Puckered Hearts

•ADRIAN•

For fuck's sake.

Two golden rules to keep in mind while you're on the ice: First, never forget the goal. Second, go all out in the game, but keep it game-aggressive, not personally aggressive. Jesus.

It's like these guys never got the memo. They're so intense that they're turning this game into a personal issue to settle. Well, that's fine with me. If the opposite team has a beef with my team, then we're settling this right here, right now.

But this, this was way too personal.

As if he could read my mind, 22-Morris slams into my side, sending me sliding across the ice and thudding into the rink shield, surprising the spectators watching from behind.

I glared at him over my shoulder while using my hockey stick to help me stand upright and I didn't miss the smug look on the asshole's face when he skated away.

Oh, this is personal alright. They just asked for war.

I skated towards the side of the rink and signaled to Nate Donovan, our team captain, to skate over. A minute later, he appeared in front of me.

"Sup?"

"Notice how these dipshits are being brutal out here?" I gesture toward Morris and his crew on the opposite side of the rink.

"Yeah man, they're bringing their A-game today," Nate responds, and I scowl, grabbing his shoulder.

"No, dude. They've got beef with us and some score to settle. Morris might as well aim the puck in my fucking eye the next time we clash. I say we give them what they want and play their own game against them."

"No, Adrian, we-"

"Yeah?" I cut him off before he could finish. "Awesome, good talk."

I tapped the side of his arm twice before skating back to the center to get into position. The air was thick with anticipation, and I could feel the weight of the game on my shoulders.

Positioned as a forward, I took a deep breath and tightened the straps of my helmet, mentally preparing for the battle on the ice.

Our coach's last-minute pep talk echoed in my mind as I braced myself on the cold surface, feeling the chill seep through the layers of padding.

The referee's whistle pierced through the air, signaling the start of the game. The puck dropped, and the players clashed with a ferocity that set the tone for the match. The rink became a battleground, and every stride, every pass, and every shot carried the intensity of a do-or-die situation.

As the puck zipped across the ice, I positioned myself strategically, ready to receive the pass from my teammate. The opposing team's aggression was relentless, with players throwing body checks and sticks clashing like fucking swords in a medieval duel.

What are they, fighting for blood out here?

Just as the play unfolded in our favor, I received the puck, only to be blindsided by a thunderous hit from the opposition.

The force sent me sprawling to the icy surface, the puck slipping away to the waiting opponent's stick. The frustration surged within me, but I knew there was no time to dwell on the setback.

As the third period dwindled, and the seconds ticked away, our team needed that one crucial goal to win this game.

Determination ignited within me as I rose to my feet, shrugging off the ache from the collision. The game was far from over, and every stride I took was fueled by the desire to turn the tide.

Skating with purpose, I found myself beside Morris who suddenly chuckled upon seeing me.

"Gotta watch your back there Levont. You're getting blindsided often; are you losing your touch?" he teased. Annoyance flickered across my face, but I kept my focus on the game, ignoring his taunts.

With renewed determination, I stole the puck from Morris, weaving through defenders with a burst of speed.

The goal loomed ahead like a distant victory, and as I swung my hockey stick with precision, the puck sailed past the goaltender just as the siren blared. The crowd erupted, and my teammates swarmed me, celebrating the hard-fought win.

"Yeah, baby! Now that's what I'm talking about." I yelled at my team members before bumping our chests together.

I looked back at Morris, who looked pissed as hell and couldn't help but smirk. The scoreboard declared our triumph, and his team members' taunts were drowned out by the sweet symphony of victory.

"Pussy!" I called across the rink at him and his eyes shot lasers at me.

I slowly skated towards him just as a smirk spread across his face.

"The only pussy I'd gladly drown myself in is your mom's."

"The fuck did you just say?" I immediately lunged towards the asshole before he could react, while throwing my fist across his face.

Chaos unleashed but every noise drowned out of my ears as I got on top of Morris and repeatedly hit him across the face while delivering kicks to his ribs.

Red blinded my vision; The disrespectful comment he made towards my mother had triggered it and I don't care how many people were watching us right now. Rage had taken over my whole being.

I only stopped when several pairs of arms intervened, pulling me away from the fucker lying on the ice with a bloody face. I was still glaring at him when coach suddenly appeared in front of me, blocking my view.

"Hey, hey! Pull yourself together." He shouted at my face.

I clenched my jaw, breathing heavily, eventually yielding to my teammates who restrained me.

"Get him out of here now!" Coach ordered, and out of nowhere, Nate appeared at my side, guiding me outside the ice rink.

I knew I just screwed up my whole reputation but I wasn't done with Morris yet. If I ever see him around, that motherfucker is going to lose his ability to speak once I give him a dislocated jaw and a few broken teeth.

•KAIA•

"You're failing my class," Professor Mellark declared. My eyes widened in shock as I absorbed the disappointment etched across her face.

My heart sank at the news also.

"Look, I get that English isn't your first language, but when it comes to essays and creative writing, there are some basics you need to grasp. You're a bright student, Kaia. I appreciate your attentiveness in class and your passion for writing. But this isn't high school anymore. Our advanced learning program is more complex than what you encountered before."

I nodded slowly, avoiding her piercing gaze by looking away. She sighed and pulled out a paper from her desk.

"Here's what we're gonna do. I'll sign you up for our tutoring programs. We have some experienced students in their second and third years who help freshmen like you understand their courses better."

Tutoring? Someone is going to teach me what I love to do best? What, how does that even work?

"There you go. I've added your name to the list. Just take it easy over the weekend and come prepared on Monday. I'll give you a call to let you know who's willing to tutor you, alright?"

I forced a smile as I stood up. "Yes, thank you, professor."

"You're welcome," she replied with a warm smile.

I left her office, closed the door, and released a sigh, rolling my eyes before strolling back to my dorm room.

Great. Why did I think English would be easy just because I got straight A's in all of my English classes in high school?

She's right about English not being my first language though. But I've watched way too many movies, read way too many novels, and even started writing my own after learning the basics. So to be fair, my English is very well advanced, thank you very much.

So what other basics do I still need to learn?

Geez.