Offside Temptation

Ethan’s Pov

The roar inside Blackstone Arena sounded less like cheering and more like a battlefield collapsing.

Twenty thousand fans screamed as the clock above the ice bled down its final seconds.

00:18.

Ethan Ryder couldn’t breathe properly beneath his helmet.

Sweat burned his eyes. Blood dripped from a split cut beneath his lip. Every muscle in his body trembled from exhaustion, but he still shoved forward, skates carving violently across the ice as he chased the puck like a man possessed.

“Ryder!” Noah shouted from the left wing. “Pass!”

Ethan barely heard him.

All he saw was Damien Cross.

Of course it was Damien.

The golden captain of the Vancouver Wolves stood between Ethan and the championship trophy with that same cold expression that had haunted him for seven years. Calm. Controlled. Untouchable.

Like he already knew how this game would end.

Damien intercepted the puck effortlessly and spun away from Ethan with brutal precision.

The crowd exploded.

Ethan’s jaw clenched hard enough to hurt.

God, he hated him.

Hated the way Damien always looked flawless no matter how violent the match became.

Hated the way cameras worshipped him.

Hated the way the entire league treated Damien Cross like hockey royalty while Ethan was constantly one bad decision away from becoming a cautionary tale.

Most of all Ethan hated that Damien never lost control.

Not once.

“Move!” Ethan snarled.

Damien glanced over his shoulder, icy gray eyes locking onto Ethan through the helmets.

Then he smirked.

A tiny movement.

Barely there.

But it snapped something ugly inside Ethan’s chest.

The crowd sensed it instantly. They always did.

Because everyone in professional hockey knew exactly what happened whenever Damien Cross and Ethan Ryder looked at each other like that.

Violence followed.

Ethan slammed into Damien near the boards hard enough to shake the glass.

Fans leapt to their feet screaming.

The referees shouted warnings.

Damien hit back immediately.

Gloves tangled.

Sticks crashed.

The puck disappeared beneath skates as the two captains shoved each other with years of hatred packed into every movement.

“Ryder!” someone yelled.

“Cross!”

Ethan barely registered the noise around him.

All he could see was Damien’s face inches from his own.

Cold eyes.

Steady breathing.

That infuriating composure.

“You’re slipping,” Damien said quietly.

Ethan’s blood boiled.

“You talk too much.”

He swung first.

The punch connected against Damien’s jaw with a satisfying crack.

The arena detonated.

Damien staggered half a step before driving Ethan backward into the glass so hard his vision blurred.

The referees rushed toward them.

Too late.

Because Damien finally looked angry.

And somehow that made Ethan want to grin.

“You done embarrassing yourself?” Damien hissed.

Ethan laughed breathlessly despite the pain in his ribs.

“Still prettier than you.”

Damien’s mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile.

That only made Ethan angrier.

Why did Damien always look at him like this?

Like the entire world disappeared whenever they fought.

A whistle shrieked.

Penalty.

The crowd booed violently as referees dragged Ethan backward across the ice.

Noah cursed from the bench.

“Are you insane?” he shouted.

Ethan ripped off one glove. “He started it.”

“Bullshit!”

Maybe it was.

Maybe Ethan didn’t care anymore.

The scoreboard flashed above them.

Chicago Reapers 3.

Vancouver Wolves 3.

00:09.

Nine seconds left.

Nine seconds between Ethan and the championship he’d spent his entire life chasing.

Coach Daniels grabbed Ethan’s jersey before he could sit down.

“You stay on that damn bench,” the coach barked. “You hear me?”

Ethan’s chest heaved violently.

Across the rink, Damien adjusted his gloves calmly like nothing had happened.

Like Ethan hadn’t nearly broken his face thirty seconds ago.

Psychopath.

The puck dropped.

Everything after that happened too fast.

Damien stole possession immediately.

The Wolves surged forward.

Chicago’s defense collapsed under pressure.

Noah intercepted

I Lost control and suddenly Damien had the puck again.

The entire arena rose to its feet.

Ethan’s pulse thundered in his ears.

No, no, no.

Damien moved like a machine across the ice, weaving between defenders with terrifying grace. Cameras flashed wildly from the stands.

Golden boy.

Perfect captain.

Perfect fucking Damien Cross.

Ethan forgot the penalty, forgot the screaming coach behind him. He forgot everything except stopping him.

He vaulted over the boards.

The whistle exploded instantly.

Fans screamed in confusion.

Damien’s eyes widened for the first time all night.

Ethan slammed into him before he could shoot.

