Tackling the Canvas

Chapter 16

Owen

One more week until winter break. God, please have mercy.

Right now, I'm about to find out what grade I got on my accounting test, and the anxiety is killing me. If I fail this, my father is going to *fucking* murder me, and I'll be stuck listening to one of his classic rants—"more study, less hockey"—on repeat. Just thinking about it makes me want to crawl under a rock.

I rubbed my palms against my jeans as I approached the board where the results were going to be posted. It felt like every step was a countdown to either my doom or salvation.

C+. I passed.

The relief that washed over me felt like a giant weight lifting off my chest. Not an A or a B, but honestly, I'll take it. At least I wouldn't have to deal with my dad's lecture about "wasting potential" and how I should prioritize "real life" over hockey. I grinned to myself, feeling like I just dodged a bullet.

Not bad for two nights of cramming with Nora's help. Maybe I should buy her a coffee as a thank you—or ten.

When I saw her at her locker, I couldn't resist wrapping my arms around her waist, pulling her close as I nuzzled her neck. The sweet scent of cinnamon and lavender filled my senses, grounding me in that moment. "I passed," I murmured softly, my lips grazing her ear.

I felt her smile before I even saw it, a small curve of her lips that made my chest tighten. "I knew you would," she whispered back, her voice warm and confident, like she never doubted it for a second.

I chuckled, pressing a kiss to her neck. "Couldn't have done it without you."

"Oh, baby, I know," she replied playfully, turning around in my arms with a teasing grin. Her light blue eyes sparkled mischievously as she leaned into me.

"Funny," I shot back sarcastically, narrowing my eyes at her. "How about I buy you a cup of coffee, or I don't know—something as a reward for helping me not fail?"

She laughed softly, leaning closer and resting her hands on my chest. "Mmm, tempting offer. But what if I want something more than just coffee?"

I raised an eyebrow. "More, huh? Like what?"

She smirked. "Surprise me."

Oh, dear readers, I know you know exactly where this is going. Let's just say, coffee wasn't the only thing brewing that afternoon.

____

The next morning, I headed to the rink for some practice. I needed to clear my mind, just let myself be for a while. As I walked in, I spotted Jasper already on the ice, dressed in his uniform, his movements sharp and precise. He was shooting pucks at the goal relentlessly, each one hitting its mark.

It didn't take long to realize something was off. The way he moved, the force behind each shot—it wasn't just practice. It felt like frustration pouring out with every hit.

I stood by the edge of the rink for a moment, watching. Something was eating at him.

As soon as Jasper missed a shot, his frustration erupted with a loud groan, followed by a sharp, "Fuck!" The sound echoed across the rink. He slammed his stick against the ice, clearly pissed off, and skated in a tight circle, running a hand through his hair.

I stepped closer, tapping my hand against the boards to get his attention. "Hey, what's going on with you?" I called out, my voice cutting through the tension.

Jasper glanced over, his expression hard, but after a moment, his shoulders slumped a little. "Nothing," he muttered, skating toward me, but it was obvious something was eating him up.