His Dangerous Love On Ice Chapter 23: Cole's Pov

COLE’s POV

The bag swung back, and I hit it again. Harder. My knuckles were raw inside the gloves, but I didn't stop. Couldn't stop.

‘Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.’

Olive screaming Zane's name was on loop in my head. Over and over. That look on her face when she'd seen me at the arena—like I was nothing. Like she'd already moved on.

Bullshit. She hadn't moved on. She was just trying to make me jealous, prove some point. Olive didn't do casual. She was too... her. Too clingy, too invested, too much of everything I'd spent two years trying to mold into something useful.

I hit the bag again. The chain rattled.

She'd looked good, though. Better than good. That outfit, those boots. When the hell did she start dressing like that? When we were together, she wore jeans and sweaters, barely any makeup. Now she looked like she belonged in one of those Instagram posts sponsors paid for.

Maybe that was it. Maybe she was trying to get attention from the media, ride the wave of being at the game. Use me for clout now that I was with the Wolves.

My jaw clenched. She wouldn't. Olive was too proud for that. Too convinced she was above the social games everyone else played.

But she'd been in the VIP section. Front row. Right where Zane could see her.

I stopped mid-punch, breathing hard. The gym was empty except for the hum of the overhead lights and my own ragged breath. Most of the guys had cleared out after practice, headed to whatever party was happening tonight. I'd skipped it. Needed to think.

Zane Mercer.

The name made my teeth grind. I'd spent years watching him from a distance, studying every move, every deal, every connection. He was untouchable. Not just because of his stats or his family name—though those helped—but because he operated on a level most players couldn't even comprehend. Sponsorships, board meetings, media appearances that felt more like power plays than publicity. He didn't just play hockey. He controlled it.

And I wanted that. Needed it.

That's why I'd worked so hard to get on the Wolves. Why I'd dated every coach's daughter, every sponsor's niece, every woman with a connection worth having. It wasn't about them. It was about access. About building the kind of network that could carry me past just being a good player into being someone who mattered.

Sophia was supposed to be the final piece. Zane's sister. The closest I'd ever get to him without actually having to interact with the guy. And she was easy—sweet, a little naive, believed everything I said. I'd been careful with her. Gentle. Made her think I actually gave a damn about her art degree and her opinions on whether we should vacation in Aspen or the Maldives.

I pulled off my gloves and grabbed the water bottle from the bench, taking a long drink. My knuckles were red, starting to bruise. Good. I needed the reminder that I was working toward something. That every punch, every lie, every carefully crafted smile was worth it.

The door to the gym opened and I turned, expecting one of the trainers.

Sophia.

She walked in holding a towel and another water bottle, her blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, wearing leggings and an oversized Wolves hoodie that probably cost more than my first car. She smiled when she saw me but it didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Thought you might need this," she said, holding out the towel.

I took it, wiping the sweat from my face. "Thanks. You didn't have to come all the way down here."

"I know." She set the water bottle on the bench and crossed her arms, studying me with that look she got sometimes. The one that made me wonder if she was smarter than I gave her credit for. "You've been off lately."

"Just focused on the season." I tossed the towel aside and reached for her, pulling her closer. "It's intense right now."

She let me, but she didn't relax into it the way she usually did. "It's not just that."

My stomach tightened. "What do you mean?"