Cam’s shoulders lifted on a sharp inhale. His hands flexed at his sides, tape creaking faintly as his fingers curled.
“Because you decided to play sheriff,” he snapped.
“I played hockey.”
“You played hero.”
“Sometimes that’s the job.” I met his stare without blinking, chin tipping up a fraction. Not a challenge. A refusal to yield.
Cam’s nostrils flared. A muscle jumped in his jaw. He dragged a hand through his damp hair, then dropped it hard to his hip, like he was stopping himself from doing something worse.
“You don’t get to freelance discipline.”
“I reacted to a threat.”
“To your temper.”
My shoulders straightened without me thinking about it. My weight shifted forward, skates scraping lightly against the rubber mat. Close enough now that I could see the pulse jumping at Cam’s throat.
Every eye drifted toward us—teammates pretending not to stare, watching from reflections in mirrors, from the corners of their vision, like men sensing a storm before the first thunder ever cracked. No one moved. No one spoke. They just felt it building, that low pressure in the air that came before something splintered.
The room seemed to tighten around us. Steam curled from showers. Sweat clung to skin. Heat pressed in from every direction, thick and heavy, as if the ceiling itself were holding its breath.
Two bodies squared off in the center of it all, shoulders set, jaws locked, energy rolling off us in slow, dangerous waves.
Two tempests standing ten feet apart.
Cam took one slow step toward me.
Not aggressive.
Deliberate.
Claiming space.
“You want to talk about threats?” he murmured. “Let’s start with not handing the league another reason to fine us. Or suspend you. Or make Rawlings explain why his ‘veteran leader’ keeps losing his cool.”
Veteran leader.
The phrase landed wrong.
I could’ve walked away.
But my blood was still loud. My nerves still buzzing. And Cam always knew where to press. He hit nerves like he hit the puck. Clean. Precise.
I huffed humorlessly before letting my voice turn to gravel. “Interesting coming from a guy who almost boarded someone last week because he chirped too loud.”
Cam’s jaw tightened. “That was different.”
“It always is when it’s you.”
The temperature in the room dropped.
Cam’s eyes flashed.
For half a second, I saw it. The same thing in him that lived in me. The fear of losing control of the story. The fear of being blamed when things fell apart. The fear of captaining a team no one believe in.
“You’re not the only one who wants this team to matter,” he clipped.