Chapter 30: Throwing a Tantrum?

Walking STD: Concourse. Behind Section 102. Right now.

My stomach sank instantly.

"Hey, I... I need to go grab a bottle of water," I said, standing up and smoothing down the oversized jersey over my jeans. "I’ll be right back."

"Take your time," Priya said from row three, giving me a knowing, mischievous look.

Drew looked up with a warm smile. "Want me to come with you? The concourse gets pretty packed during intermissions."

"No! I mean... no, it’s fine," I said quickly, maybe a little too fast. "I’ll just be a minute."

I pushed through the crowded aisle, climbed the concrete stairs, and stepped out onto the main concourse behind Section 102. The wide hallway was loud and chaotic, filled with students buying pretzels, shouting over the music, and waiting in line for concessions.

I ducked past the crowd, turning down the narrow corridor toward the restricted player tunnel exit.

The noise faded slightly as the yellow overhead lights gave way to concrete walls and heavy shadows.

Standing by the brick pillar near the double doors, half-unzipped out of his shoulder pads, was Knox.

Sweat glistened on his throat and collarbone. His dark hair was messy and damp from his helmet, and his chest rose and fell with heavy breaths from the first period. He looked broad, lethal, and calm until his eyes locked onto me.

Pushing off the wall, he stepped from the shadows with long, predatory strides that soon eclipsed the overhead hallway lights. A faint, arrogant smirk touched his lips, but a cold, dangerous flicker remained in his eyes.

"Is that part of the strategy, Bookworm?" Knox asked in a sarcastic voice as he stepped into my personal space. "Entertaining other guys in the second row while wearing my name on your chest? My father is sitting in the VIP box, in case you forgot."

"Yooo... calm your horses, Sheridan," I said, stepping back slightly and meeting his gaze head-on. "He’s a friend from home. His name is Drew. His uncle gave him tickets for the game."

"A friend," Knox repeated, tilting his head slowly. "He’s sitting in my seat."

"Am I not allowed to have male friends just because I’m fake-dating you?" I snapped, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Not when you’re wearing my name on your back and half the arena is watching," Knox replied. "It ruins the picture we are trying to paint, Bennett."

I narrowed my eyes at him as a sudden spark of suspicion hit me. "Are you actually threatened by him?"

Knox’s smirk vanished.

The air between us turned instantly arctic as he took one broad, sweeping step forward, completely trapping me against the brick pillar behind me.

"Threatened?" Knox growled, his voice dropping into a low, possessive whisper that sent a shiver straight down my spine. "Not even close. But he doesn’t belong in my row."

"He came to support me, Sheridan," I argued, holding my ground even as my heart hammered against my ribs. "I’m not kicking him out just because you’re throwing a tantrum."

Knox reached out, his heavy, calloused fingers catching the silver collar of the jersey right over my collarbone. He didn’t pull, but his knuckles brushed warmly against my skin as his thumb traced the thick, stitched letters of his name across my chest.

"Listen to me, Bennett," Knox said, leaning down until his lips were inches from my ear, his breath hot against the chill of the hallway. "You belong in that seat with my name on your back. If he sits next to you for the rest of this game, I’m going to put another three guys through the glass."

Before I could answer, the sharp buzz for the second period echoed down the corridor.

Knox let go of my collar, shot me one last warning glare, and turned back toward the locker room.

I stood there against the brick pillar for three long seconds, taking a shaky breath to steady my pulse, before walking back out.

"Everything okay?" Drew asked as I slid back into my seat. "You look flushed."

"I’m fine," I lied, tucking my cold hands deeper into the oversized sleeves of Knox’s jersey. "Just... hot in the concourse."

Priya leaned over the back of my seat, smirk playing on her lips. "Riiiiight. Flushed from the concourse."

—

The rest of the game passed in a blur of deafening noise, organ music, and ice spray.

Every time Knox was with the puck, Kingston looked completely helpless. He laid two more massive, bone-crunching hits along the boards right in front of Section 102, making the glass rattle hard enough that Drew actually flinched.

"Okay, I’m starting to think your captain has a personal vendetta against their entire roster," Drew muttered, shaking his head with a reluctant smile as the scoreboard ticked down.

By the time the final horn blared across the arena, Briar had secured a crushing five-to-one victory. The student section erupted into wild cheers, chanting Knox’s name as the team gathered at center ice to salute the crowd.

Knox raised his stick once toward the student section, but his dark visor turned right back to Row 2, holding my gaze for three intense seconds before he disappeared down the player tunnel.

"That was insane," Drew said, standing up and buttoning his dark green jacket as thousands of fans began shuffling toward the concrete aisles. "Your school definitely takes its sports seriously."

"They have their moments," I admitted, standing up and smoothing down the heavy purple fabric of the jersey.

Priya squeezed up beside us, zipping her coat. "I’m starving. Are we grabbing diner fries?"

"I should probably head back," I said, feeling the bone-deep exhaustion of the past three days catching up to me all at once. "I still have to return this jersey to Knox."

"I’ll walk you girls back to your apartment," Drew offered warmly, slinging his strap over his shoulder. "It’s freezing out tonight, and the campus crowd looks pretty rowdy."

We descended the concrete stairs and walked out through the main glass entrance into the icy midnight air. The plaza outside was packed with thousands of shouting students, horn blasters, and university police guiding traffic.

We stopped near the wide concrete steps by the private player exit gate, waiting out of the main flow of the crowd while Priya pulled up her phone to check a message.

"It was really good seeing you, Nora," Drew said, turning to me with a soft, genuine smile. "I’m glad I came up."

"I’m glad you came too, Drew," I said, feeling a quiet swell of comfort. "Thank you for the coffee."

Before Drew could reply, the metal double doors of the player entrance clattered open against the brick wall.

A tall, towering figure stepped out into the night air.

It was Knox.

He was freshly showered, his dark curls still damp against his forehead. He wore his black Briar varsity jacket over a dark t-shirt, his heavy leather gym bag slung over one broad shoulder.

He stopped on the top concrete step, his eyes instantly scanning the crowd until they locked onto us.

Drew turned at the sound of the heavy doors, recognizing the six-foot-three captain who had just dominated the rink.

Knox didn’t look at Priya. He didn’t even acknowledge the group of students calling his name from the sidewalk.

He walked straight down the concrete steps toward us, his heavy boots thudding against the pavement until he stopped right in front of me, his massive shadow swallowing both of us.

His eyes flicked down to my frame, verifying I was still wearing his #19 jersey, before shifting slowly onto Drew.

The air between them turned instantly arctic.

"Oh, babe," Knox said in a deep, smooth, and casually possessive way as he looked down at me. "Is this the friend you told me about?"

My breath hitched in my throat. Knox had never called me babe in his life.

"Yeah," I stammered, my heart slamming against my ribs as I tried to keep my voice steady. "Knox, this is Drew. Drew, meet Knox."

Knox extended a broad, scarred hand toward Drew without blinking. "Knox Sheridan," he said flatly. "Nora’s boyfriend."