Scoring with the Wrong Twin (Ice Chronicles Hockey #2)

28. Blaze

28

Blaze

The sharp sound of my skate blades cutting across the ice is like music. Not the soothing kind—more like the raw, discordant grind of emotions I can’t seem to shake. Each movement is precise, calculated, deliberate. My stick connects with the puck, sending it flying toward the net in a perfect arc. It slams into the top corner, the satisfying crack echoing across the rink.

Coach blows his whistle. “That’s what I’m talking about, Ice! Keep that up, and you’ll be unstoppable.”

I nod, acknowledging his praise, but it doesn’t land. Not really. It feels hollow, like every perfect play, every sharp shot, is just muscle memory going through the motions. The ache in my chest—Savannah’s absence—is sharper than any slap shot I’ve ever taken.

I push harder, faster. My skates cut deep, the ice beneath me giving way like I wish my problems would. Every pivot, every burst of speed, feels like I’m chasing something—or maybe running from it.

From her. Savannah. The woman who’s somehow consumed every free thought I have.

“Nice shot,” Sean calls from the sidelines, his phone angled as he captures what I assume will end up in some highlight reel for the festival. He doesn’t look up, but I know he’s watching. My brother sees more than he lets on.

I circle the rink, pushing myself even harder and faster, weaving through imaginary defenders. The ice is my escape, but today, even that’s failing me. I don’t stop until Coach signals the end of practice.

I glide off the ice, pulling off my helmet and running a hand through my damp hair. Sean leans casually against the boards and smirks as I approach, lowering his phone. “Not bad,” he says, but his eyes narrow slightly. “But not your best either.”

I bristle. “Coach didn’t seem to think so.”

“You can fool Coach, but not me,” he says, his voice low. “I was a player too, remember? And you’re my brother—I know when something’s off.”

I grunt. “Nothing’s off.”

He doesn’t buy it. “Right. Because you’re totally not skating like you’re trying to outrun a ghost.”

I don’t respond. Instead, I head toward the locker room, peeling off my gloves as I go. The slap of my skates against the rubber flooring echoes in the empty hallway. Sean follows, his footsteps lighter but no less insistent.

By the time I’ve stripped out of my gear, his presence feels heavier than the silence between us.

“You hungry?” he asks, leaning against a locker.

I glance at him, one eyebrow raised. “Is that your subtle way of saying we’re having a heart-to-heart?”

He grins. “I’ll buy lunch.”

***

The restaurant Sean picks is a local dive with sticky tables and the best burgers in Cedar Creek. We slide into a booth near the back, away from the lunch crowd. The smell of grease and charred meat fills the air.

He’s scrolling through his phone, probably checking stats for his podcast, when the server drops off two beers and a basket of fries. I reach for the drink, but Sean raises an eyebrow.

“Beer before food? What’s the occasion?”

I shrug. “Just thirsty.”

“Uh-huh.” He leans back, his expression turning serious. “So, is this about Savannah?”

The question hits harder than I expect. I swallow a mouthful of beer, buying time. “What makes you think that?”

Sean snorts. “Because you’ve been moping around like someone stole your stick ever since she left. And because Aubrey told me about Delaney.”

I pause, the bottle halfway to my lips. “She what?”

“She overheard part of your argument. Said it wasn’t hard to piece together.” Sean’s gaze sharpens. “Don’t be mad at her. She cares about you. We all do. But what the hell happened, Blaze? Savannah and you looked... good together. Happy.”

I exhale sharply, running a hand through my hair. “It’s complicated. Delaney showed up out of nowhere, claiming she’s pregnant with my kid. Savannah heard, freaked out, and left before I could explain anything. I gave her space, figured I’d talk to Delaney first, get the full story. But by the time I went to her room, she was already gone. No note. No explanation. Just… gone.”

Sean shakes his head, his tone softening. “She fit in so well here. I don’t get it.”

“Neither do I.” The frustration in my voice is palpable. “And she hasn’t responded to my texts or calls since. It’s like she vanished.”

“Could the baby possibly be yours?”

I hesitate, the question reopening a wound I’ve been trying to ignore. “I’ve done the math. If what she says about being eight months along is true, then yeah, it’s possible. But I have no idea what eight months pregnant is supposed to look like. I’m not exactly an expert on this stuff.”

“Aubrey didn’t think she looked eight months along,” Sean says, his voice careful. “She said Delaney did look pregnant—but more like three or four months. She mentioned how it usually shows in different ways by eight months—the belly’s bigger, the way someone carries themselves changes, stuff like that.”

I rub my temple, frustration and disbelief clawing at my brain. “I don’t know.”

“You think she’s lying?”

“I don’t know anything. Maybe Aubrey’s right. Maybe Delaney is lying. But what if she’s not?”

“Understood.”

“She said she was kidnapped. Claimed it was because of her dad’s gambling debts,” I say, my voice heavy with disbelief.”

