Chapter 66: A Dangerous Gamble 2
Micah’s POV
Noah wasn’t panicking at all.
He wasn’t even flinching. He didn’t register the pain, nor did he look down at his bloody hand. Instead, his icy, dead eyes were locked entirely on the group of players who had just been laughing at me.
The guys were frozen in place, their faces completely drained of color. They looked terrified—not because their captain was bleeding, but because the look on Noah’s face promised absolute ruin. One of the rookies panicked so hard he practically fell over himself to grab the team’s heavy first-aid kit, rushing it over and placing it beside me like an offering to a madman.
Noah slowly lifted his head, his gaze sweeping over his teammates with an unhinged, lethal calm.
"One more word about my brother..." Noah whispered, his voice dangerously low, cutting through the freezing air like a razor blade, "...and you’ll lose your hands before the main game."
A collective shudder ran through the entire team. Nobody dared to breathe. Nobody dared to apologize. The threat was so heavy, so sickeningly real, that I felt a violent chill travel down my spine. I couldn’t tell if the sudden shivering was from Noah’s terrifying words or the unnatural cold of the ice rink.
"Micah," Noah suddenly called my name.
The sudden change in his tone made me jump out of my skin. I snapped out of my terrified trance, pulling my eyes away from his teammates to look up at him.
Noah was looking down at me. The lethal, psychotic glare was completely gone, replaced by a soft, horribly gentle expression.
"Please get my hand treated, will you?" he asked, his voice dripping with a calm, sweet affection that made my skin crawl.
My hands shook violently as I pulled the bloody handkerchief back. Blood was still oozing from the deep tear in his palm. The player had dropped the first-aid kit right next to my leg. With my pulse racing in my ears, I unlatched the kit, pulling out antiseptic wipes and a roll of heavy white gauze.
As I leaned over his hand, carefully wiping away the blood, the players around us slowly began to move again. Desperate to escape Noah’s terrifying aura, they quickly shifted the conversation away from me, desperate to talk about literally anything else.
"Erm... the assistant captain isn’t here today," one of them muttered, trying to sound casual as he adjusted his helmet.
My breath hitched. My hands froze over Noah’s wound for a fraction of a second.
It was true. Damon wasn’t here. But I didn’t dare ask where he was, nor did I dare pull out my phone to text him. Noah watched my every move; asking about Damon would only trigger another violent outburst.
I swallowed hard, holding my breath and forcing myself to keep wrapping the gauze around Noah’s hand, slowing my movements down just to listen to their conversation.
"Didn’t you hear?" another player chimed in, leaning against his hockey stick. "Damon Silver called in sick today."
WHAT?!
The news hit my brain like a physical blow.
Damon. Sick?
Damon Silver never called in sick. He was a monster on the ice, a relentless powerhouse who would play through broken ribs and high fevers just to prove he was invincible. He wouldn’t miss a mandatory practice unless he was physically incapable of moving.
A sharp gasp ripped from my throat. In my sudden, blinding state of shock, my fingers jerked hard, pulling the heavy bandage around Noah’s hand far too tight, digging straight into his fresh wound.
"Hss..."
Noah let out a sharp, audible hiss of pain, his jaw tightening as he glared down at our hands.
Was his hiss because of the physical pain from his hand? Or was it because I had reacted so violently the very second Damon’s name was spoken?
My blood ran cold. Realizing what I had done, I quickly lowered my gaze, staring intently at his bandaged palm. "I-I’m sorry," I mumbled, my voice trembling as I hastily tied off the end of the bandage. "I didn’t mean to squeeze so hard."
I packed up the medical supplies with frantic, clumsy fingers, snapping the plastic lid of the first-aid kit shut.
Damon was sick.
He hadn’t called me. He hadn’t texted me. He wasn’t at school. Was it because of what happened yesterday? Was it because of Noah?
My mind flashed back to the horrific sound of Noah’s heavy boot bringing his full weight down straight onto Damon’s chest while he was pinned to the floor. What if Damon was internally bleeding? What if Noah had broken something inside him? What if Damon was lying in his room right now, suffering alone, and nobody was helping him?!
A thick, hot lump formed in my throat. I couldn’t breathe. My hands curled into tight, shaking fists at my sides as I stood up from the bench.
"Micah?" Noah’s voice sliced through my panic. He looked up at me from the bench, his bandaged hand resting on his knee, his eyes narrowing into thin, dangerous slits. "What are you doing?"
I looked down at him.
For the first time in my entire life... I didn’t feel the paralyzing fear that usually made me cower. The agonizing worry for Damon completely consumed every single drop of dread inside me.
Noah was smart. He was a calculating, psychotic genius. But he had a flaw—his absolute obsession with his perfect public reputation. Right now, we were surrounded by his entire team, the coaching staff, and onlookers in the stands. He was the golden captain. The star athlete. The perfect, saintly son. He couldn’t scream at me here. He couldn’t drag me by my hair. He couldn’t touch me in front of these people without destroying his precious mask forever.
He was trapped by his own golden cage. And for the first time... I had the key.
I looked Noah dead in his icy eyes, my heart hammering like a war drum against my ribs, and let the words spill out of my mouth.
"I’m going to skip my afternoon class," I said, my voice surprisingly steady despite the terror crying inside my head. "I’m going to see Damon."
Noah’s entire body went rigid. His eyes widened slightly, a look of pure shock flashing across his face.
"What?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper, completely stunned that I had dared to speak those words to him.
I didn’t give him a chance to recover. I didn’t give him a second to process my defiance.
"See you at home," I said coldly.
Noah stood there on the ice, completely frozen, and he didn’t move an inch.
A small, breathless smile crept onto my face as I turned my back on him. I burst through the double doors of the sports complex, running out of the school grounds as fast as my trembling legs could carry me, and flagged down a cab—heading straight to the Silver estate.