VIOLET "You're staring at him again," Mia says beside me as the arena erupts into a deafening roar. I blink, tearing my eyes away from the ice. My roommate is leaning against the metal railing, a massive smirk on her face. She's wearing an oversized Maplewood Wolves jersey, her face painted with blue and silver glitter. "I'm not staring," I lie, my voice barely carrying over the screaming crowd. "I'm watching the game. My brother is literally on the ice, Mia." "Uh-huh." Mia rolls her eyes, taking a sip from her soda. "Your brother is number forty-four, the defenseman currently yelling at the ref. But your eyes are glued to number nine. The guy who just scored the tie-breaking goal." I swallow hard, my lips pressing into a tight line. She isn't wrong. The Wolves Den is packed to the absolute brim. It's the final pre-season exhibition game, but you'd think it was the national championship. The air inside the arena is a mix of freezing cold rink air, spilled popcorn, and pure, chaotic college energy. Everyone is losing their minds. And they're all chanting one name. Donovan! Donovan! Donovan! Jace Donovan. Team captain. First-line center. The campus golden boy who looks like he belongs on an NHL billboard instead of a college campus in Vermont. And my absolute biggest secret. I look back at the ice, my chest tightening. I can't help it. I know his habits better than I know my own college class schedule. I've been watching him play since we were kids in community rinks. Right now, as the referee skates toward the center circle, Jace does what he always does. He taps his hockey stick twice against the ice-thump, thump. A lucky pre-game ritual he's kept since high school. Then, he reaches up with a gloved hand and pushes a strand of damp, dark hair away from his forehead. It's a fraction of a second. A tiny, insignificant habit. But my heart does a stupid, dangerous flip anyway. "Seriously, Vi," Mia teases, bumping her shoulder against mine. "The pining is getting loud. It's giving tragic romance heroine." "Shut up," I laugh softly, though a pang of genuine ache hits my chest. "It's not pining. It's just... habit." That's a safer word. Habit. I've loved Jace since I was fourteen years old. Back then, I was just Liam's scrawny little sister who sat on the bleachers doing homework while they practiced. Jace was the nice, impossibly handsome older boy who would occasionally buy me a hot chocolate from the concession stand or ruffle my hair. To him, I was a kid. Untouchable. Invisible. Liam's baby sister. Now, I'm a freshman here at Maplewood University. I'm supposed to be starting over. I'm supposed to be finding my own identity, building a life that doesn't revolve around being a shadow to my brother or a secret admirer to his best friend. But looking at Jace right now, wearing the captain's 'C' on his chest, I feel entirely trapped by my own feelings. If I stop loving him... who am I even supposed to be? Suddenly, the crowd gasps. The sound is sharp and collective. My eyes instantly lock onto the far corner of the rink. Jace had possession of the puck, skating hard down the boards, when a rival defenseman caught him completely blind. The impact is brutal. A heavy, bone-crushing body check that slams Jace directly into the plexiglass right in front of the student section. CRACK. The sound of his pads hitting the boards echoes through the entire arena. My breath hitches. My hands instantly grip the cold metal railing so hard my knuckles turn white. A cold, sharp wave of pure panic floods my veins, suffocating me. "Oh, ugly hit," Mia mutters, wincing. Jace doesn't get up right away. He stays down on one knee, his head bowed, his gloved hand resting on the ice. Time completely stops. My heart is hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. The noise of the arena fades into a dull buzz. Please get up, I think, my mind begging, desperate. Please, Jace, just get up. The intensity of my own fear terrifies me. I shouldn't care this much. I shouldn't feel like the world is ending just because he took a hard hit. Then, he moves. Jace pushes himself up, shaking his