Chapter 10 First kiss

It starts with rain.

Not a dramatic, cinematic downpour-just a steady, cold drizzle that makes the city look softer, blurred at the edges. Ivy stands at her kitchen window, watching it fall, arms crossed over her chest like she's trying to hold herself together.

There's a knock at her door.

Not loud. Not urgent.

Just... there.

She knows who it is before she opens it.

Rey Navarro, damp from the rain, hair tucked under a hoodie, leather jacket already starting to soak through. There's a bag slung over one shoulder and a vague, uncertain smile on her lips.

"Hey," Rey says.

Ivy steps aside without a word and lets her in.

It's not the first time Rey's been here. But it feels like the first time it means something.

Ivy watches as Rey toes off her boots, shrugs out of her jacket, and drops her bag by the couch like she belongs.

"Long day?" Ivy asks, heading to the kitchen.

Rey follows. "Film review with Coach. Everyone's on edge. Liza said someone stole one of her sticks and replaced it with a leftie."

Ivy freezes. "Sabotage?"

"Maybe. Maybe just a prank. But it doesn't feel funny."

There's been a tension curling around the team lately-something sour. Someone scratched up Jules' helmet last week. Someone moved Dani's skates. Small things. Petty. Easy to dismiss. But stacking.

Now a stick switch.

Ivy pours two glasses of water, hands one to Rey.

"Do you think it's internal?" Ivy asks.

Rey doesn't answer right away.

"I don't want to think that," she says finally. "But yeah. It's starting to feel like someone's trying to mess with us. Slowly. Quietly."

Ivy leans against the counter, shoulders tight.

There's a silence that stretches between them-not uncomfortable, but weighty. Charged.

Then Rey asks, softly, "Why'd you text me?"

Ivy doesn't look at her. "Because I didn't want to be alone tonight."

Rey nods, once.

She steps closer.

"You've been quiet lately," she says.

Ivy shrugs. "Just tired."

"That's not it."

Ivy finally meets her eyes. "Do you really want to know?"

"Yes."

The answer is immediate. Fierce.

Ivy takes a breath. "I keep thinking about the things I can't fix. The way people look at me now. The suspension. The whispers. The games we might not win. What it'll mean if we don't... if I don't..."

She stops herself.

But Rey's already moving. Closing the space.

"You don't have to fix it all alone."

"I don't know how not to."

Rey reaches out, tucks a damp curl behind Ivy's ear.

Ivy flinches-not away, but toward.

It's not a kiss yet.

But it's close.

And then the power goes out.

A click-then silence. The fridge hum dies. The lights vanish. The whole apartment folds into shadow, lit only by the pale blue wash from the rain-smeared windows.

Ivy exhales a surprised laugh.

"You short-circuit my place or something?"

Rey grins. "Just my timing."

Ivy lights a candle from the counter-cinnamon-scented, old and uneven-and the flame dances between them.

Rey watches her, all warm edges and soft shadow.

"You ever think about it?" she asks.

Ivy's voice is barely above a whisper. "Think about what?"

"This. Us."

Ivy doesn't answer right away.

But she sets the candle down.

Steps forward.

Looks Rey dead in the eyes.

"Every day since that night on the ice," she admits.

The breath leaves Rey like it's been punched out of her.

And then-finally-they close the distance.

The kiss isn't soft.

It's not careful.

It's months of tension, of almosts and sharp words and long stares. It's hands in hair and fingers on skin and gasps caught between parted lips. It's messy and real and so much.

Ivy presses Rey against the counter, kisses her like she's starving, like the world outside doesn't exist.

Rey pulls her in tighter, one hand at Ivy's waist, the other gripping the back of her neck.

It's not perfect.

Teeth bump. Breath hitches.

But it's right.

They break apart just enough to breathe, foreheads pressed together.

Rey laughs, shaky. "You kiss like you fight."

Ivy grins. "You fight like you flirt."

Another kiss.

Slower this time. Deeper.

And then Ivy's leading her to the couch, pushing aside a throw blanket and curling into the cushions. Rey follows, socked feet tucked beneath her, eyes still wide like she can't believe this is real.

They don't talk much after that.

Just curl into each other while the storm rolls on, outside and inside.

Eventually, Ivy says, "I don't know what this is yet."

Rey kisses her temple. "Me neither."

"But I want to find out."

Rey pulls her close. "Same."

And in the flicker of candlelight, with the rain tapping soft against the glass, it doesn't feel like sabotage or chaos or war.

It just feels like something finally beginning.

Later, after Rey's breathing evens out against her shoulder and Ivy can't sleep for the noise in her head, she slips off the couch and walks back to the kitchen.

She stares out the window.

The rain hasn't stopped.

Neither has the feeling that something's coming.

The sabotage-it's not just whispers now. There are cracks. Real ones. Someone wants them to fall apart.

She thinks about the scratches on Jules' helmet. The tampered skates. The swapped stick. All minor. All just enough to shake rhythm. But what happens when it's more?

What happens when it's a blade dulled before a game, or gear loosened just enough to slip?

Rey stirs behind her. "Can't sleep either?"

"No."

Rey walks over, barefoot, still in Ivy's hoodie, which hangs off one shoulder. "It's not just about tonight, is it?"

Ivy looks at her. "No."

Rey doesn't push. Just leans against the counter, shoulder to shoulder.

"I want us to work," Ivy says quietly. "But I don't know how to stop everything else from bleeding in."

Rey reaches for her hand. "Then we figure it out together. And we start by figuring out who's trying to sabotage us."

For the first time in hours, Ivy smiles. "Deal."

They stand there in the kitchen while the city sleeps, candle burning low, storm rolling past the glass.

Two girls in a fragile peace.

And maybe-just maybe-something like love taking root.