Faking It With Hockey Alpha

Aurora's POV

"Hellooo… earth to Hayes!"

Marcus snapped his fingers in front of my face, sharp and impatient, jolting me out of the graveyard of my own thoughts. I blinked until the room came back into focus. He leaned over his desk, glaring at me like I'd just stepped on his favorite pair of sneakers.

"You in there, Hayes?" he asked, voice thick with annoyance. "I ain't got all day to be talking to a brick wall."

"Sorry," I muttered, rubbing the bridge of my nose against the headache building behind my eyes. "I'm listening. I just spaced out."

He'd mentioned my dad. That was all it took to send me spiraling back down memory lane, straight to the day my entire life fell apart.

Marcus sighed and leaned back, the chair squeaking loudly in protest under his weight. "Look, I know this ain't the easiest thing for you. But let's be real for a second. The only reason you're getting this gig is because you know the Northern Hockey League inside and out." He pointed a finger at me. "And that's all thanks to your pops and his obsession. God rest his soul."

I swallowed the bitter lump in my throat and gave a stiff nod.

Obsession. That was the polite word people used. The truth was uglier. My father had spent years claiming that something non-human was quietly controlling the league... something stronger, faster, and completely indifferent to the rules humans lived by. The world had laughed him into an early grave. I had tried to defend him. All it did was paint a target on my back and turn me into the crazy doctor's daughter.

"So," Marcus continued, clapping his hands together. "You're getting assigned to the Blackridge Wolves. You'll cover them for the entire championship season. Full exclusive access."

A groan slipped past my lips before I could stop it, my head dropping back against the chair. The Wolves. Of all the teams in the league, it had to be the one that felt the least human.

"Oh, you groaning now?" Marcus's voice climbed an octave, his dark eyes narrowing. "You got a problem with the biggest assignment this paper's handed out all year? I've got a bullpen full of hungry reporters out there who'd kill for this. Say the word and I'll hand it to Jenkins right now."

"No... wait," I said quickly, sitting up straight, panic spiking cold in my chest. "I'm sorry, Marcus. I need this job. I really need this job."

He studied me for a long moment, letting the silence stretch. "That's what I thought. You need this paycheck, Hayes. So start acting like it." He picked up a black folder and tossed it across the desk, sliding it to a stop in front of me. "You report to their PR Director, Miss Kane, by noon tomorrow. Don't be late, don't look sloppy, and for the love of God, keep your head in the game."

I walked out of the newspaper building a few minutes later, boots dragging against the concrete. My bones felt like lead, a relentless pressure building behind my eyes.

Of all the teams in the entire league, it had to be the Blackridge Wolves... my least favorite team on the planet, and not only for their aggressive play style or their loudmouth fans. It was because of one person.

Just the thought of seeing him again made my stomach churn with dread and fury.

Ronan Blackwood.

Even in college he'd carried himself like he belonged to a different species... untouchable, entitled, above the rules the rest of us followed. He'd destroyed my relationship with Damian without ever raising his voice, as if he had every right to decide who was worthy of me. I'd hated him for it then. I still hated him for it now. And somewhere in the back of my mind, my father's warnings whispered that men like Ronan were never entirely human to begin with.

I pulled my coat tighter against the biting autumn chill. It had been a rough two years since my dad died... two years since his theories about the supernatural underbelly of professional sports finally broke him. He'd died, leaving behind nothing but a mountain of debts and a tarnished family name.

I'd gone down right along with him. I'd tried to salvage his legacy; all it did was drag my own reputation through the mud, turning me into a joke on every sports blog in the country. Now I was dead broke, scraping by on freelance scraps, holding onto my little sister for dear life.

My phone buzzed in my coat pocket, vibrating against my hip. I pulled it out with a frown. The caller ID flashed: 'St. Jude's Medical Center'.

My heart stopped. I swiped the screen, hands shaking so badly I nearly dropped the phone. "Hello?"

"Miss Hayes, this is Nurse Miller. You need to come down here immediately. Your sister collapsed."

I didn't remember hailing the cab. I only remembered tossing a crumpled twenty at the confused driver and sprinting through the sliding glass doors of the emergency room, harsh fluorescent light burning my eyes as I dodged medical carts, nurses, weary patients.