head slightly. He skates back toward the bench, completely ignoring the trainer who is leaning over the boards to check on him. He looks pissed, his jaw clenched tight, but he's okay. I let out a shaky breath, my shoulders dropping. "Whoa," Mia says, looking at me closely. "Vi, you look like you just saw a ghost. You're completely pale." "I'm fine," I whisper, trying to force my voice to sound normal. "Just... it looked bad." "He's a hockey player," Mia says, waving a hand dismissively. "They're basically made of concrete and testosterone." The final buzzer sounds a few minutes later. The Maplewood Wolves win, 4-3. The arena goes wild, music blasting through the speakers as the players do their victory lap, raising their sticks to the crowd. "Come on," I say, pulling my jacket tighter around myself. "Liam said to meet him by the players' exit after they wrap up media." "Lead the way," Mia says, grinning. "Maybe we'll catch a glimpse of the captain without his shirt on." "Mia, please." We weave through the exiting crowd, heading down the concrete stairs toward the restricted lower level. Because I'm Liam's sister, the security guards recognize me and let us pass into the quiet, brightly lit hallway outside the locker rooms. The air down here smells like sweat, ice, and expensive cologne. We wait for about ten minutes before the heavy double doors open. Players start trickling out, carrying huge gear bags, their hair damp from the showers. "Violet!" Liam emerges first. My brother looks exhausted but energized, a massive grin on his face. He drops his bag with a loud thud and pulls me into a suffocating, sweaty hug. "Ugh, Liam, you smell disgusting," I complain, though I hug him back tightly. "Hey, that's the smell of a win, Vi," he laughs, pulling back and ruffling my hair. He nods toward Mia. "Hey, Mia. Glad you guys made it." "Great game, Reed," Mia says, giving him a high-five. "Your body checking was top tier." "Always is," Liam boasts. He turns back to me, his expression shifting into that familiar, overprotective older-brother look. "You look tired, Vi. Are you eating enough at the dining hall? You know you can text me if you need groceries, right?" "Liam, I'm literally fine," I say, rolling my eyes. "It's been three weeks. I know how to buy cereal." "Just checking. I gotta make sure-" Liam stops talking because the locker room door opens again. Jace walks out. My lungs instantly empty. He's wearing gray sweatpants and a black Maplewood Hockey hoodie, the sleeves pushed up to reveal his forearms. His dark hair is still wet from the shower, curling slightly at the nape of his neck. There's a fresh, nasty red scrape right along his cheekbone from that hit against the boards, and his eyes look dark, intense, and completely exhausted. He looks sweaty. He looks bruised. He looks entirely victorious. Jace is talking to one of the assistant coaches, nodding slowly, but as he gets closer to us, his eyes shift. Usually, Jace looks through me. He gives me a quick nod, a polite smile, and keeps moving. He treats me like a fixture in Liam's life, a background character. But tonight, he doesn't look through me. He looks directly at me. His footsteps slow down. His gaze locks onto mine, heavy and unreadable. The air between us suddenly feels incredibly thick, like the atmosphere right before a summer thunderstorm. "Good game, man," Liam says, reaching out to clap Jace on the shoulder. Jace doesn't answer his best friend right away. He doesn't look at Liam at all. He just keeps staring at me, his dark eyes tracking over my face, my new haircut, the oversized jacket I'm wearing. It feels like he's cataloging every single change. He pauses mid-conversation, the hallway completely fading into silence around us. He stares for a second too long, his jaw ticking slightly. "When did you get here, Violet?" Jace asks, his voice low, rough, and entirely serious. My heart stops. He isn't asking about the game. He isn't asking about tonight. For the first time in my entire life, it feels like Jace Donovan isn't looking at Liam's little sister. It feels like he's actually seeing me.

