My Ex's Brother Is the Hockey Alpha

Catherine’s POVI stop in front of the door.My fingers squeeze Clinton’s hand like I’m trying to borrow his courage through skin contact. The music inside rattles the walls. Laughter explodes, like nothing bad ever happened.Like I wasn’t just emotionally assassinated.“I can’t do it,” I whisper.Clinton turns slowly, one eyebrow raised, mildly entertained by the train wreck that is my life.“Can’t do what?”“Go back in there,” I blurt. “If I see him tonight, I’ll cry. Or scream. Or...accidentally commit a felony with a chair. I’m not stable enough to figure out which.”He stares at me, measuring exactly how much drama he’s willing to tolerate.“Okay.”I blink. “Okay?”He shrugs. “You don’t have to. We’ll start tomorrow.”“…Tomorrow?” I whine. “Do you even know what tomorrow is?”“Christmas,” he says, smirking.“Yes! Christmas!” I wave my hand like it’s a weapon. “The day people spend with family, loved ones… literally anyone…except a girl whose life exploded twenty-four hours ago.”

Clinton’s POVPeople say Christmas is joy. Family. Love. Peace. They’ve clearly never sat at our dining table. I have. I call it pretending.Pretending we love each other, like everything is fine…when I’m not even sure I belong.Right now, I’m sitting at the long dining table in our mansion, chest tight, stomach twisting, staring at a plate of food I don’t want and can’t taste.My mother’s smile is plastic, my father’s face is sour, and my golden-boy brother wears that smug little smirk like he owns the world.Everyone’s playing their parts. And me? I hate it. I’d rather be outside in the snow, at the rink running drills with Jack and Cody, or anywhere…anywhere…than here. Hell, I’d even rather be talking to Catherine. At least she’s real. Or just hanging with Richard, my best friend.And then I remember last night. The girl who reminded me what real feels like. Catherine. Thinking of her makes my stomach twist in ways I don’t like. I shove the thought aside.My father suddenly looks a

Catherine's POV I have called him six times.Then seven.Now eight.Still nothing.“Pick up, Clinton,” I mutter, pacing outside the tiny café near school. “Don’t tell me you overslept… or that you’re doing your hair.”He promised we’d meet here and walk into school together like some iconic, heart-shattering, jealousy-inducing couple.Apparently, promises mean nothing to Clinton Blunt.I press my phone to my ear again. Voicemail.Again.I stomp my foot. “Unbelievable. I swear I’ll throw my phone at him when he arrives.”A group of girls passes, giggling like a pack of hyenas. I almost roll my eyes…until I hear:“Omg, Jacob in Twilight is so hot.”“So hot? Girl, he is fire. I would give my left leg to date a werewolf like him.”“Same! He’s hot and dangerous. I love it.”I look up, fighting the urge to laugh. Girls are so dramatic.“Werewolf?” I mutter under my breath. “Seriously? Why would anyone want to date an animal?”I roll my eyes so hard they almost fall out.“Werewolves aren’t