"Lila Hayes," I gasped, slamming my hands down on the reception desk. "Where is she?"

Before the startled receptionist could answer, a hand touched my shoulder. I spun around, fists clenched, ready to fight whoever had grabbed me.

It was Dr. Evans. His face was grim, the lines around his mouth deeper than usual. "Aurora. Come with me."

I followed him blindly down the hallway, pulse hammering so loud I could barely hear my own footsteps. "Is she okay? What happened? She was fine this morning."

"She's stable right now," he said quietly, stopping near a set of double doors. He turned to face me, his expression far too serious. "But her body is giving out, Aurora. The chronic episodes are becoming more frequent. I told you last month she needs the treatment. Her life hangs in the balance here."

"I know." Frustration boiled over and I ran a hand through my hair, gripping the strands at the roots. "I'm doing my best, okay? I'm picking up every shift, every freelance gig I can find. But my dad's debts still need to be paid off. The collectors are relentless. I don't have fifty thousand dollars for an experimental treatment."

"I understand you're in a tough spot," Dr. Evans said, his voice softening with pity that didn't make the blow land any softer. "But if she doesn't get this treatment, she's going to pass soon. We're officially out of time."

The words hit me like a fist to the gut. I leaned back against the wall, air rushing out of my lungs in one painful exhale. I was drowning in the deep end, and no matter how hard I kicked, the surface kept getting further away.

"Can I see her?" My voice cracked on the question.

He nodded slowly. "Room 412. Please don't agitate her."

I pushed open the heavy door to Lila's room. She looked so small in the hospital bed, her skin blending into the white sheets, wires trailing to a monitor that beeped in a slow, steady rhythm.

She turned her head, eyes finding mine. "Ro," she rasped, voice small and brittle.

"Hey, kiddo." I forced a tight smile and crossed the room to grip her hand. "You scared the hell out of me."

Before she could reply, my phone chimed in the quiet room, and I flinched.

I pulled it out, annoyed. An urgent email.

'Sender: Victoria Kane, PR Director, Blackridge Wolves.'

'Subject: URGENT MEETING.'

'Text: Miss Hayes, there has been a change of schedule. I expect you in my office at the Blackridge Stadium in exactly fifteen minutes. Do not keep me waiting.'

"Oh, shit," I breathed, checking the clock on the wall. It was already a ten-minute drive to the stadium with good traffic.

"What?" Lila asked, brow furrowing. "What's wrong?"

"I have to go." I dropped her hand and took a quick step backward.

"What? You literally just got here!" Her voice cracked, a flash of heartbreak and anger lighting her eyes. "I just collapsed, Aurora! You're leaving me?"

"I've gotta bounce, Lila, I'm so sorry." I backed toward the door, my chest tight with guilt. "This is the job that's gonna pay for your treatment. I promise I'll be back tonight. I swear."

"Aurora! Don't you dare walk out that door!" she yelled, her heart monitor picking up speed.

I turned and walked out anyway, ignoring her, hating myself with every step down the hallway. But if I lost this job, she would lose her life. It was that simple.

Fifteen minutes later, a taxi dropped me in front of the Blackridge Coliseum. Glass and steel gleamed under the sun, looking more like a villain's fortress than a hockey arena.

I burst through the entrance, breathless and sweating under my coat. A security guard with a thick neck looked me up and down with disdain.

"Hayes," I huffed, flashing my press credentials in his face. "I'm supposed to meet Victoria Kane."

He didn't say a word—just gave a curt nod, turned on his heel, and led me down a labyrinth of hallways that smelled of cologne and ice. My stomach did gymnastics with every step. I was about to walk into the belly of the beast, into a world that had never felt entirely human.

The guard stopped in front of a glass door etched with silver letters: 'PR DIRECTOR'. He pushed it open and stepped aside.

"Thanks," I muttered, straightening my jacket. I took a deep breath and schooled my features into the tough, unbreakable mask I wore for the rest of the world.

I stepped into the room.

"Miss Kane, I apologize for..."

The words died in my throat. My steps faltered, boots glued to the carpet. My heartbeat wasn't in my chest anymore—it was in my throat, choking me with anger, hate, and panic all at once.

No…