I shouldn't care that he remembered my name, but somehow it's the only thing I've thought about all weekend. Seriously, it's pathetic. It was six words. When did you get here, Violet? That's it. But my brain has replayed the low, gravelly sound of his voice about a million times while I unpack my dorm room. "Earth to Vi," Mia says, snapping her fingers in front of my face. She's sitting cross-legged on her unmade bed, surrounded by a mountain of throw pillows. "Are you going to hang up those fairy lights or just stare at the wall like a sim?" "Hanging them now," I mutter, shaking myself out of the daze. I stand on my tiptoes, pinning the string lights to the wall. The campus is buzzing today. It's official move-in weekend at Maplewood University, and the energy outside our window is chaotic. Car trunks slamming, parents crying, and freshmen trying way too hard to look cool. This is my fresh start. My chance to be someone completely new. For years, I was just the quiet girl hiding in the background, nursing an impossible, exhausting fantasy about my brother's best friend. But standing here in my own dorm room, a sudden wave of determination hits my chest. No more childhood crushes, I tell myself, pressing a thumb-tack firmly into the drywall. No more pining over Jace Donovan. It's over. "Hey," Mia says, checking her phone. "Liam texted. He said the team is having a small low-key thing at their off-campus house tonight. Just some pizza and drinks to celebrate the pre-season win. We should totally go." My stomach does a nervous little flutter. "I don't know, Mia. It's a hockey party. I'll just end up sitting in a corner while Liam introduces me as his baby sister to fifty different giant athletes." "First of all, giant athletes are exactly why we should go," Mia points out, eyebrows wagging. "Second of all, you're a freshman now. You're a college student. Put on that cute black top you bought last week and let's go show everyone you're not a kid anymore." I look at the black top hanging in my closet. It has thin straps and a square neckline-definitely more grown-up than my usual oversized hoodies. "Fine," I give in, a small smile tugging at my lips. "But if Liam starts lecturing me about my curfew, you have to distract him." "Deal." The hockey house is a massive, slightly rundown off-campus place with a wrap-around porch and a lawn littered with empty red cups. Music is thumping through the closed front door, a heavy bass that vibrates right through the soles of my sneakers. The moment we walk in, the atmosphere wraps around us. It smells like cheap beer, wood smoke, and college freedom. "Vi! Over here!" Liam spots us immediately from across the crowded living room. He navigates through the sea of people, a red cup in his hand, looking completely in his element. He's wearing a backwards baseball cap and a gray t-shirt that shows off his athletic build. "You actually came," Liam says, pulling me into a quick one-armed hug. "Nice. Grab a soda from the kitchen. Most of the guys are out back by the fire pit." "Hey, Reed," Mia greets him, already scanning the room. "Is that the backup goalie over by the fridge?" "Yeah, that's Miller. Go say hi, he's harmless," Liam laughs. Mia doesn't need to be told twice. She gives me a quick you-got-this look and disappears into the crowd toward the kitchen, leaving me standing next to my brother. "You look nice, Vi," Liam says, blinking at my outfit. His protective older-brother radar instantly glares. "Is that shirt new? It's a little... short, isn't it?" "It's a normal shirt, Liam," I say, rolling my eyes, though affection softens the edge. "Don't start." "Alright, alright. Come on, let's get you a drink." He leads me through the crowded house toward the back deck. The cool Vermont evening air hits my face, a welcome relief from the stuffy heat inside. A massive bonfire is roaring in the middle of the yard, surrounded by lawn chairs and hockey players. And right there, sitting on the arm of a weathered sofa on the porch, is Jace. My chest tightens instantly. The painful, familiar ache flares up before I can stop it. He's wearing a dark flannel shirt over a white tee, his jaw sharp in the flickering light of the fire. He has a beer dangling from his fingers, but he isn't drinking. He's listening intently to an older man in a MU athletic jacket. "Hold on," Liam mutters, pausing near the edge of the deck. "That's the scout from the Bruins. Let's see what they're saying." We step closer, blending into the shadows of the porch. They don't see us. "You've got the vision, Donovan," the scout is saying, tapping a finger against his clipboard. "The NHL scouts are looking at your discipline just as much as your stats. Keep your head down this season. Lead the team, avoid the typical college distractions, and you're a guaranteed early round draft pick next spring. Boston has their eye on you." Jace nods, his expression completely serious, mature, and focused. "I know, sir. The team comes first. No distractions. I'm completely locked in." "Good lad. The sky is the limit for you." The scout claps Jace on the shoulder and walks away. Jace takes a slow sip of his drink, his eyes staring out into