5

Viana's pov.

He turned to me, eyes blazing. “What the hell are you doing here?”

I folded my arms, my own anger flaring to meet his. “Watching practice. My friend Emily invited me.”

I emphasized the words, asserting my independence from him. His eyes flicked to where the guys had been, then back to me.

“You don’t know how they are. Stay away from them. I won't say this again.”

“You don’t get to tell me where I can or can’t stand. You don’t own me, the rink or the school. And I can talk to whoever I want to.”

For a moment, we were nose to nose, our breath fogging together in the cold air, the tension so thick it made my pulse shake.

Then he shook his head, muttering something that sounded like, “Stubborn,” before adding louder, “You’ll learn.”

He then skated off, leaving me rooted to the spot, my heart beating for all the wrong reasons.

Emily let out a low whistle. “Well. That was… intensely protective. And extremely terrifying.”

“It wasn’t protective, it was possessive,” I corrected, trying to steady my breathing. “There’s a difference.”

Emily just gave me a knowing look. “If you say so.”

*****

That night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling. I told myself it was anger I felt, that Alvin’s arrogance had gotten under my skin. But the truth was more dangerous. I kept replaying the way his jaw had clenched, the raw, unfiltered intensity in his eyes when he told his friends to back off. It wasn’t just anger. It was something else, something that felt an awful lot like protectiveness but with blurred lines of possessiveness.

I stood up to get water, feeling my throat dry when I bumped into Alvin on the stairs.

"Hey." I said awkwardly and tired to move the other way but Alvin followed and blocked me.

I looked at his blank face and moved to the other side just for him to follow me again.

"What do you want." I groaned. "It's way too late for your mischief and I need to sleep."

"Hmm." He said still standing there.

"Can you move?"

"Don't come to practice again." He suddenly said or rather instructed.

"Excuse me? Why can't I go there. Emily goes there a lot."

"She is a cheerleader and her dad is our coach."

"Well she is my friend."

"No you are not her friend but more of a charity case I mean look at you. She has status and more popular friends so why will she waste her time with you." He said.

We stood in silence for a while as his words registered in my head.

"How dare you." I hissed, my anger rising at his horrible insinuation.

"Look I didn't mean—"

"You meant exactly what you said but I am not going to listen to you and doubt Emily's intentions. Just because you can't fathom the thought that doesn't mean it isn't true." I spat at him then pushed him out of the way, heading straight to the kitchen.

I stood there for a while, trying to steady myself before I went back up to my room with a jar of iced water.

Across the hall, his music played faintly again, softer this time. A melodic rock song instead of the usual aggressive bass that gave me headaches. I wondered if he was awake too, staring at his ceiling, remembering the same moment and his horrible words.

I squeezed my eyes shut, clutching my pillow, trying to replace his infuriating face with Emily’s easy smile, her reliable, no-nonsense friendship. She was my hook to normalcy here.

But the hum of the music through the wall was a constant, irritating reminder that trouble had a name. And right now, he was serenading me through the wall.

*******

If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my two weeks at University, it’s that gossip spreads faster than wildfire. By Monday morning, everyone seemed to know that Alvin Monroe, the golden boy of the hockey team, and I were now living under the same roof. Thanks to his unusual and unnecessary outburst during practice on Friday.

Walking through the hallway, I could feel the eyes on me. Whispered voices trailed behind like sticky shadows.

“Stepbrother? That’s so… weird.”

“Can you imagine? Family dinners with him?”

“She’s lucky—if that were me, I wouldn’t mind sharing a house with Alvin Monroe.”

The giggles made my stomach churn. I held my head high, pretending not to hear, but inside my fists were clenched. I wasn’t lucky. Not even close. I hadn’t asked to be dragged into Alvin’s orbit. And the way people kept smirking at me, like they were picturing some dirty “step-sibling fantasy,” made me want to vomit.

By the time I reached the locker room, I was ready to crawl into my hoodie and disappear. No such luck.

“Did you see him after Saturday’s game?” one girl squealed, slamming her locker shut. “That shot in the third period—ugh, Alvin is unreal.”

“I swear, his stamina’s insane. On the ice and off it.” Another girl winked, drawing a chorus of giggles.

I bit down hard on my lip, shoving my bag into the locker. I told myself to tune them out. I’d perfected the art of ignoring Alvin worship over the past week. But then her voice cut through—sharp, smug, impossible to ignore.

Marissa.

She was perched on the bench like a queen holding court, her glossy brown hair cascading over her shoulders. She wore the cheerleading uniform like it had been designed just for her, every detail perfect, every movement calculated to draw attention.

“Oh please,” she drawled. “None of you know what Alvin’s really like. Trust me—I’ve had plenty of late-night study sessions with him. He’s a lot more than just a good shot on the ice.”

The laughter that followed was smug, knowing. My stomach twisted.

Then her eyes landed on me.

“Well, well. Look who’s here.” Her lips curved into a razor smile. “Must be so… awkward, having him just down the hall from you. Careful, Viana—lines can blur in such messy ways.”