ANOTHER CHANCE WITH MY HOCKEY BULLY

SOPHIA’S POV

I pace round the conference room as I await Victor, the manager of The Titan Ice team. I find myself rolling the slightly loose ring I have on my fourth left finger as my nerves threaten to wreck. My heart is racing

The clock continues to tick. The room is nothing fancy, just four white walls, a long wooden table that looks like it has more tales to tell from the scribbles, and the rolls of chairs. 

“Let’s hope the boys like you enough to work with them.” Victor’s email rings in my head.

It is not a choice. They have to like me. I need to make them because one of them hit my Dave, and put him in a coma. They ruined everything just a few days to our wedding, and then the police discard the case as a drunk and drive situation. 

One thing I know is that Dave will never.

So until I find out who that is and give him justice, I have no right to be happy. 

Happy?

I can't even remember the last time I smiled. 

The echo of the crowd soars through the air. The last few months have been me stalking every team member on their socials like a crazy fan just to know how to penetrate this icy team. And the answer is simple, I have to infiltrate the team and fish out the truth.

Footsteps resound in the hallway, then the door shoves open. My breath stick in my throat as he walks in, the face I will never mistake, that voice that taunted me for years back in high school. The asshole who made school a living hell. 

He steps in, his shoulder broad, his golden hair damp with sweat. His jersey is stained with dirt, yet it clings to his chest as though he is its saving grace. 

Only, I know he is nothing short of a devil.

Saliva gathers in my mouth. His phone firmly presses against his left ear. His eyebrows furrow when his gaze meets mine. My stomach clenches, the old wounds slowly reopen and my breath catches. 

“¡Maldito infierno!” His jaw clenches. “I will call you later. Until then, don’t do anything stupid.” He lowers his hand, then his eyes trail over me like I am a piece of garbage. “Who the hell are YOU?”

I blink. Heat pulsing through me. My skin tingles, and I hate that I feel this way. Because of him.

Seven years of my high school bully living right free in my head. Seven years of constant nightmares and five years of seeing a therapist to curb my anxiety, a detriment of his abuse.

And I am nothing but a little inconvenience that he doesn’t even remember.

I scoff as tears burn my eyelids, and it returns. The hate I had for my weak sixteen-year-old self. And the one I have for him.

“I…have an appointment,” I mumble, swallowing.

His phone rings again. His eyes hover over it, and his lips thin as he shoves it into his pocket, alongside his hands, highlighting his features.

He looks nothing like the boy I last saw before his transfer in senior high. His presence is towering now, and he has added more inches, and once again, I feel like nothing, all thanks to him.

“What the hell is security doing letting a crazy fan in?” He sounds visibly disgusted. Another ring and he grunts. “This office is off limits. Get out.”

The casualness in his tone annoys me. The rage I had kept bottled up for years soar high in me, and I tremble a little. He is still very much of an asshole.

Bitting my lip, I pick up my file from the table, clutch it close to my chest, and make my way out. The air feels thin and I feel my lungs fighting for air. I need to get out. Away from him, and far from here.

“Stop right there!” He roars, and I halt, still facing him. 

Stupid me. After all these years, he still has a hold on me.

His steps are intimidating as he closes in, and I can smell him. The sweat mixed with his natural scent. I take three steps backward, and he takes three forward. 

“How sure am I that you didn’t steal something?” 

I can't bring myself to speak. My eyes widen, and I swallow the lump in my throat. My breathing becomes uneven.

“Someone get in here right now! We have a crazy fan in the room.” 

I can see the whole thing going southside. If Victor meets this, I can lose my chance of getting the job. I try to motion past him when he grabs my arm. His finger brushes my skin, yet it burns through the fabric. My breath halts in a second. My body shakes. And I guess it is from fear.

“No one leaves until I am sure you ain't one of those crazy reporters finding dirt on people like me.”

I scoff softly.

Assholes like you.

I want to say but I can't.

“Let…me…go…” I breathe out, struggling to get free but his grip tightens. 

My eyes burn with tears. I hate being weak. I hate that it feel like we are back to the hallway where he torments me. And I remind myself that I have to be strong. 

For Dave.

Sniffing back my tears, I shove the file into his arm, and watch his lip pin then he slowly unhands me. As he flips it open, his nose crinkle.

“Sophia Bret.” Each word rolls off his tongue and sends flashes through my mind again. He looks up and his lips stretch in a grin. “If it isn’t my Little Birdie.” 