Sean snorts, leaning back in his seat. ““Gambling debts and kidnapping? That’s... dramatic. Sounds like something out of a bad crime show. Does that kind of thing really happen in real life?”

I shrug, running a hand through my hair. “Unfortunately, yeah, it does. Especially with people who owe money to the wrong crowd. Redstone isn’t just some made-up boogeyman; they’re real. I heard about them back in Denver—small-time gang, but brutal enough to make people disappear if they step out of line.”

Sean raises an eyebrow. “So why didn’t her family tell you? I mean, her parents liked you, right? They were always polite when you were around. Why wouldn’t they clue you in?”

I lean forward, my elbows resting on the table. “I asked her the same thing. I said, ‘Why the hell didn’t anyone tell me? I could’ve helped.’”

“And what’d she say?” Sean’s expression tightens, his skepticism evident.

“She said…” I pause, my stomach twisting as I recall her words. “‘Redstone threatened to kill me if her family reached out.’” I rake a hand through my hair, the memory gnawing at me. “She said they were trying to protect me.” Protect me. The words hang in the air, heavy and bitter.

Sean raises an eyebrow. “Convenient.”

“That’s what I thought,” I admit. “But she doubled down, said she stayed in hiding until the danger passed. And then she found out she was pregnant.”

Sean leans forward, folding his arms on the table. “Wait, slow down. Did she escape? Or did they just… let her go?”

I shake my head, the frustration bubbling beneath my skin. “She said her father paid off the debts. Mortgaged their house, sold whatever he could—probably drained their savings. It was enough to satisfy Redstone, or at least buy her release.”

Sean snorts, taking a sip of his beer. “And she couldn’t call you then? Tell you what was going on?”

“She claimed they threatened her, even after she was released. Said they warned her to keep her head down and not contact anyone—especially me. Supposedly, they thought I’d go to the cops, and that would’ve made things worse for her and her family. Or so she says.” My jaw clenches as I remember her words. “She said she wanted to keep me safe.”

Sean’s skepticism is palpable. “Okay, but if all that’s true, why not reach out once the dust settled? Why wait until now to show up and drop this bombshell?”

“That’s what I asked her,” I say, my voice tight. “She said she was terrified. That she didn’t want to risk me getting dragged into it. And then, when she found out she was pregnant…” I trail off, the weight of the memory settling in my chest.

Sean raises an eyebrow, waiting. “Yeah? What did she say?”

“She said she didn’t know how I’d react. Didn’t want to ‘burden’ me with it unless she was absolutely sure I was the father. So, she stayed in hiding, and by the time she worked up the nerve to come back, eight months had passed.”

Sean exhales sharply, his fingers drumming against the table. “Eight months. And you’re just supposed to believe that?”

“I don’t know what to believe.” My hands tighten into fists. “I told her it didn’t make sense. That if she cared so much about the kid—or about me—she would’ve found a way to reach out sooner.”

“And what’d she say to that?”

“She got defensive,” I admit, my voice dropping. “Said she didn’t owe me an explanation for how she handled her trauma. That I wouldn’t understand what she’s been through.”

Sean lets out a low whistle. “So she’s flipping it back on you, making it about her being the victim and you being the bad guy for doubting her.”

“Pretty much,” I mutter, rubbing my temple.

Sean takes a long sip of his beer, his silence heavy with skepticism. “Sounds like she’s trying to play the hero. But the timeline doesn’t add up.”

“Exactly.” My voice tightens. “When I questioned her about it, she snapped. Said every pregnancy is different, and she controlled her weight to stay attractive for me. Like that’s supposed to make it better.”

Sean winces. “Doesn’t exactly scream mother-of-the-year material.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Do you believe her?”

I hesitate, the weight of doubt pressing against my chest. “I don’t know. Maybe? It’s possible she’s telling the truth, but it’s just as possible she got cold feet and made up some story to avoid breaking things off face-to-face.”

Sean taps a finger against the table, thinking. “What are you going to do?”

“I hired a private investigator,” I admit. “If her story checks out…” The words catch in my throat. “If it’s my child, I’ll do what’s right. Raise the kid. Marry her if I have to.”

Sean’s eyes narrow. “You’re just going to throw your life away out of duty?”

“That’s what Mom and Dad taught us, right? Our Catholic faith leads us to do the right thing. Own up to our responsibilities. Plus, it’s not about me, Sean” I snap. “It’s about the kid.”

“Yeah.”

“But if she’s lying…” My voice trails off, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air.

Sean’s gaze sharpens. “And Savannah? Where does she fit into this?”

“I still want to talk to her,” I say, my voice low. “She deserves to know everything... and honestly, I think I also deserve to have her hear my side of the story, not just Delaney’s. Not because I think she owes me anything, you know, but for what we had. For what I feel we still have—and what we can still have.”

