Chapter 3 003

Chapter 3

CAROLINE

"Honestly, Caroline, if our psych professor is even half as hot as the guys on the varsity hockey team, I might actually pass this semester," Emma Collins declared, tossing a neon pink throw pillow onto her neatly made bed.

Emma was my randomly assigned roommate, and within about forty-eight minutes of meeting her I'd learned she was a vibrant ball of unfiltered energy, a communications major, and deeply invested in the campus social scene.

"I hate to break it to you, but I think the psych department is mostly seventy-year-old men who write textbooks about inkblots," I laughed, sitting cross-legged on my bed, trying to focus on organizing my digital calendar.

"Don't manifest that negative energy into the universe." Emma rolled her eyes playfully. "We're at Blackwood. The athletic capital of the state. There is hot-guy energy dripping from the literal ceiling of this place."

She wasn't lying.

Later that afternoon, during the chaos of freshman orientation, the scale of BWU's sports obsession became glaringly obvious.

Walking through the student union, the walls were plastered with glossy, oversized athletic banners.

And then I saw it.

A massive poster hung above the main staircase—a high-definition action shot of Damon in full BWU hockey gear, jersey crisp and white, the captain's C emblazoned on his chest.

He leaned into his stick, staring into the camera with a cold, devastating intensity, jaw clenched, dark hair damp with sweat under his helmet.

"Oh, look at him," a girl in front of us gasped, stopping to stare up at the banner. "Damon George is literally a god. Did you see his stats from last season? He's basically guaranteed first round in the pro draft."

"I don't even care about hockey, but I would let that man ruin my entire life," her friend whispered back. "Too bad he's completely untouchable. He never hooks up with anyone on campus. Totally cold."

Hearing them talk shouldn't have hurt.

It shouldn't have sent a dull, hollow ache blooming through my chest, but it did. I stared up at his face, my throat tight.

Of course everyone wants him.

He wasn't just my best friend's brother anymore. He was a future professional athlete, a campus celebrity, destined for greatness. I never had a chance.

The naive fourteen-year-old who used to bake him burnt chocolate chip cookies felt like a lifetime away from the man on that poster.

I was a regular freshman, invisible, while he practically ruled the world.

"Earth to Caroline." Emma nudged my shoulder. "You're staring. I mean, I don't blame you—he's gorgeous—but your face looks like someone just died."

"Oh, sorry." I forced a quick, casual laugh, tearing my eyes from the banner. "Just thinking about how crazy this campus is. Let's go find the dining hall."

….

By evening I was fully prepared to rot in bed with a sheet mask, but Harper had different plans.

She burst through my door at seven, smelling like expensive perfume, looking effortlessly stunning in a tight black top and cargo pants.

"Get up, losers!" Harper clapped her hands. "The athletic department's hosting an exclusive pre-season gathering at the team lounge in Blackwood Arena tonight. Players, inner circle, free catering. Since I'm Damon's sister we're on the VIP list. We're going."

"Harper, I am literally in my pajamas," I groaned, pulling my sweatshirt up over my nose. "My social battery is at zero, and a room full of intimidating hockey players sounds like my literal nightmare."

"I don't care—get your cute ass up."

Harper yanked the blankets off my legs. "You can't hide in this shoe-box forever. You're only staying in because everyone else is going, and I need my best friend to back me up. Emma, tell her she's being a buzzkill."

"You're totally being a buzzkill," Emma agreed instantly, already applying lip gloss in the mirror. "An exclusive hockey gathering on day one, Caroline? Put on some jeans. Let's go."

Ten minutes later I was dragged into the cool evening air.

Blackwood Arena's private lounge was a stunning, high-ceilinged space overlooking the practice rink, lit warmly with industrial lighting, music thudding through state-of-the-art speakers.

The room was packed with BWU's elite—the team, the athletic staff, a select crowd of students laughing and talking.

"Food's over there," Harper said, pointing through the crowd. "I see some of the guys. Let's grab plates and go say hi."

We pushed through, filling our plates, and for a while it was actually nice.

The atmosphere buzzed, lively and normal, and I almost forgot the weight sitting in my chest.

I was just a face in the crowd, laughing at Harper's stories, chatting with a few hockey rookies, dancing a little when a good song came on.

But across the room, the atmosphere was different.

Every time I laughed, every time I sipped my drink or threw my head back to smile at something Harper said, a pair of steel-blue eyes tracked my every move.

Damon stood near the bar, surrounded by Noah and a few senior players, supposedly hosting, supposedly the center of attention.

But he wasn't listening to a word his coach was saying. His gaze kept slipping back to me. Not a fleeting glance, but a heavy, burning stare.

He watched me talk to a sophomore defenseman

He watched me brush a stray piece of hair behind my ear. His jaw was tight, his knuckles white against the glass in his hand.

Why was he suddenly paying attention to me?

He'd ignored me for years.

I was just the annoying little sister's friend. But tonight he looked at me like he was seeing me for the first time, and it was tearing his focus to shreds.

The weight of it finally got to me. The air in the room felt impossibly thick, the hair on my arms standing up.

"Hey, Harper." I leaned in close to her ear over the music. "My stomach's feeling weird. I think I'm just wiped from move-in day. I'm gonna slip out and head back."

Harper frowned, genuine concern flashing across her face. "Aw, really? You want me to come?"

"No, stay," I said quickly, forcing a reassuring smile. "Seriously, hang out. I just need to use the bathroom and I'll be back in no time."

But before I even set my cup down, Harper's phone buzzed in her hand, and her whole face lit up.

"Oh my god, it's Tyler." She was already grinning, thumbs flying over the screen.

"He wants me to come meet him outside—apparently he snagged a bottle of something from his brother's stash and he wants us to have fun together. Caroline, are you okay or should I wait and watch you for some time?"

"I'm okay, actually feeling kind of gross but I'll be fine." I said, which wasn't even a lie at this point.

"You go. Have fun."

"You sure?" She was already bouncing on her toes, glancing toward the door.

"Positive. Go before he starts spamming you."

Harper squealed, pulled me into a quick hug that smelled like her vanilla perfume, and was gone in a blur of blonde hair and excited texting, leaving me alone in a room full of people I barely knew.

Great.

I told myself it was fine. I could survive the rest of the night on my own. I found a spot near the food table and nursed a lukewarm soda, trying to look like a person who was having a normal, casual night and not like someone counting down the minutes until she could escape.

I didn't let myself look for him. I was proud of that, actually—almost a full three minutes of not scanning the room for a head of dark, messy hair.

Then someone stumbled into me from behind, and cold, sharp-smelling liquid sloshed straight down the front of my sweater.

"Oh my god—I am so sorry!" A guy I didn't recognize grabbed for napkins, mortified, red wine dripping off his own cup. "I didn't even see you, are you okay?"

"It's fine, it's fine," I said, already peeling the fabric away from my skin, wincing at the cold. It was not fine. It looked like I'd been shot. "I just need to go rinse this out before it sets."

I gave up on the napkins after the second one disintegrated and started weaving toward the hallway, holding the ruined sweater away from my body, silently thanking every God in existence that Harper wasn't there to witness this level of tragedy.

A staff member pointed me down a side corridor, off the main lounge, toward a private bathroom near the team offices. Quieter back there. Fewer

people to see me looking like a crime scene.

I p

ushed the door open without knocking.

And walked straight into him.