His Dangerous Love On Ice (Olivia and Zane) novel Chapter 14

OLIVE’s POV

“What the hell is he doing?”

Grayson stood up so fast his seat snapped back, his voice cutting through even the crowd noise because he was projecting like a coach again.

“That’s not his zone! He’s leaving the middle completely open!”

But Cole didn’t care about zones or strategy or anything except getting to Zane.

And I could see it even from up here, the fury in the way he moved, reckless and aggressive and completely abandoning his role because he was more interested in… revenge than winning.

He wasn’t going for the puck-he was going for Zane.

“No Cole…”

I whispered slowly, hands tight around my wrist.

Targeting him like this was personal, and oh God it was personal it was about me screaming Zane’s name, about me not being there to cheer for Cole.

About everything that had happened between us coming to a head right there on the ice.

“No, no, no,” I whispered, watching it happen in slow motion..

Watching Cole close the distance with murder in his eyes.

Cole slammed into Zane from the side with enough force that I heard the impact even over the crowd.

A sickening crunch of body against body and equipment againstice, and Zane stumbled, nearly went down.

And the puck flew loose from his stick and skittered across the ice toward a Tigers player who grabbed it like he couldn’t believe his luck.

“FUCK!”

Grayson roared beside me, and I’d never heard him sound like that, raw and furious and helpless all at once.

The Tigers player was skating toward the Wolves’ goal now.

And if he scored we’d be tied with less than a minute left, and everything Zane had done, everything the team had fought for, would be for nothing.

Because Cole couldn’t control his jealousy for five more seconds

But Zane recovered faster than should have been physically possible.

Back on his skates before Cole had even finished his follow-through, and he was chasing down the Tigers player like a man possessed.

Closing the distance in seconds that felt like heartbeats.

He caught up, stole the puck back with a move so smooth it looked like the other player had just handed it to him.

And instead of taking the shot himself when he had a clear line the goal–instead of being selfish and padding his own stats-he passed it.

To Hunter, who was wide open right in front of the goal.

Positioned perfectly because he’d been paying attention to the game instead of his personal grudges.

Hunter didn’t hesitate, didn’t second-guess.

Just shot the puck with everything he had, and it sailed past the goalie’s glove and slammed into the net with a sound that made the whole building shake.

The buzzer screamed one final time, cutting through the chaos.

“GOAL! HUNTER SINCLAIR FOR THE CHICAGO WOLVES! FINAL SCORE: 5-4! THE WOLVES WIN!”

The arena exploded into the loudest noise I’d ever heard in my life.

Louder than thunder, louder than anything, people jumping and screaming and crying and hugging everyone within reach.

And my mother burst into actual tears beside me, sobbing with joy and pride and relief all mixed together.

Grayson grabbed her and pulled her into a hug.

And I could see his shoulders shaking even though he was trying to hold it together, and for the first time I understood what this meant to him.

What it meant to see his son succeed after everything.

And I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move.

Couldn’t process anything except the fact that Zane was looking at me again, standing on the ice with his helmet off now.

Hair messy and damp with sweat, face flushed from exertion.

And he wasn’t celebrating with his team, wasn’t joining in the chaos around him.

He was just looking at me, standing perfectly still in the middle of all that movement.

And the way he looked at me made my heart stop and restart in different rhythm entirely.

Not smiling, not celebrating.

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