Then Ross stopped.
Not dramatically—just a small pause, a tightening of his jaw.
His eyes, cold and unreadable, finally flicked toward Colton. Just for a second. But it was enough.
Colton's heart skipped.
And in that moment, he felt it. The temperature dropped.
The noise of the crowd faded into the background. Ross didn't say a word.
He just smiled—slowly, cruelly. It wasn't the smile of someone angry.
It was worse. It was the smile of someone who had just decided something.
And Colton knew.
He'd crossed the line.
He'd gotten Ross's attention.
But instead of relief, Colton felt something else crawl up his spine. Dread.
The kind of dread you feel when you realize the bear saw you first—and you made eye contact.
This wasn't going to end in a scuffle.
There would be no technical foul, no ejection, no referee whistle to save him.
Ross was going to play.
And he was going to ruin him.
But what happened next wasn't what Colton had expected.
Not even close.