the dark yard, looking entirely untouchable. Standing a few feet away, a cold wave of reality washes over me. Hearing those words hurts in a way I didn't expect. Jace's life is moving forward at a thousand miles an hour. He's talking to professional scouts. He's looking at a future in the NHL. He's a grown man with massive dreams and the discipline to achieve them. And me? I'm still just the silly, embarrassed girl stuck in a childhood crush, hyper-fixating on the fact that he said my name in a hallway two days ago. I feel so incredibly small. So stupid. While he's chasing a professional sports career, I'm chasing a ghost. This is the year, I think, a sharp flare of stubborn pride hardening inside my heart. This is the exact moment I get over Jace Donovan. I'm done being invisible, and I'm done wanting someone who will never see me as an equal. "Hey, Liam," I say, my voice sounding tight. "I'm actually feeling a little tired. I think I'm gonna head back to the dorms." Liam frowns, looking down at me. "Already? You just got here, Vi. Do you want me to walk you?" "No, stay. Celebrate. I know the way back, it's just a ten-minute walk," I say, forcing a bright, fake smile. "I'll text you when I'm back." "Okay. Be safe. Text me the second you get through the door." I nod and turn around, navigating through the crowded porch. I just need to get out of here. I need to breathe. I head toward the side steps of the deck, where the lighting is dim and the grass meets the gravel path. I'm moving fast, my eyes slightly blurred with a mix of frustration and embarrassment, entirely focused on my own escape. My foot catches on a loose, warped wooden step. "Whoa-" My balance completely vanishes. I gasp, my arms flailing slightly as gravity pulls me forward toward the hard gravel below. Before I can hit the ground, a hand shoots out of the darkness. Strong, calloused fingers wrap firmly around my wrist. With a sudden, powerful jerk, I'm pulled backward. My sneakers hit the solid wood of the deck, and my front slams directly into a broad, solid chest. The scent of cedarwood, ice, and expensive cologne floods my senses instantly. My heart leaps into my throat, hammering violently. I look up, my breath hitching in my throat. Jace is towering over me, his face inches from mine. His grip on my wrist is tight, his fingers warm against my bare skin. His dark eyes are wide, searching my face with a sudden, intense flash of panic that completely catches me off guard. For a long, breathless second, neither of us lets go. "You okay?" Jace asks, his voice dropping into a low, breathless register that sends a violent shiver straight down my spine.

The easiest way to stop loving someone is to stay away from them. Too bad fate had other plans. Actually, scratch that. It isn't fate. It's just my brother's terrible planning and the Maplewood University housing department conspiring against my sanity. "I'm going to drop this," I gasp, my biceps literally trembling as I balance a massive cardboard box labeled BOOKS / HEAVY AF against my chin. "Mia, grab the door. Please tell me you have the key card out." "Got it, got it! Keep your shirt on," Mia mutters, frantically swiping her student ID against the scanner of our new residence hall. The heavy glass door clicks open with a loud beep. I stumble into the air-conditioned lobby of Alder Hall, letting out a pathetic groan as I dump the box onto a nearby plastic bench. My hands are completely indented with red lines from the cardboard flaps. My messy bun is half-falling out, and I'm sweating through a gray tank top. But despite the manual labor, a small spark of genuine excitement flares in my chest. Classes start tomorrow. The campus is alive, packed with students hauling mini-fridges and giant blue Ikea bags across the manicured lawns. This morning felt like Day One of my new life. A reinvention. No more hiding in the shadows of my past. No more losing sleep over the boy who caught my wrist on a dark porch two nights ago and looked at me like I was a puzzle he couldn't solve. I am officially a college student. I have new goals, a new schedule, and a completely blank slate. "Hey, look," Mia says, tapping the glass window of the lobby and pointing across the concrete courtyard. "Isn't that the athlete housing? The upperclassman apartments?" I look over her shoulder. Directly across the small grassy quad sat Cedar Crest, the premium, modern brick building reserved for varsity sports players. It's close. Way too close. Like, I-can-literally-see-into-their-living-room-windows close. "Yeah," I say, a tiny knot forming in my stomach. "Liam said he and Jace scored a suite over there." "Perfect," Mia chirps, completely oblivious to my internal mini-panic attack. "Free security guards and built-in party invites right across the grass. We lucked out." I force a tight laugh, trying to ignore the sudden, nervous flutter in my throat. It's fine, I tell myself. It's a huge campus. I won't even see them. "Alright, let's grab the last load from my car," I say, trying to shake off the weird feeling. "The sooner we unpack, the sooner we can hit the dining hall." We walk back out to my tiny sedan, which is packed to