Five

ATHENA

Crossing my arms over my chest, I shifted my weight and looked dead at Jeremiah Ashford. The air in the gritty hallway of the facility felt thick, smelling faintly of stale ice shavings and floor wax.

"I’m not doing this for revenge, Ashford," I said, my voice cutting through the quiet.

His dark brows pulled together, creating a deep crease between them. He looked genuinely confused, tilting his head slightly. "You don't want to get back at the guy who just humiliated you in front of the entire campus?"

"He’s dead to me." The words tasted like ash, but I forced them out with conviction. "That’s the past. I’m doing this for my future. So, if we’re actually doing this, I want that national development camp spot guaranteed. In writing. Before I blow a single whistle."

Jeremiah studied my face. His dark brown eyes tracked over my expression, searching for a bluff, a crack in my armor, or maybe just seeing if I would back down. I didn't blink. Slowly, he nodded, a quiet respect settling into his posture before he turned to his manager.

"Talia," he said. "Draw it up."

Leaning against the wall, Talia didn't even look surprised. She tapped her pen against her clipboard. "Already drafting it. Give me twenty-four hours."

"Perfect." I dropped my arms, feeling a sudden, exhausted adrenaline crash.

Stepping back, Jeremiah gave me enough space to pass. "Meet me tomorrow to sign. We’ll talk strategy."

I nodded once and turned to walk away, gesturing for Tessa to follow. My brain was already running a mile a minute, calculating plays, roster changes, and how the hell I was going to pull this off.

That distraction cost me.

My sneaker hooked violently on the curled edge of a thick rubber floor mat. Gravity grabbed me instantly, pitching me forward with terrifying speed. I threw my hands out, bracing for the inevitable, humiliating smack of my face against the concrete.

Before I even dropped a full foot, a large hand clamped like a vise around my waist. Another hand gripped my upper arm, fingers digging into the fabric of my jacket. With zero effort, Jeremiah hauled me backward and upright, his strength so absolute it ripped a short gasp from my throat.

Suddenly, I was pressed flat against him. My hands, acting purely on survival instinct, had splayed wide against a solid, unyielding chest.

Everything stopped.

The scent of sharp spearmint and freezing rink air hit my senses, overpowering the stale hallway smell. Looking up, my gaze crashed directly into the sharp cut of his jawline, tracing a frantic path up to those dark brown eyes that were suddenly entirely too close. A heavy, rapid pulse beat steadily at the base of his throat, right above the collar of his hoodie.

Neither of us moved. My lungs forgot how to work.

From a few feet away, Tessa cleared her throat. Loudly.

Jolting backward, I scrambled for balance, my boots squeaking awkwardly on the rubber mat as I aggressively smoothed down the front of my jacket. My face burned hot enough to melt ice.

"Uh. Thanks," I stammered, strictly avoiding his gaze. "For the catch."

Jeremiah rubbed the back of his neck, looking weirdly flustered for a guy who usually wore arrogance like a second skin. "Yeah. Have a good trip. I mean—shit." He squeezed his eyes shut for a second. "Safe trip. Going home."

A surprised, entirely genuine laugh ripped out of me.

Hearing it, Jeremiah cursed under his breath, shaking his head at his own stupidity, but a faint, crooked smile cracked through his usually stoic expression. It transformed his face completely, making him look dangerously human.

Turning on my heel, I marched toward the exit before I could make a bigger fool of myself.

Once we hit the blinding sunshine and started walking toward the parking lot, Tessa violently nudged my shoulder.

"Have a good trip? Really?" she mocked, her voice pitched high. "The big bad Ashford captain is out here glitching over you."

"Stop," I snapped, pulling my sunglasses down over my eyes. "It was just a reflex. He was keeping me from breaking my teeth."

"Girl, you were staring at him like he was the last slice of pizza. I saw the chemistry. It was giving very much 'enemies to lovers' energy and I am seated for it."