The collision sent both of them crashing hard across the ice.

The puck ricocheted loose..

Straight toward Vancouver’s left wing.

A clean shot.

Goal.

The horn blared.

For one horrifying second, silence swallowed Ethan whole.

Then the arena erupted.

The Wolves had won.

Damien remained sprawled beside Ethan on the ice, breathing hard.

The championship lights flashed overhead while Vancouver players stormed the rink in celebration.

Ethan couldn’t move.

His chest felt hollow.

No.

No, this wasn’t happening.

Not again.

Not because of him.

The penalty.

The illegal substitution.

The reckless hit.

He’d just handed Damien Cross the championship.

The realization hit like a knife between the ribs.

Around them, cameras zoomed in hungrily.

Ethan heard commentators shouting somewhere above the chaos.

“Unbelievable mistake from Ryder.”

“Absolute disaster for Chicago.”

“That may have cost them everything.”

He wanted to smash something.

Damien slowly sat up beside him.

For the first time in years, he didn’t look victorious.

He looked… concerned.

Ethan hated that even more.

“Get off me,” Ethan snapped.

Damien grabbed his wrist before he could stand.

The contact burned.

“Ryder—”

“Don’t.”

Ethan ripped free violently and shoved himself upright.

Across the rink, the Wolves celebrated with the trophy while Chicago’s bench looked shattered.

Noah wouldn’t even look at him.

Good.

Ethan didn’t want pity.

He wanted blood.

The cameras followed him as he skated toward the tunnel. Fans screamed insults from the stands while reporters crowded near the exit like vultures waiting for roadkill.

“Ethan! Ethan, comment on the penalty!”

“How do you feel after costing Chicago the championship?”

“Was the hit intentional?”

Ethan kept moving.

His heartbeat pounded harder with every step.

Humiliation crawled beneath his skin like poison.

By the time he reached the locker room, rage was all he had left.

Helmets slammed against walls.

Players shouted over each other.

Coach Daniels looked seconds away from a heart attack.

“What the hell were you thinking?” someone yelled.

Ethan ignored them all.

Until the room suddenly went silent.

The Wolves had entered.

Still in uniform.

Still celebrating.

And right at the center—

Damien Cross.

Their eyes met instantly.

God.

Even after winning, Damien looked exhausted instead of happy.

His dark blond hair clung damply to his forehead. Bruising already formed near his jaw where Ethan punched him earlier.

Beautiful.

The thought hit Ethan so suddenly he nearly recoiled from it.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Damien stepped forward carefully while the room watched.

“You shouldn’t have jumped the boards,” Damien said quietly.

Ethan laughed harshly.

“That your victory speech?”

“You lost control.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Damien’s jaw tightened.

“You could’ve injured someone.”

“And you care now?” Ethan snapped. “That’s funny coming from the guy who’s spent seven years trying to destroy me.”

A flicker crossed Damien’s face.

Something unreadable.

Then one of the Wolves players muttered, “Jesus Christ, here we go again.”

Probably.

Because Ethan suddenly wanted to hit Damien all over again.

Not because of the game.

Not because of the humiliation.

But because Damien was standing there looking at him like he understood him.

Like he saw every ugly thing inside Ethan and didn’t look away.

It made Ethan furious.

“You know what your problem is?” Ethan said, stepping closer.

The locker room tensed instantly.

Damien stayed still.

“What?”

“You think you’re better than everyone.”

Damien’s eyes darkened slightly.

“No,” he said softly. “Just better than you.”

The room exploded.

Ethan lunged first.

Players shouted.

Someone grabbed a bench before it overturned.

Damien caught Ethan by the front of his jersey and slammed him backward into the lockers hard enough to rattle metal.

The impact knocked air from Ethan’s lungs.

But adrenaline drowned the pain instantly.

“Fight! Fight! Fight!”

Even teammates were yelling now.

Phones came out.

Of course they did.

Hockey’s favorite enemies were giving the world another show.

Ethan grabbed Damien’s collar violently.

“You smug bastard—”

Damien shoved him harder.

“You never think before you act!”

“And you never feel anything!”

That hit something.

Ethan saw it.

For one dangerous second, Damien’s expression cracked.

Emotion flashed across his face so fast Ethan almost missed it.

Pain.

Raw and sharp.

Then Damien’s grip tightened.

“You don’t know a damn thing about me,” he said quietly.

Ethan soften.

He felt affected.

Because beneath the anger, beneath all seven years of hatred .

Something electric pulsed between them.

Something worse than rivalry.