Pucking the rival sister

LILY’S POV

The shouting of the crowd was so loud it made my head throb.

I hated hockey games.

I could not stand the smell of expensive popcorn, the freezing air that got through my leggings, and how people yelled like they were in a battle.

But I was a Bennett, and in this family, hockey was not just a game. It was everything.

I sat in the Family and Friends section, wrapped up in my big NY Lions jersey. It was way too big for me, the sleeves swallowing my hands, but Leo insisted I wear it.

He said it was for good luck.

I pushed my big, black glasses up my nose for the tenth time. They were always sliding down, especially when I was nervous.

And right now, I was terrified.

On the ice, my brother Leo was skating like his life depended on it. He was the captain, the star, the golden boy of the Lions. But across from him was the monster everyone talked about in whispers.

Roman Volkov.

The ICE MACHINE.

I watched him move, and it was honestly scary.

He did not play like the others. He did not look like he was having fun. He looked like he was programmed to destroy anything in a different colored jersey.

He was huge—six foot four of pure muscle and bad intentions.

“Watch out, Leo!” I whispered, my fingers twisting together in my lap.

My best friend, Jane, nudged me. “Relax, Lily. Your brother is the best. Volkov is just a brute.”

I wanted to believe her, but my eyes could not leave the Russian. He had this way of sliding across the ice that felt serious, like he was a storm coming in.

Every time he got near Leo, my stomach did a nervous flip.

Then it happened.

Leo had the puck, turning around a defender near the boards. He was fast, but Roman was faster. Before I could even blink, Roman leaned into a check.

The sound was sickening.

CRACK.

The plexiglass groaned as Leo was slammed into it. The crash was so hard that it made a sound through the entire stadium. My brother hit the ice hard, and his helmet slid away.

“Leo!” I screamed, standing up so fast my glasses almost flew off.

The crowd broke out in boos. Referees blew their whistles, and players from both teams started shoving each other.

It was a mess of flying gloves and angry shouts.

Roman did not even flinch. He did not join the fight. He just stood there, his stick held loosely in his gloved hand, watching Leo crawl toward the bench.

He looked bored.

Like he had not just almost broken my brother in half.

The penalty box door opened, and the announcer's voice echoed through the speakers. Roman had been given two minutes for boarding.

As he skated toward the box, he did something he never did. He did not look at the refs. He did not look at his coach.

He looked up.

Right at the family section.

I froze. My breath caught in my throat as those icy blue eyes scanned the crowd. For a split second, they landed on me.

Everything else went quiet.

I felt small, like a mouse staring at a hawk. His eyes were not human—they were cold, robotic, and weirdly beautiful in a way that made me want to run away and hide.

He stayed like that for a moment too long, his gaze dragging over my messy ponytail and my glasses, before he stepped into the box and sat down.

“Did he just look at you?” Jane gasped, her hand over her mouth.

“No,” I lied, my voice shaking. “He was probably looking for Leo’s fans to mock them.”

But my heart would not stop pounding. I sat back down, my legs feeling like jelly. My family had hated the Volkovs for years.

It started with our dads, a rivalry on the ice that turned into a blood vendetta off it. Leo grew up telling me that Roman Volkov was the devil in skates.

And after that look, I finally believed him.

The rest of the game happened so fast.

The Lions lost, mostly because Leo was too dizzy to play his best after that hit. The second the final buzzer went off, I grabbed my bag.

“I'm going down to the locker rooms,” I told Jane. “I need to make sure Leo is okay.”

“Be careful,” she warned. “The Wolves are still clearing out.”

I nodded and fixed my bag strap. I walked through the stadium, going down the stairs to the restricted area. My pass was pinned to my jersey, so the security guards let me through without a word.

The hallways down here were different.

They smelled like sweat and ice. They were narrow and dimly lit.

I was so worried about Leo that I was not paying attention. I was looking at my phone, trying to text him to see if he was in the trainer's room.

‘Are you okay?’

‘Do you need your ice pack?’ I typed, my thumbs are clumsy on the screen.

I turned a quick corner, my head down, and my foot caught on a lost piece of tape on the floor.

“Oh!” I gasped, stumbling forward.

I expected to hit the hard wall. Instead, I crashed into something that felt like hard rock. The crash sent my phone flying out of my hand. I bounced back, my glasses sliding down to the tip of my nose.

I gasped, my hands reaching out to catch myself, but I ended up grabbing onto two huge, wet arms.

The heat coming off the person was insane. I could smell it right away— chilly air, salt, and a spicy cologne that made me dizzy.

I looked up, and the breath left my lungs.

It wasn't a wall.

It was Roman.

He was not wearing his jersey anymore. He just had on his padded hockey pants and a tight, black compression shirt that showed every single muscle in his chest.

His skin was slippery with sweat, and his dark hair was wet, sticking to his forehead.

Up close, he was even more terrifying. He was so big I felt like a child

standing in front of him. I barely reached the middle of his chest.

“I—I'm sorry,” I stuttered, my face turning a bright shade of red. “I wasn't looking, I just—”

I went to reach for my phone, but he did not move. He stayed perfectly still, looking down at me.

The hallway was quiet, and the faraway crowd sounded like a soft buzz. I felt his eyes on me, and it was intense.

He did not help me up. He did not say it was okay.

Instead, he leaned down, his face getting closer to mine. I could see the faded scar near his eyebrow and the way his blue eyes narrowed as they studied my face.

“Leo’s little sister,” he said.

His voice was a low, rough sound with a thick Russian accent that made the hair on my arms stand up. It was the first time I had ever heard him speak, and it sounded like a warning.

I took a step back, my heart beating against my ribs. “How do you know who I am?”

A slow, dark smirk spread at the corner of his mouth, but it didn't reach his eyes.

“I know everything about the Bennetts, Lily.”

He stepped forward, forcing me back against the cold brick wall.

He stood over me, blocking the light, his big body keeping me still. He stared at me with a fierce look that made me feel scared.

“And I’ve been waiting a long time to get you alone.”