Chapter 3- We Know About The Fire

Trixie's POV

Taking the blame was easy because everyone else was already doing it for me. I packed the few bags we had left, kept my head down, and helped my family flee.

We changed our names, shedding our old lives like dead skin, and moved across the border to a completely new country. We went from being pack elite to living in a cramped old apartment.

Poverty was a heavy blanket, but I wore it because I figured it was exactly what I deserved.

But I still had hockey. Or so I thought.

On my first day at the new school, I stared at the sign-up sheet in the hallway and my heart sank.

Boys' Varsity Hockey.

There was no girls' list.

“Don't bother, new girl,” some guy muttered as he walked past, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Hockey's a boy's game here. Girls cheer or track.”

ABSOLUTELY NOT!

Hockey was the only thing I had left. It was my only escape, the only place where the noise in my head actually shut up and I wasn't losing it. I was going to fight for a girls' team if it killed me.

Ten minutes later, I was standing in the principal's office with my arms crossed, staring down a man who looked like he hadn't smiled since the turn of the century.

Principal Charles adjusted his glasses, looking at my transcript with a bored expression.

“We don't have the funding or the interest for a female hockey program, Miss... Hans,” he said, using my new fake surname with a sigh.

“It’s a highly aggressive, contact-heavy sport. Our young ladies prefer less... volatile activities.”

“Volatile?” I let out a laugh. “It’s a sport, Principal, not a bomb. At my previous school, we had a fully functioning, championship-level regional team for girls. The registration numbers were just as high as the boys. Why doesn't this school offer the same opportunities? It’s completely backward.”

Charles leaned back in his chair, a patronizing smile breaking across his face. “Your old school clearly had different priorities. Here, we focus on what works. The boys' team brings in revenue and titles. Girls' hockey is a liability. Frankly, women simply lack the physical stamina and discipline required for the ice at this level. It’s basic biology, dear.”

My jaw clenched so hard I thought my teeth might crack. The misogyny dripping from his mouth made my blood boil. “Basic biology? I can skate circles around half your varsity boys blindly, and I have the stats to prove—”

The door to the office swung open, cutting me off.

I turned around, the words dying in my throat. Standing in the doorway was a guy who was easily six-foot-three, built like a brick wall, with beautiful hair that fell perfectly across his forehead.

He was wearing the school’s blue and gold varsity jacket, looking every bit the golden-boy jock. He was annoyingly beautiful, “Ah, Harlan,” Principal Charles' tone did a complete 180, instantly turning bright and welcoming.

“Come in, come in. We were just finishing up.”

The boy—Harlan—glanced down at me, completely unimpressed, before looking back at the principal.

“Just needed you to sign off on the new equipment budget for the winter season, sir. The guys need the upgraded padding before the tournament.”

“Of course, of course,” Charles said, eagerly grabbing his pen. He chuckled, gesturing toward me with a wave of his hand.

“You'll appreciate this, Harlan. This young lady here was just demanding we fund a girls' hockey team.”

Harlan stopped, looking down at me again and an incredibly arrogant smirk spread across his lips. “A girls' hockey team? Really?” He looked back at Charles, sharing a mocking laugh. “What are they gonna do, use pink pucks and cry when someone checks them into the boards? Come on, sir. We actually need the ice time for real practice.”

My chest heaved. I boiled inside, the heat rushing straight to my face. I wanted to take my hockey stick and smash it right through Charles' desk, and maybe take out Harlan's shin bones while I was at it.

Who the hell did this guy think he was?

I snapped my mouth shut, realizing arguing with two walls of pure arrogance was getting me nowhere today. I took a step back, holding Harlan’s gaze.

“I'll be back,” I said, pointing at both of them, “Both of you can count on that.”

I marched out of the office, slamming the door behind me.

Right then and there, the hate officially started. I hated Principal Charles, I hated this stupid school, and most of all, I hated Harlan.

They had no idea who they were messing with.

Back at home, I was about to leave the house when Yasmine cornered me before I could even get my jacket completely on.

“What is this?” she demanded, slamming a piece of paper onto the kitchen table. It was the sign-up sheet I’d been passing around the cafeteria, “Are you completely insane, Trixie?”

I snatched the paper back, folding it carefully and shoving it into my bag. “It’s a petition. I’m starting a girls' hockey team. Some of us actually want to play Yasmine, even if the principal is a caveman.”

