The Hockey Player who Hates me

PAIGE’S POV

I shaved twice

Once because I’d missed a spot, and again to ensure it was all smooth down there.

I gave my reflection another look in the mirror. A smile stretched on my lips on seeing myself.

Leah, my best friend, had spent nearly an hour curling my 4b long hair into glossy spirals.

My dress, a blue bandage dress, clung to my body perfectly accentuating my curves- It was something I would never wear.

It was too tight, and it brought out the curves I was insecure about, but it was my only dress, and Mike would like it.

Tonight was the night.

Two years. Two years of study sessions and missed calls, of rain checks and “after exams,” of me saying not yet and him saying I understand—even when his eyes said he didn’t. Law school had taken up most of my brain, most of my time. I’d always believed there would be a right moment.

And it was tonight.

I gave myself a final look in the mirror before grabbing my bag and dashing out of the room, descending downstairs in the most outrageous way.

“I’m off to the restaurant, Leah,” I yelled at the top of my voice, descending the stairs.

“Damn, See? I told you” my best friend said, her voice lilting with pure satisfaction. “You look smoking hot, Paige. Mike definitely won’t be able to keep his hands off you,” Leah, says, grinning happily

I rolled my eyes tugging at the dress. “I look like someone who's trying too hard, my breasts feel like they are about to spill out of the dress.”

“Leave the dress alone” she interrupted shaking her head. “It's today right” she said, grinning excitedly.

“Yes,” I say, smiling shyly

My stomach fluttered. That had been the plan. Today was our second anniversary and

I was planning to give him the gift I’d been keeping for this long, “my virginity.”

Though it felt like his touches were never enough.

“Go on, Paige, I can’t wait to hear all about it later,” Leah said as she ushered me out of the

apartment.

As two first-year college students and best friends, we decided to stay together, and since Leah’s dad was loaded, he gave us his duplex that was close to campus. It has been a lifesaver for me, as my finances have been very tight. With my dad dead since I was 8, and my mom an alcoholic, who I never speak to, Leah and her dad were the only people who had shown me care and assistance, and I’m utterly grateful for that.

The restaurant glowed softly, warm light spilling onto the sidewalk, the kind of place that hummed with quiet conversations and clinking glasses.

It was a five-star restaurant. Although it had black settings and a black interior, it still looked really bright—definitely Anniversary-appropriate. I smiled at myself as I stepped inside.

I was five minutes early.

He wasn’t here.

That was fine. Mike was always late—five minutes here, ten minutes there. He was always busy with practices, games with his team. I slipped into the booth I’d reserved, smoothing my dress again, setting my phone face-up on the table.

Ten minutes passed.

I checked my messages. Nothing new.

I typed “I'm here” on my phone and deleted it. I didn’t want to sound impatient; Mike didn’t like that, and I didn’t want to sound like the girl who cared too much.

I called.

No answer.

My chest tightened, but I brushed it off. Ghosting wasn't an option- it was our

anniversary, but this wasn’t new. Mike ghosted sometimes—during exam weeks,

during stress spirals. I’d learned how to wait without asking questions.

Still, it was our anniversary.

I called again.

Voicemail.

The waiter hovered nearby, offering water and the menu. I smiled politely and said I

was waiting for someone. My phone felt heavier in my hand now. Had something

happened to him, why wasn’t he picking up?

I called a third time.

This time, he answered.

“Hey, I saw your missed call,” he said, very bluntly.

Relief flooded my chest so fast it almost hurt. He was okay. “Hi. I’m at the restaurant. Are you close?”There was a pause. A deliberate pause.

Then I heard it.

Music thumped faintly in the background. Laughter. Voices layered over each other, messy and loud.

“Where are you, bae?” I asked him again, my smile faltering.

“I’m out,” he said quickly

“Out where?” I asked, “I’m at the restaurant.”

A burst of sound cracked through the line—someone shouting, glass clinking, bass heavy enough to vibrate.

You’re at a club?” I asked slowly.

He exhaled, annoyed. “Why are you interrogating me?”

“It’s our anniversary,” I said. “You said we’d—”

“I know what day it is,” he snapped. “That’s not the point.”

My stomach dropped. “Then what is?”

There was a pause. Heavy music blasting in the background

“I’m tired,” he said. “Tired of waiting for you. Let's break up”

Everything around me stopped and my head spun. Every sound stopped, it felt like I was the only one left in the restaurant and probably the whole world.

