My Hockey Captain, His Superstar & Me

Rose's Pov

“We're moving again?”

The words came out before I could even stop them but dad didn't even answer. He didn't even pause to look at me, just kept throwing clothes into his battered duffel bag like I wasn't standing right there in the doorway.

There was no comfort in his gaze or an “I'm sorry, sweetie.”

I stepped right into his path, blocking him mid-reach, “Dad, I just got considered for the program,” I said, my voice higher than I wanted it to be. “The one I spent months applying for.”

He finally looked up, his face flat and unreadable. “Well, it can wait.”

It can wait. Right because opportunities just hang around waiting for us to finish our perpetual, middle-of-the-night runner. I couldn't tell him that last night had been one of the best nights of my entire life, that for once I felt like a normal human being with an actual future, and now I had to throw it all in a trash bag…again.

“Why?” I asked, my hands shaking at my sides. “Why do you always do this?”

He stopped cold and looked down at me with this pure, unfiltered disdain that made my stomach turn into a knot. He pointed a finger right in my face.

“It's for your own good,” he sneered. “Stop being so damn selfish for once in your life.”

I scoffed, a laugh bursting out of my throat. “Selfish? I'M the one being selfish?”

It was the same script every single time.

“Every single time something good happened to me, every time I started to get comfortable or make a friend or build a tiny piece of a life, you suddenly decide it was time to pack up,” I spat, pointing my finger back at him, “Always because you were getting shifted to some new, even shittier job that couldn't keep a roof over our heads for more than three months anyway!”

The rest of the sentence was cut off by the crack of his palm against my face as my head snapped to the side. A sharp, searing heat exploded across my cheek, and my eyes filled with tears before I could even process the impact.

I stood there, stunned, my heart hammering against my ribs as I turned back to look at him, my mouth half-open.

“You hit me,” I whispered, completely breathless.

He leaned in, his face red and fuming, “And I'll hit you again if you don't keep that smart mouth shut. We're moving, and that’s final.”

He shoved past me, his boots stomping down the hallway until the front door slammed shut behind him.

I stood in the middle of the mess, staring at the empty doorway while the tears finally spilled over, burning against the fresh mark on my face.

Ever since Mum died... this was just my life now.

I didn't even have the energy to cry.

I just moved around the room like a ghost, throwing my life into cardboard boxes that were already falling apart.

And the only thing keeping me from completely sinking was Scott.

Last night kept replaying in my head like a loop I didn't want to stop…from the way he looked at me, the way he laughed, the way for a few hours I forgot who I was.

Did he even feel the same way? Was he sitting somewhere right now thinking about me half as much as I was spiraling over him?

Probably not. I mean, why would he? Scott was a freaking American hockey captain. He had millions of fans, half the girls in the state drooling over him, and a whole future laid out in front of him.

And I was just the girl who happened to get lucky for one night before slipping back into the gutter. Guess good things just aren't meant to last when it comes to me.

The drive was dead quiet, except for the low murmur of the radio news, the rain hammering against the glass, and Alexa’s loud, obnoxious snores. She slumped sideways, her head landing right on my shoulder.

“Get off,” I muttered, shoving her away from me.

She grunted, shifted, and went right back to sleeping. I pressed my forehead against the cold glass, watching the highway blur into gray streaks.

How many times are we going to do this? How many cities? When does this sickening cycle actually end?

Boston was behind us now. Just another city on the list, right after the last five we got kicked out of or ran away from.

By the time the car finally pulled up to the curb, the sign read New York.

We lugged our stuff inside, and to my complete shock, the new apartment wasn't a total dump. It was actually bigger and cleaner than the last place.

“Thank you, Daddy! You're the best!” Alexa squealed, throwing her arms around his neck and planting loud, over-the-top kisses all over his cheek.

My dad actually smiled, which was a uh… rare and sickening sight before he patted her back. “At least SOMEONE in this house isn't an ungrateful brat.”

That someone was me by the way.

I didn't even bother rolling my eyes where he could see them. I just picked up my beat-up bag and wandered deeper into the apartment, the floorboards creaking under my shoes.

“Wait,” I said, stopping in the hallway and pointing toward the smaller bedroom at the end. “Is this... mine? Like, actually mine?”

My dad didn't even look back as he dropped a crate onto the kitchen counter. “Take it and shut up.”

“Works for me,” I mumbled under my breath.

I walked in, dropping my backpack onto the floor. I didn't have to share a room with Alexa. Small favors, I guess. I sat on the edge of the bare mattress, staring at the blank walls, my cheek still throbbing, my head spinning with thoughts of a boy in Boston who had no idea I was already gone.

×××

A whole week went by like that. Seven straight days of sitting on my bed, staring blankly at my phone screen, scrolling through videos of figure skaters executing perfect double axels and sleek spins.

Every video was a punch to the gut because that was supposed to be me. That program in Boston was my foot in the door, my actual shot at something bigger, but now it was just another dead opportunity added to the endless list of things my father had ripped away from me.

I was mid-spiral, mentally calculating how many years of my life I'd wasted packing boxes, when my bedroom door slammed open so hard it bounced off the wall.

“Knock, maybe?” I snapped, flinching back on the bed. “Ever heard of privacy?”

Alexa just rolled her eyes, leaning against the doorframe, “Whatever. Dad says we need to leave with him to the rink right now.”

“I'm not coming,” I said, turning back to my phone. “Tell him I'm busy.”

“Yeah, right. Like he's exactly giving you a choice?” She crossed her arms, giving me that smug, annoyed look she always got when dad put her in charge.

“He said get up. You have five minutes to be ready, or he's coming in here himself.”

I groaned, dragging both hands down my face.

The last thing I needed today was another round of shouting or my father’s palm finding my face again. So, to avoid another beatdown or a fresh wave of insults, I shoved myself off the bed, pulled on a pair of oversized sweatpants, and went downstairs.

The drive to the rink was dead silent and honestly? I preferred it that way.

When we finally pulled up to the arena, my dad put the car in park and turned around in his seat to stare at us.

“I'll be back in a few hours,” he said, his voice flat. “For now, go inside and get familiar with the place.”

I couldn't help the laugh that crept up my throat. “What for? So we can pack up and leave again in a week? No thank you.”

His eyes narrowed, “Behave yourself, Rose. I mean it.”

He didn't wait for a reply before locking the doors and walking off toward the manager's office.

I dragged my feet into the chilly air of the rink and slumped down on the cold metal bleachers, staring aimlessly at the ice. My thoughts were already spiraling, picking at my cuticles until they bled.

How long until he pisses off his boss here, too? Two weeks? A month?

Suddenly, the double doors at the entrance burst open and a wave of loud hooting, cursing, and obnoxious cheering echoed off the high rafters as a group of hockey players swarmed inside, banging their sticks against the floorboards.

And right in the middle of the noise was the one person I thought I'd never, ever see again.

My chest went tight as my breath hitched in my throat.

Scott Cockney was standing right there…in the flesh.

I must have been staring like a total lunatic, because as he laughed at something his teammate said, his eyes drifted up toward the bleachers.

And then he stopped…his eyes locked right onto mine.

For two agonizing seconds, my heart plummeted. He doesn't recognize me. Of course he doesn't. Why would he? I was just a random girl in Boston.

But then his smile completely faded, replaced by shock. His lips parted, and even over the noise of the team, I saw my name breathlessly leave his mouth.

“Rose…”