the roof. I haul a heavy plastic bin full of winter sweaters out of the trunk, while Mia grabs a pair of lamps and a giant plush rug. Balancing the bin against my hip, I kick the trunk shut with my sneaker and turn around toward the stairs. Suddenly, a shadow falls over me. "Need a hand with that?" The voice is low, smooth, and instantly recognizable. My muscles lock up before my brain can even process the sound. Jace is standing at the bottom of the concrete steps. He's wearing dark athletic shorts and a backward Maplewood Hockey cap, a silver chain catching the bright Vermont sunlight against his tanned neck. He looks like he just got back from a morning workout-his skin is slightly flush, and there are faint patches of sweat on his grey t-shirt. "Jace," I breathe, my heart instantly betraying me by doing a violent, erratic tap-dance against my ribs. "What are you doing over here?" "Helping Liam move some extra gear into our storage locker downstairs," he says, nodding toward the basement entrance of my building. He steps closer, his dark eyes sweeping over the massive bin in my arms. "That looks heavy. Give it here." "I can manage," I say quickly, my stubborn pride flaring up. "I'm fine." Jace doesn't even argue. He just steps directly into my personal space, his broad frame completely blocking out the sun. He reaches down, his large, calloused hands brushing against mine as he takes the weight of the plastic bin from my arms. A sharp, electric jolt shoots straight up my wrists at the brief contact. "I know you can manage, Violet," Jace says softly, his voice dropping an octave as he lifts the box effortlessly. "But you don't have to." I swallow hard, my throat completely dry. "Floor three," I mutter, turning to lead the way up the concrete stairwell because my face feels like it's burning at a thousand degrees. The interaction is so simple. Almost entirely ordinary. Just a guy helping a girl carry a box upstairs. But as I walk a step ahead of him, the silence between us feels incredibly loud. I can hear the heavy, rhythmic thud of his sneakers on the stairs, the steady sound of his breathing. When we reach the third-floor landing, I pause outside room 312 and open the door. Jace walks in, setting the heavy bin down onto the vinyl floor with a soft click. "Thanks," I say, leaning back against the wooden doorframe, suddenly feeling very hyper-aware of how small our dorm room is. "Don't worry about it," Jace says. He takes off his baseball cap, running a hand through his damp, dark hair before flipping the hat back on. And right then, in the harsh fluorescent lighting of the hallway, I notice things I've somehow never seen before. He isn't the invincible, larger-than-life hockey god from the arena bleachers anymore. Up close, there's a tiny, faded white scar right near his jawline-probably from an old skate blade or a high stick. There are dark, heavy shadows of exhaustion tucked beneath his eyes, the physical proof of a guy carrying the weight of an entire team and an NHL draft future on his shoulders. But the craziest part? The way his expression softens when he looks down at me. The intimidating, intense armor he wears around everyone else completely vanishes. My chest aches with a strange, heavy realization. This isn't a childhood crush anymore. He isn't a poster on a wall or a distant dream. Jace Donovan is becoming a real, breathing, dangerously complicated person. And that makes him ten times harder to resist. "Liam's going to be hovering all week," Jace says, a faint, rare smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "He's already stressing about your schedule. If he gets too annoying, just tell me. I'll make him do extra suicide sprints at practice." I can't help the small laugh that escapes my lips. "Please do. He already lectured me about my shirt choice on Saturday." Jace's eyes drop for a fraction of a second, tracking the line of my collarbone before snapping back up to my face. The air in the room instantly goes still, thick with a sudden, unspoken tension that makes my lungs ache. "Yeah, well," Jace mutters, his jaw tightening slightly as he steps backward into the hallway. "He's just being a brother. I'll see you around, Violet." "See you, Jace." I close the door, leaning my back against the wood and letting out a long, shaky breath. Get it together, I lecture myself, pressing my palms against my hot cheeks. He's just being nice. He's Liam's best friend. That's it. By eleven o'clock that night, the dorm is finally completely unpacked. Mia is already asleep, snoring softly under her pile of throw pillows, the glow of our new fairy lights casting long, cozy shadows across the room. I'm sitting cross-legged on my bed, wearing an oversized t-shirt, scrolling through a syllabus on my laptop. Outside, the Vermont wind is howling softly, rattling the glass. Suddenly, my phone buzzes against the mattress. I pick it up, squinting at the bright screen. Unknown Number: Welcome to campus, Violet. I frown, my thumb hovering over the screen. Before I can even type a response, a second text lighting up the display makes my breath catch completely in my throat. Unknown Number: It's Jace. Save my number.