“You need to stop this right now,” she hissed, her voice dropping into that tone she always used when she was trying to act like the responsible one. “We are supposed to be laying low! We changed our names, we live in this miserable hole, and you’re out there making a scene on your second day? Did you learn absolutely nothing from the fire?”

The word fire hit me, but I forced my face flat.

“This is different. It’s just a school club. I need to be on the ice, Yasmine. I'm suffocating here.”

“I don't care if you're suffocating!” she yelled, losing her temper completely, “You are not going to ruin what's left of this family! If people start looking into you, they look into us. I have a chance to actually build a normal life here, and I am not letting you embarrass me again. You are a liability, Trixie. You always have been.”

“I’m a liability?” I let out a bitter laugh, grabbing my skates by the laces and slinging them over my shoulder.

“Right. Because God forbid anyone remembers you exist unless you’re wearing a captain's armband.”

“Don't turn your back on me!” Yasmine screamed as I moved toward the door. “If you go through with this, I will tell Mom and Dad! I mean it, Trixie! Do not embarrass me!”

“Too late,” I muttered, slamming the apartment door behind me.

My chest was heaving, I didn't care about the rules, I didn't care about Yasmine's warning, and I definitely didn't care that the varsity boys were currently using the ice.

I needed to skate, I needed to hit something, and I needed to prove to myself something at least.

The community rink smelled like boy's sweat.

It was supposed to be the boys' varsity open-ice slot, but I didn't care. I stood by the boards, my skates already laced tight, watching Harlan and his little entourage drift around the ice.

I didn't wait for an invite as I hopped the boards.

Within three strides, I did a hard lap around the perimeter, deliberately cutting right through the center of their passing circle, intercepted the puck cleanly off the stick of one of Harlan's flunkies, flipped it over another guy's blade with an effortless lift, and buried it backhand into the top corner of the empty net.

“Hey! Who the hell let the chick out here?” someone yelled.

Harlan skated over slowly, his stick resting casually across his shoulders, his crew rolling up behind him.

“Well, look who it is,” Harlan said, “The new girl. What’s the matter? Lose your way to the figure skating rink?”

“Just showing you how to actually finish a play,” I said, leaning casually on my stick, “Your boy over there has sloppy wrist action. I figured your team could use a live demonstration from someone who actually knows how to handle a puck.”

The guys behind him laughed, “she just called your wrists sloppy, Miller!” one of them jeered.

Harlan didn't laugh, he just glided a step closer, his tall shadow completely blocking out the overhead rink lights. “You’ve got a big mouth for someone who doesn't even belong on the roster. This is varsity ice. You want to play with the big boys, you better be ready to get hit.”

“Oh, I'm ready,” I snapped, tossing my chin up, “But honestly, Harlan? I’ve seen your game tapes. You’re all face and no hustle. You think because your daddy bought you those shiny new skates you own the sport? You’re a joke.”

I expected him to get mad and challenge me to a shootout or threaten to call the Principal but instead, the smirk completely melted off his face, replaced by something unreadable.

The guys behind him suddenly went dead silent, their smirks vanishing too as the sudden shift in the air made the hairs on my arms stand up.

Harlan lowered his stick, “You really think you're anonymous here, don't you?” he asked.

I blinked, my confidence faltering for a split second. “What are you talking about?”

“Bree Hans?”he scoffed, saying my fake name.

Leaning in, his eyes locked onto mine with zero mercy. “Did you really think changing your name and moving to a poor border town would make everyone forget? The whole northern territory knows what happened, Trixie.”

The sound of my real name out of his mouth felt like a bucket of ice water poured directly down my spine.

“The weak little omega who wanted to be a star,” Harlan continued, taking another slow step forward, completely cornering me against the boards.

His crew stared at me now, not with mockery, but with disgust. “You threw a tantrum on the ice, humiliated an official's kid, and your entire pack paid the price in blood. We know about the fire.”

“Stop,” I whispered as rhe rink began spinning, the fire flashing behind my eyes.

“You're not safe here,” Harlan hissed, his face inches from mine. “You think you can just show up and start trouble again? Build a new team? If I were you, I’d hide in that old apartment and pray the North doesn't decide to finish what you started.”

He finally leaned back, signaling his crew with a tilt of his head. “Come on, guys, the ice is dirty now.”

They skated away, leaving me standing alone in the center of the rink as I gripped my hockey stick so hard my knuckles turned purple, my knees threatening to buckle beneath me.