Play With Me ✔️|| 2 || Off the Ice Series

28 | Jason

The airport is a mess, a dizzying blend of noise and chaos that makes my pulse pound in my temples. People are everywhere, cameras flashing, voices raised, questions hurled at me from every direction. But none of it matters—not the fans, not the media, not even the shouts from my security team telling me to move faster. All I'm looking for is Arden.

I push through the crowd, almost breaking free before I'm swarmed again. A surge of anxiety hits me as I lose sight of any familiar face. My heart's racing, eyes scanning every dark-haired woman in the crowd.

"Arden!" I shout, the desperation in my voice surprising even me. It's swallowed up by the noise around me, another shout lost in the clamor of the airport.

People close in, security guards trying to create a path, but it doesn't help; they're practically carrying me along now, dragging me forward. And I can't see her anywhere. I try to push back, twist out of their hold. "We can't leave without Arden!" I yell at my security team, but no one's listening.

The reporters voices start to climb higher, trying to be louder than the one next to them and my ears ring from the cacophony of noise.

The questions they throw at me about the island, about our survival, they all pale in comparison to the one question I can't answer: Where is the woman that was found with me?

They haven't even bothered to learn her name.

Lights flash, microphones and cameras shoved toward me, people screaming questions I have no patience for, voices all merging into one deafening roar. My hands clench at my sides, fists curling so tight I can feel my nails digging into my palms. They keep shoving, closing in, shouting in my face like I'm some animal on display.

I try to push past, to find an opening, but then someone yells above the rest, "Who's the woman found with you, Jason? Did she survive the ordeal, was she the one that led you there?"

That stops me cold. I whip around to face the reporter who's shouting the loudest, who's grinning like he just uncovered the story of the century, his camera guy locked on me like I'm a paycheck in motion.

"Get out of my way," I snarl, shoving him back so hard he staggers and hits the ground, staring up at me like I've just handed him a gift. The camera's still rolling, his smug grin etched onto his face as he stays there, like he's baiting me to go further.

"Jason, please, this way," one of the handlers says, grabbing my arm and trying to steer me off to the side. Their tone is careful, like they're afraid I might snap. Maybe they're right.

"Back off," I snap, shoving their hand away. "Where the hell is Arden?"

"Jason, please," another person steps in, trying to speak in a placating tone, like I'm a damn child. "We need to manage this situation, get you out of sight—"

I let out a low, bitter laugh, shaking my head. "Handle it? Handle it all you want. I'm leaving."

I try to, but the reporters and fans only push in more, and my body is moved towards a waiting car.

I barely have a second to register before I'm being shoved in and the door slammed behind me, a burly security guard standing in front of the door to block it.

My jaw aches from how hard I'm clenching it.

"We're moving out," my coach says from the seat in front of me, his tone brusque, like this is all just part of the job. "The crowd's too thick—we couldn't risk it."

"We left her." The words hit like a punch to the gut, and I say them again, this time to myself. I left her.

"She'll turn up," someone in my management mutters from beside me, barely looking up from their phone. "They always do."