"Absolutely not," I said, hitting the unlock button on my key fob. "I am entirely done with the male species. No guys. No distractions. I'm staying single until my knees give out. Period."

Walking across the Westbridge quad the next morning felt like marching to my own execution.

The LA morning was disgustingly gorgeous—cloudless blue sky, warm breeze rattling the palm trees, students lounging on the manicured grass. I kept my chin locked parallel to the ground, my eyes fixed straight ahead.

It didn't stop the whispers.

Everywhere I stepped, conversations seemed to pause. Near the library steps, a girl in a bio-sci hoodie explicitly pointed at me, leaning over to whisper into her friend's ear. Off to my right, three guys from the lacrosse team tilted their phones in my direction, snickering.

I ignored the violent burning in my cheeks. Gripping the straps of my backpack until my knuckles turned a bruised shade of white, I kept my pace steady. Let them look.

Stepping into Athletic Director Hayes’s office building offered a brief escape from the sun, but none from the tension. The space was a stark contrast to the gritty, lived-in reality of the Ashford rink. 

The room was aggressively minimalist—a sleek, transparent glass desk, expensive brass accents on the shelves, and warm, ambient gold lighting that made the place feel like a high-end spa rather than a college sports hub.

Director Hayes, a polished woman in her late forties with razor-sharp blonde hair and a tailored blazer, didn't even look up from her iPad when I stopped in front of her desk.

"Have a seat, Miss Cole," she murmured, swiping down on her screen. "Be right with you."

I sat down in one of the rigid leather guest chairs. It squeaked slightly under my weight.

Then, total silence.

For two agonizing, calculated minutes, I sat there while Hayes slowly scrolled, occasionally tapping the screen. The only sound in the room was the soft hum of the central air conditioning. 

It was a blatant power play, designed to make me feel small before she even opened her mouth.

Finally, she set the iPad face down on the glass and folded her hands perfectly on the desk.

"It’s about accountability, Athena," Hayes began, her voice smooth and devoid of any real empathy. "Athletics at this level... erm... they require a certain bulletproof mentality."

She leaned back in her ergonomic chair, staring up at the modern acoustic ceiling tiles like she was recalling a fond memory.

"Ah... reminds me of a goalie we recruited back in '18," she mused. "Brilliant kid. Reflexes like a cat. But she let her personal life bleed onto the ice. Started missing curfews, dating a rival forward... erm... the focus just shattered. It always ends the same way."

I clenched my jaw, my teeth grinding together. I saw exactly where this was going, and the sheer hypocrisy of it made my blood boil.

"We can't afford a circus," Hayes continued, finally dropping her gaze back to me. "Throwing a championship game over some teenage heartbreak? It shows a distinct lack of mental fortitude. You embarrassed the program. We have boosters calling, sponsors asking questions."

My temper snapped. The guilt I had carried into this room evaporated, replaced by a cold, sharp fury. But when I spoke, I kept my voice deadly quiet and perfectly leveled.

"I made a massive mistake, Director. But I didn't lose my talent overnight. I carried this team on my back for two years. You’re cutting your best scorer because you’re scared of a campus blog."

Hayes's perfectly lined eyes narrowed. "Watch your tone. You breached our conduct policy in the most public way possible. This is a mutual agreement to part ways so we don't have to formally expel you from the athletic department. It saves you the stain on your official record."

"Nothing about this is mutual," I said.

Pushing the leather chair back so hard it screeched against the hardwood floor, I stood up. I towered over her seated form, refusing to let her have the last psychological edge.

"You're throwing me under the bus," I stated cleanly.

Hayes simply picked up her iPad again, dismissing me entirely. "Best of luck with your academics, Miss Cole."

Turning my back on her, I marched toward the glass double doors. I pushed them open, letting the heavy doors slam shut behind me. As the outdoor air hit my face, the final thread of my patience completely severed.

"Cunt," I muttered under my breath, adjusting my backpack and walking away from Westbridge Athletics forever.