Sean studies me for a long moment, his expression softening slightly. “Then wait for the PI’s findings before you make any moves. Don’t do anything rash. And for God’s sake, don’t just show up at Savannah’s place in Chicago unannounced, like some stalker.”

I chuckle humorlessly, though the thought twists my gut. “Noted.”

Sean gets up to use the restroom, and while he’s gone, I pull out my phone. My fingers hover over Savannah’s name, the weight of her absence pressing down on me. The need to reach out is unbearable, so I type out a quick message.

I miss you. Just tell me you’re okay. Please.

I stare at the screen, debating whether to hit send.

Sean slides back into the booth, his beer in hand. “You good?”

“Yeah,” I lie, slipping my phone back into my pocket, the unsent message burning a hole in my chest.

“No. You know what, man? I’m not okay.” I decide to keep venting with my brother.

“Talk to me.”

I let out a sharp breath, the words spilling out before I can stop them. “Do you see the pattern? Delaney didn’t talk to me to protect me; instead, she just vanished. And now Savannah vanished too. I thought she was different, but maybe she’s trying to protect me too.”

Sean nods slowly, letting me keep venting.

“I don’t know if Delaney’s lying, but Savannah’s given me no reason to doubt her. What if Savannah’s trying to protect me? From having to choose between Delaney and the baby... or her?” My voice cracks slightly, but I press on. “What if she thinks she’s doing me a favor by leaving?”

Sean’s expression tightens, his voice low. “You could have a point. Savannah knows how much we value family, especially when it comes to kids. She’s seen that firsthand with me and Aubrey—how I stepped up when I knew Luke was mine.”

“Exactly.” I rake a hand through my hair, frustration boiling over. “But why the fuck do women think they need to protect me? Why do I attract the ones who vanish?”

Sean’s grin is faint, but his tone is teasing. “Maybe because you’re such a kid?” He pats my arm when I glare at him. “Kidding, bro. Look, Aubrey doesn’t pull that crap with me. And honestly, I think Delaney might not be the person you want her to be. With Savannah? You two haven’t been together long—it takes time. And there might be other reasons, deeper ones, we don’t know about.”

I sit back, Sean’s words gnawing at me. “I don’t want to wait for time to tell me anything. I need to know why Savannah left. And I need to know now.”

Sean doesn’t argue, but his silence feels like a warning.

I pull my phone out, find the message and hit send, praying to get a reply this time.

***

As we eat our burgers, I can't shake the heaviness of everything hanging over me—Savannah, Delaney, the baby. Sean, ever the entertainer, shifts the conversation to lighter topics—guess he's trying to distract me or make me feel better. We talk about the festival prep and toss around ideas for the Ice Ranch's social media content.

Eventually, Sean steers the conversation toward his favorite topic—his podcast.

"It's doing great," he says, leaning back with a smug grin. "Got listeners from all over. The downloads spiked after the last episode."

"Of course they did," I reply, smirking. "Your ego's so big it probably counts as two downloads every time you listen to yourself."

"Hey, quality content sells itself," Sean shoots back with a grin. "And I've got something lined up that'll blow the next episode out of the water."

"Oh yeah?" I ask, snagging the last fry. "What's the big plan? Finally admitting you learned all your hockey moves from watching The Mighty Ducks on repeat?"

"Close," he says, laughing. "Met someone pretty damn interesting the other day."

"Pretty damn interesting as in J-Lo, or interesting like that time Dad caught you using his tractor as a zamboni?"

Sean snorts. "Neither. I ran into this pro player at Home Depot."

"Home Depot? What kind of pro shops at Home Depot? I thought they all had people for that."

"Guy came up to me while I was grabbing some supplies," Sean says, grinning. "Started asking all these specific questions about deck wood like he was building Noah's Ark. Turns out he's a big-time pro."

I lean back, crossing my arms. "A big-time pro in Cedar Creek? What, did he get lost on his way to ESPN?"

"Funny. He's here early for the festival. Came early looking to unwind."

"A hockey player?" I ask.

"Nope, football."

I pause, mid-sip of my drink. "Traitor. You're hanging out with the enemy now?"

"He's legit, man. Pretty big name. First, I invited him as a VIP for the festival charity gala, but then I thought he'd make a great guest for the podcast."

"On Puck Talk ? You know it's not Ball Talk , right? What's next—getting a checker champion's take on body checking?"

"Athletes are athletes, bro," Sean defends. "There's crossover appeal, and the fans will eat it up."

"Right, because nothing says hockey podcast like talking about tight ends and touchdown dances."

"Keep it up, and I'll interview a figure skater next. Maybe get their opinion on your defensive strategy."

"Low blow," I groan. "So who's the football hotshot you're selling our hockey souls to?"

"Brody Langstone," Sean says casually, finishing his beer. “The Bruiser.”