My stomach drops. It is the nickname I hate. He calls me that because he says it reminds him of weak birds that yearn for freedom and flying but are too weak to actually make a move, and end up dying miserably.

I utterly despise him.

He leans in. His hot breath lands on my face.

“Look at you all grown up. Thought you died.” He mocks and adds a laugh. “You look…” His gaze trails over me, and I find myself clenching my jaw, my hands forming into fists. 

My hands are clutching tightly onto the rim of my black skirt. I can feel his gaze burning through my skin, and suddenly, my choice of a buttoned cream shirt is a bad idea because sweat produces from every hole I have. 

“You look you.” 

I release some air from my mouth as I avert his eyes, then squeeze it shut briefly. What does he mean? I spend years trying to be the better version of myself. Learn how to do my own makeup. And he downplays my efforts.

Just like he always does.

“Let…me…go…” Each word is let out with a struggle.

Please.

I add under my breath.

“Why would I do that when this is the perfect reunion?” He smirks and starts to draw near until my back hits the wall. “Did you miss me?” 

I dig my fingers into my thighs, unable to breathe. He tucks the strand of my fake black hair behind my ear. 

“Ginger looks better on you.” He states. 

I’m staring into his icy blue eyes, they are as clear as crystal.

He is the reason I always have a fake wig on. He is the reason I hate my real hair. He is the reason why I never go to school reunions because everyone remembers me as the stupid ginger girl.

This monster.

His eyes drift to my lips and I catch his Adam's apple move. The room is hella hot, and I see sweat gathering on his forehead. 

The door pushes open.

“Sorry to keep you waiting; I had…” Victor, the manager, pauses as his eyes drift between us. Rhett takes a few steps away, his hands shove in his pocket. 

“Aah! You met Rhett, the team captain.”

My eyes widen. What the hell?

“Him?” My voice rose. “What about Carver?”

Carver is supposed to be the team captain. Not him.  

“Oh, him, he changed teams at the last minute….” Victor's voice lowers. “Thanks to this big boy right here for saving us. I sure don't know what I would have done without him. He is an angel.” He pats Rhett on the shoulder. 

“Probably be back on the streets,” Rhett says, his voice cold.

Victor chuckles, but it doesn't sound genuine, and I can tell Rhett makes him uncomfortable, too. 

“You two have a history?” He stirs the conversation back to me.

The tension in the air thickens when my eyes return to Rhett, and I can swear that his lips tilt in a small grin.

“Little Birdy here and I attended high school together. Practically best buddies, right, Birdie?” 

I swallow instead. Best buddies. He traumatized me and made my school life worse. 

“Oh! Perfect then. I liked her application. She will be y’all’s new assistant. You can introduce her to the boys later.”

I am uncomfortable. The room is closing in. I hold a nervous smile, so forced that I can feel my lips about to crack from the pressure. Even though his gaze is off me, I can still feel his touch lingering on my cheek.

“She can't do the job. Get someone else.” His voice is rigid. He is back to being so cold.

“Why….”

“I can!” I find myself yelling. 

They freeze, their eyes etches on me.

I clear my throat.

“I can handle the job,” I announce, even though my nerves are cracking. His eyebrow raises, and his jaw hardens.

He is angry, and for once, that gives me a form of peace. If the idea of having me around repulses him, then around he shall have me. It is time I bully my bully.

“You can't. You are weak.” 

“I’m not!” I yell in defense, annoyance surging through me. 

I look at Victor and can tell from his expression that he is torn apart with decisions. He opens his mouth to speak.

“Two months. Give me two months to prove myself.” I plead.

I need to be here. For Dave. For the truth, and two months should be enough to find out the truth.  

“The boys will be….” The manager is saying.

“Two weeks.” The devil cuts in.

“A month.”

“Three weeks.”

“A month!” 

“Three. Take it or leave it.” His voice is stern.

I clench my jaw, the urge to throw punches his way engulfs me. I form my hands into fists.

“Fine,” I mutter. “Three weeks.” 

It is impossible to weaken the team and find the shirt that holds the clue to the attacker in three weeks. Three weeks is insane. 

Fear runs through me at the thought that I might really fail. What if I flop this? What if he gets the last laugh?

His lips strain under the weight of a smile.

“Welcome to the team, then, Little Birdie. I look forward to seeing you leave.”