a turnover is made. Panic flares to life inside me, spreading through my veins like ice, as I search the crowd again, scanning faces, trying to convince myself it was nothing more than a trick of the light.

That Nathan isn’t here.

He has no idea where I am.

“Ava?” The worry woven through Britt’s voice is what pulls me back. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I swallow hard and force a shaky smile, wanting to alleviate her concern. “I’m fine. Just a little lightheaded. I didn’t eat much today.”

Britt frowns. “Why don’t we grab something from the concession stand? You don’t want to pass out.”

My heart continues to race as I shake my head. Even as I force the words through stiff lips, fear slithers through me, wrapping icy fingers around my heart before squeezing. It takes effort to keep the tremble from my voice. “I hate to bail, but I’m going to head out.”

“Are you sure? We’re not even halfway through the game.”

“Yeah, I still have some work to finish up.”

Her brow furrows. “You’re really pale. Want me to come with you?”

The offer is tempting, but I can’t drag Britt into this. More than likely, it was just my imagination playing tricks on me. “No, I’m good. I’ll text you when I get home.”

She gives me a hug before I say goodbye to the rest of the girls and then slip from the arena.

With my shoulders hunched, I weave through the crowd. My senses are on high alert as I scan the corridor for a familiar face—one I never thought I’d see again. The chilly night air hits me as soon as I step outside, but it does nothing to calm the gnawing fear in the pit of my belly.

Even though the parking lot is well lit, I can’t shake the ominous feeling that settles inside me. The one that whispers someone is looming in the shadows, watching me.

Waiting for the perfect time to strike.