Rinkside Rivalry
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Bella Ravyn
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Emery lands her dream assignment covering a high-stakes hockey season, ready to prove she belongs. The only problem? Carter, the team’s arrogant co-captain, who pushes every button she has. Their history is messy, their banter sharp, and their patience with each other… nonexistent. Yet the closer they work, the harder it becomes to ignore the tension crackling beneath every glare and sarcastic remark. Between locker room chaos, late-night deadlines, and moments that feel a little too real, lines begin to blur. Is it rivalry, or something far more dangerous? Because on this ice, the biggest risk isn’t losing the game—it’s losing control of their hearts.
Chapter 1
EMERY
Hockey players are the worst. There, I said it. And before you roll your eyes, I have the life experience to back it up. My older brother Ethan has been terrorizing me with hockey sticks and sweaty gear since we were kids. Now, as an adult, he’s just swapped backyard rinks for professional arenas, and somehow he’s convinced me to come to this post-game party of his.
“Come on, Em, you never come to these things,” he’d said earlier, the plea lacing in his voice obvious over the telephone. “Just hang out a bit. Guys want to meet you.”
The guys: ugh. Ethan’s teammates are loud and arrogant and almost universally obsessed with themselves. But because I have a soft spot for my brother—and maybe because my Friday night plans involved eating mac and cheese in pajamas—I said yes. Big mistake.
Now, here I stand, in Ethan’s living room, clutching a plastic cup of flat soda, surrounded by some pack of overgrown toddlers in suits. Here for all of ten minutes, and my patience has already worn thin.
“Hey, Blake! Who’s the babe?” I don’t need to turn around. I can just tell by the inflection that it’s directed at me. I let out a sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. Of course, the testosterone brigade would zero in on the only woman in the room not attached as someone’s girlfriend or wife.
“Emery,” Ethan says, his voice slicing through the din as he sidles up beside me. “Meet the guys. And guys, this is my sister, Emery.”
“Your sister?” An annoyingly smooth, confident voice comes from the couch. “Didn’t realize Blake had such good taste in siblings.”
I turn, and that’s when I see him. Carter Brooks. Ethan’s star teammate. I’ve seen him on TV and in photos, but up close, he’s somehow even more annoyingly perfect: broad shoulders, messy dark hair that works for him, and a grin that screams I know I’m better than you.
He’s sprawled on Ethan’s couch like he owns the thing, beer dangling from his hand. The second our eyes meet, his smirk deepens, and I know one thing instantly: this guy is trouble.
“Wow,” I say, heavy on the sarcasm. “What an original compliment. Do you reuse them or have a few hundred at any given time in case a girl comes into a room?”
The guys around us are laughing, but Carter doesn’t seem the least bit out of sync. He leans in, propping his elbows on his knees, and gives me a once-over that makes my skin crawl.
“Just calling it like I see it, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart. I hate that word. Especially said by a guy who looks like he’s auditioning for a cologne ad. I cross my arms over my chest and glare at him. “Do people actually fall for that crap, or do they just pretend so you’ll shut up?”
Ethan groans beside me. “Carter, don’t start.”
“Who’s starting?” Carter says, all fake innocence. “I’m just being friendly.”
“Friendly?” I snort. “Is that what they’re calling it now? You’re about as friendly as a shark in a kiddie pool.”
Another wave of laughter breaks around the room, and Carter doesn’t bat an eye. If anything, he looks slightly entertained. Pleased at getting called out.
“You’ve got a sharp tongue,” he comments, his head tilted. “I like that.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t like you.”
“Not yet,” he smirks in reply, sending a cocky grin my way.
Ethan groans again, louder this time. “Can we not do this tonight? Emery, don’t let him get to you. And Carter, leave her alone.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” I say, not taking my eyes off Carter. “I can handle him.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Carter says, leaning back against the couch like this is all a game to him. “But don’t worry, sweetheart—I can handle you too.”
My fists clench at my sides. This guy is infuriating. Before I can fire back, one of Ethan’s other teammates cuts in, distracting him with a question about tomorrow’s game. I take the opportunity to retreat to the kitchen, hoping to avoid any more of Carter’s nonsense.
The kitchen is quiet, but only just. A couple of Ethan’s teammates are milling around, but they’re too busy raiding the fridge to pay any attention to me. I pour myself a glass of water and take a deep breath, trying to shake off the encounter.
“Hey,” a voice says from behind me.
I turn, and of course, it’s him. Carter leans against the doorway, beer still in hand, that damn smirk still plastered on his face.
“Seriously?” I ask. “Don’t you have better things to do?”
He shrugs. “Not really. Thought I’d check on you. Make sure you weren’t plotting my demise in here.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
He chuckles, stepping closer. “You know, for someone who doesn’t like me, you spend an awful lot of time talking to me.”
“Trust me, this is not by choice.”
“Right,” he says, like he doesn’t believe me. “So, what’s your deal, sweetheart? Why do you hate me so much? I don’t even know you.”
“I don’t hate you,” I say. “I just don’t like arrogant, self-absorbed athletes who think the world revolves around them.”
His eyebrows lift. “Wow. That’s specific. You sure you’re not projecting a little?”
I scoff. “Oh, please. Don’t act like you’re not exactly what I just described.”
“Maybe,” he admits, his grin widening. “But at least I’m honest about it.”
“Is that supposed to impress me?”
“Doesn’t matter,” he says. “I’m not trying to impress you.”
“Good,” I say. “Because you’re failing.”
We stare at each other a moment, the tension between us thick enough to cut with a knife. Finally, Carter shakes his head, laughing softly. “You’re something else,” he says.
“Thanks,” I reply dryly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—“
“Wait,” he interrupts. “One more thing.”
I pause, narrowing my eyes at him. “What?”
“Do you always crash your brother’s parties or is tonight a special occasion?”
I roll my eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t get stuck. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re fun to mess with,” he shoots back.
Before I can come up with a retort, Ethan appears in the doorway, looking between us suspiciously. “Am I interrupting something?”
“Not at all,” I say, snatching up my water and brushing past Carter. “Your friend was just leaving.”
“Was I?” Carter calls after me, but I don’t bother responding.
As I head back into the living room, I make a silent vow: I’m not letting Carter Brooks get under my skin again.
Too bad he already has.
