CHAPTER 3

⸻

“Don’t make that face,” Coach said, not even bothering to look up from his clipboard. “You’re doing it.”

Adrian stood in the locker room doorway, arms folded, jaw clenched. “Why me?”

“Because you’re the face of the team,” Coach muttered, scribbling something down. “And Julian Carter is the other face. Sponsors want both.”

Adrian exhaled through his nose. “I’d rather skate barefoot on glass.”

Coach looked up now, deadpan. “Then bring extra socks. The media truck is waiting.”

**

The promo set was already buzzing when Adrian arrived. A white backdrop, camera guys, lighting rigs, and one chipper PR manager flitting around with a clipboard like it was a sword and shield.

And of course—Julian Carter.

The guy was already center stage, laughing with the crew, flashing that camera-ready smile like he owned the damn spotlight. His team hoodie hung just right, sleeves rolled, posture confident. He probably practiced it in the mirror.

Adrian could practically hear his own teeth grinding.

“Calloway!” the PR rep chirped. “You’re just in time!”

“Lucky me,” Adrian muttered under his breath, dropping his duffel offscreen.

Julian turned at the sound of his voice, and Adrian caught that familiar flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Hey there, grumpy. Long time no glare.”

Adrian arched a brow. “Still pretending you have a personality?”

Julian chuckled, not missing a beat. “Someone has to charm the audience. You look like you bite reporters.”

“Only the annoying ones.”

The cameras rolled before Adrian could walk away.

“Take one,” the cameraman called. “You’re both promoting the upcoming charity game. Smile like you don’t want to kill each other.”

“No promises,” Adrian muttered.

They went through a few stiff takes—locations, tickets, the usual PR fluff. Julian, naturally, nailed every line with a smile. He even winked once.

Adrian stumbled over a sentence and had to start again.

The cameraman sighed. “Let’s loosen it up. Try a little chemistry, maybe?”

Julian leaned in. “He wants us to flirt, I think.”

“I’d rather eat a puck.”

“You say that now…”

Adrian’s side-eye was lethal.

“Why do you hate me so much, anyway?” Julian asked between takes, casual, but his voice held something… real.

Adrian blinked. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly.”

“You act like I don’t have reasons.”

“List them, then. I’ll try not to fall asleep.”

Adrian glared. “You’re arrogant, fake, annoyingly perfect in front of a camera, and you skate like you’ve never missed a meal or a compliment in your life.”

Julian tilted his head, the teasing softening. “You think I don’t earn what I get?”

“You just happen to always land on your feet.”

Julian’s smile faded, just for a second. “Yeah, that’s what happens when you grow up with people expecting you to be perfect. You learn to fake the landing.”

Adrian didn’t know what to say to that.

But before he could even consider a reply, the director yelled, “And go!”

Back in front of the camera, Julian launched into his lines with practiced ease. “Fans can come out to support mental health initiatives—”

“And watch us destroy each other on the ice,” Adrian cut in, letting a grin slip out.

Julian glanced at him with a mock glare. “You wish.”

Adrian bumped him lightly with a shoulder. “I know.”

The camera clicked right then, capturing the moment—close, smirking, intense. The PR manager’s eyes lit up like she’d found gold.

“Yes! That! That’s the shot!”

They barely stepped off set when she chased them down, phone in hand.

“You have to see this,” she said, shoving it between them.

It was the frame—Adrian leaning into Julian, their faces inches apart. Charged. Playful. A slow burn waiting to ignite.

T*****r had already caught wind of it. Comments exploded beneath the post.

“Enemies with tension? Yes please.”

“Calloway x Carter endgame???”

“They look one glare away from making out.”

Adrian recoiled. “Delete that.”

“Are you kidding?” the rep said. “This is engagement gold. You should lean into it!”

Julian laughed under his breath. “You’re welcome, Calloway. My face is a gift to this franchise.”

Adrian’s eye twitched. “Your ego’s about to leave orbit.”

Julian smirked. “Say what you want. The fans love it.”

“Then maybe give them what they want and vanish.”

They walked out to the parking garage together in stiff silence. The echo of their footsteps bounced between cars. Finally, Adrian muttered, “You ever not perform?”

Julian slowed. “Excuse me?”

“You’re always on. Always smiling, always polished. Doesn’t it exhaust you?”

Julian frowned. “You think I like being a mascot? Every time I screw up, people lose their minds.”

Adrian scoffed. “Poor golden boy. Life must be so hard in the spotlight.”

Julian stopped walking. “You think being liked is easy?”

“I think faking it is.”

“You think being hated makes you authentic?” Julian’s voice dropped lower, more serious. “You wear your anger like armor, and it’s killing you.”

Adrian’s jaw tightened. “You don’t know anything about me.”

Julian stepped closer. “Maybe I do. Maybe that’s why you hate me.”

Their eyes locked.

Julian’s gaze softened, searching. “You act like I’m your enemy, but I think you just don’t know what to do with someone who doesn’t back down.”

Adrian’s pulse quickened. “Or maybe I’m just allergic to bullshit.”

Julian gave him a slow smile. “Then it must suck being you.”

Adrian stormed off, not waiting for a response.

**

That night, Adrian lay back on his couch, the room dim, laptop open on his chest.

He told himself not to.

He did anyway.

MidnightViper’s page glowed on the screen—slick, private, addictive. New post. A voice clip.

He hit play.

The voice was smooth. Low. Familiar.

“You ever wonder what people really think of you?”

“Would it ruin you to hear the truth… or turn you on?”

Adrian swallowed hard.

There was something in the cadence. The confidence.

His thoughts raced back to Julian’s voice earlier that day.

The snark. The softness beneath it.

Same rhythm. Same tone.

No. No way.

But the thought crawled under his skin, refusing to leave.

He slammed the laptop shut.

Too close.