MY HOCKEY HEARTHROB

The mid morning sun hung like a polished coin over the city, its heat a familiar weight on my shoulders as I stepped out of the international terminal. Yet, despite the warmth, everything felt foreign. Five years of chasing headlines across Europe and North America had forged me into someone unrecognizable, to the girl who had once called this place home. I wasn't that shadow of a person who had fled with a shattered heart and a suitcase stuffed with what ifs and bitter regrets. I was Valeria, a journalist who had carved her name into the stone of a competitive industry that never handed out favors to the weak.

I adjusted my sunglasses, my fingers grazing the gold armlet on my bicep. I had spent five years carefully building this version of myself, the regal bun that pulled my hair back into a crown of professionalism, the sharp, tailored silhouette of my clothes, and the unwavering, sharp gaze I used to keep the world at bay. It was a suit of armor designed to ensure I never felt small, never felt vulnerable, and never felt like that sad girl again

As my taxi pulled onto the main artery leading toward the heart of the city. I leaned my head against the cool window, trying to remember the memories of my youth with the polished high rise buildings of the present. Then, I saw it.

Rising above the skyline, a massive digital billboard flickered to life. It wasn't an advertisement for the latest mobile technology or a product . It was him.

Julian Vane looked back at me with a cold, predatory intensity that physically stopped the breath in my lungs. He was leaning against the plexiglass boards of an ice rink, his Hawks jersey pulled across his shoulders that had grown impossibly broad since I'd last seen him. His face, once soft with boyish charm, was now a masterpiece of harsh angles and lethal symmetry. The caption, glowing in bold, gold letters against the blue backdrop, read: THE GHOST RETURNS: CHAMPIONSHIP RUN 2026.

He was more handsome than the boy I had known,his jawline sharp, his presence more commanding even through a digital screen. He was famous. He was rich. He was the bad boy of the league, the enforcer everyone was obsessed with, and the man I had spent five years trying to forget.

"We'll make it work, Valeria. I promise."

The memory of his voice, soft, desperate, and lying through its teeth on that final night echoed in the silence of the taxi. He had promised forever, a word that felt like a lifeline at eighteen. But when the ice came calling, and the glitter of the professional world beckoned, he had chosen the ring. He had chosen the fame I was now forced to stare at on a billboard. He had chosen a life that didn't include me.

A single, traitorous tear escaped the corner of my eye, trailing a hot path down my cheek. I watched its reflection in the taxi window for a heartbeat before reaching up and wiping it away with a sharp, decisive motion.. I didn't have time for ghosts, and I certainly didn't have room in my life for Julian Vane.

"The Apex Media building," I told the driver, my voice clipping the air with a newfound coldness. "Please, hurry."

When I arrived at the high rise office, the energy was electric. My new editor, Mr. Sterling, a man who wore his authority in the fine lines of his three piece suit and the sharp way he looked over his glasses met me in the lobby. He wasn't like my previous editors,he was a man who demanded results before he even knew your name.

"Valeria! Excellent timing," he said, skipping the pleasantries and thrusting a digital tablet into my hands. "I've been reviewing your file. Oxford doesn't produce many sports specialists with your kind of grit, and your track record with international Alphas in the European circuits is exactly why I fought to bring you on board."

I scanned the tablet, the text swimming before my eyes as my heart began a slow, heavy stutter against my ribs.

"You're on the championship beat," Mr. Sterling continued, already pivoting toward the bank of elevators. "The Hawks are the biggest story of the year, and Julian Vane is the heart of it. He's in the city for a series of high profile press events. I've pulled some strings, and because of your portfolio, I've secured you an exclusive one on one interview."

The tablet nearly slipped from my numb fingers. The tension I had spent five years suppressing coiled in my gut like a physical weight, heavy and suffocating.

"When?" I managed to ask, my throat feeling as though it were filled with glass.

"Tomorrow morning. You have exactly 24 hours to prepare," Mr. Sterling called back over his shoulder as the elevator doors began to slide shut. "He's notoriously cold with the press, quite hostile. He's broken more veteran journalists than I care to count, but you're the best we've got. Don't let him freeze you out, Valeria. This story is your ticket to the top."

I stood alone in the lobby, surrounded by the frantic hum of a busy newsroom, staring at the digital face of the man who had destroyed my past. The 24 hour countdown felt like a ticking time bomb. I had come home to conquer my career, to prove that I was more than the girl who was left behind, but I was about to face the one person who could still ruin me with a single, ice cold look.

How was I supposed to sit across from him in a locked room? How was I supposed to look into those dangerous grey eyes and pretend he was just another story for the morning edition?

I walked toward the glass doors, the city skyline looming ahead. I had twenty four hours to rebuild my walls, twenty four hours to find the Valeria who didn't care about promises.