“I don't understand….” My hands wobbled, and a painful lump pushed past my throat. “I told you tonight—”

“Lets break up Paige, I'm tired of this relationship” As I heard those words, my heart felt like it was been pierced, leaving it bleeding.

I couldn't think of why he was breaking up with me. I thought we were fine, we never fought and I Dont remember anything been wrong.

My lips parted, but no words came out, I felt like my world was crumbling.

“Why… Did… did I do something wrong…?” I whispered, my voice trembling.

“Im done, Who waits for a whole year for sex?” he cut in, harsh now, stripped of patience. “Honestly. You act like a nun.”

The words didn’t land all at once. They scattered. “Huh?”

“You, always acting like a saint, like your pussy is gold,” he said, very irritated. “You are not worth a bit of my time or explanation. What kind of woman doesn't drip at the mere sight of her man? What type of woman doesn't like sex? You are broken, Paige, very broken. Go get yourself fixed, because I’m done,” he said. “This relationship is over for me, so screw you and screw your goddamn pussy.”

My heart felt like it was collapsing in on itself, a sharp ache rippling through every part of me.

This is a joke, right? It has to be.” I stated, with my voice shaking.

No,” he said, and she could hear the decision in his voice.

“I’m done with this, Paige. You were never worth it.” My heart felt it was been stumped.

“That’s not fair,” I said.

“No, what’s not fair is wasting my time,” he said. “You’re always studying, always making sex feel like a chore.”

“I was getting ready for you,” she whispered. “I’m ready… right now.”

He laughed—short, humorless. “Too late.”

Music surged again, louder this time. Someone bumped into him; I heard a girl’s voice nearby.

“So this is it?” I asked, my voice barely holding. “You’re breaking up with me over the phone—from a club?”

“I’m done,” he repeated, colder now. “Don’t call me again.”

The line went dead.

I stared at my phone, waiting for it to light up again. Waiting for anything. An apology. Anything. For Mike to call back and say that this was all a joke.

My vision blurred before I realized I was crying. Hot, silent tears slid down my cheeks. It all made sense now, the distance, the ghosting. How was I so fucking blind?

My phone buzzed, and I scrambled to pick it up, hoping it was something from my boyfriend.

It was a notification banner.

Freshman Group ChatVideo sent.

I frowned.

I never went to these parties. Parties weren't my world; case law and deadlines were, but it was Mikes world

Still… something pulled at me, to open the group chat.

Maybe instinct. Maybe self-destruction.

I tapped the video.

The screen filled with strobe lights, and the music was so loud I could almost feel it through my phone. The camera shook, laughter spilling into the mic, someone yelling incoherently.

Then the frame steadied.

And there he was.

My boyfriend.

Sitting back on a couch in the club, relaxed, smiling—free. A girl on his lap, her face not visible from the camera angle, her body was grinding into him moving to the rhythm of the music. His hands rested on her waist.

The girl leaned down and kissed him.

My chest constricted so sharply I forgot how to breathe.

The video continued, cruel and unfiltered. My boyfriend laughed into the girl’s neck. She whispered something into his ear. He leaned into her and kissed her neck.

Tears blurred my vision as I locked my phone, my hands trembling so badly I almost dropped it. A hollow sound escaped my throat—half sob, half disbelief.

Two years.

Two years of trusting him, of building a life together.

And he’d been cheating on her.

I felt stupid. Foolish.

I needed my best friend, but first I wasn't home, I was going to that club. I reached for my phone again, thumbs shaking as I stood, needing air, needing to go

out—

—and walked straight into him.

He was solid. Unmovable. A wall in a dark jacket and an expression I’d spent years

learning to hate.

Knox.

All six feet of him, clad in dark jeans and a white button-down shirt, just fitted enough to show his muscles.

He was so beautiful in a way that felt so wrong. Dangerous. Sharp-jawed, Dark-haired.

His body was even more ripped than when I last saw him. Tattoos wound the part of his body that was exposed.

My best friend’s older brother. My childhood tormentor. The human embodiment of

every insult I'd ever swallowed. Why didn’t Leah tell me he was coming to town?

His eyes flicked to my face. The mascara I’d applied so carefully. The tears I hadn’t wiped away fast enough.

A slow, infuriating smirk curved his mouth.

“Well,” he drawled, looking me up and down, “hey, midget—were you just dumped?”