All Chapters of Stuck between Hockey Player and his Quarterback Brother: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

The snow was falling harder now, dusting Evans’s eyelashes with white. He was shivering violently in my lap, his teeth chattering, his skin clammy to the touch. The kick to his ribs had left him gasping for air in shallow, pained wheezes.My car was a dead weight. Atlas was gone. And I was alone in an alleyway with a boy who was fading fast.I fumbled for my phone with frozen fingers. 3% battery.I had one call.I couldn't call 911; Evans had been drugged, and a scandal like that would end his captaincy before the sun came up. I couldn't call my mother. I couldn't call a tow truck.I scrolled to the only other number I had saved from the hockey team roster Evans had given me months ago.Ryker.I hit dial.Ring... Ring... Ring..."Hello?" Ryker’s voice was loud, booming with music in the background. He was still at the club. "Who is this?""Ryker, it's Tamine," I screamed into the phone, panic making my voice shrill. "I need you. Now. The back alley. Bring your truck.""Tamine? What""

The tunnel under the stadium was a different world.Above us, forty thousand people were screaming, a wall of sound that vibrated through the concrete ceiling like a constant, low grade earthquake. But down here, the air was cold, damp, and smelled of aggressive cleaning chemicals mixed with the distinct, metallic tang of testosterone and sweat.I walked fast, my sneakers squeaking on the polished concrete. I wasn't supposed to be here. This was the belly of the beast—the restricted zone where players, coaches, and the elite support staff (like cheerleaders) existed. I was just the tutor with the morality clause violation.I turned the corner past the visiting team’s locker room, dodging a frantic water boy pushing a cart of Gatorade.Ahead, the hallway widened into the staging area for the cheer squad.Charlotte was there.She was standing in front of a full-length mirror mounted on the wall, reapplying her lip gloss with the precision of a surgeon. Her back was to me. She was hummin

Monday Morning, 7:55 AM.Dean Vance's office was quiet. The secretary looked up, startled, as the door opened.She expected a cowering scholarship student.Instead, she got a phalanx.Ryker walked in first, holding the door. Then Evans, on his crutches, wearing a suit and a look of cold determination. And then me.I wasn't wearing my hoodie. I wasn't wearing the gold dress. I was wearing my school uniform, perfectly pressed, my head held high.Dean Vance looked up from his desk. He frowned."Miss Jordan," he said. "You're early. And... accompanied.""We're here for the hearing," Evans said, hobbling to the center of the room. He didn't sit."This is a private academic matter, Mr. Thorpe," Vance said, standing up. "You have no business here.""Actually, he does," I said, stepping forward. "Since he's the victim of the crime you're accusing me of.""Crime?" Vance scoffed. "We're talking about moral conduct. The photos—""The photos are a lie," I interrupted. I walked to his desk and sla

The neon sign of the Silver Diner hummed with a comforting, familiar buzz, casting a warm red glow over our booth. It smelled of maple syrup, frying bacon, and stale coffee a sharp, grounding contrast to the sterile, terrifying air of Dean Vance’s office.We were sitting in the back booth. Ryker was inhaling a stack of pancakes like he hadn't eaten in a week. Evans was sitting next to me, his crutches resting against the peeling vinyl seat. He hadn't touched his coffee. He was staring at his phone, his thumb hovering over the screen.I took a sip of my orange juice, the ice clinking against the glass. The adrenaline crash was hitting me hard. My hands were shaking, and my chest felt hollowed out, but for the first time in months, I wasn't looking over my shoulder."She's gone," I murmured, mostly to convince myself. "Charlotte is actually gone."Ryker swallowed a massive bite of bacon. "Good riddance. The team is going to throw a party just to celebrate the fact that she won't be tryi

I kept my eyes fixed on the heavy glass doors of the main entrance.Evans was leaning against the brick wall next to the doors, balancing on his crutches. He was wearing his Blackridge blazer, his tie loose. Despite the dark circles still lingering under his eyes, he looked solid. Unmovable.When he saw me, he pushed off the wall. He didn't smile, but his eyes softened, a silent promise of solidarity."Ready?" he asked quietly as I reached him."No," I admitted, my voice trembling slightly. "But I'd rather get the firing squad over with before first period."Evans shifted his weight, wincing slightly. "They're going to stare. Let them. We know the truth."He reached out, ignoring the crutch for a second, and took my hand. His fingers wove through mine, his grip firm and grounding.We pulled open the doors and walked into the main hallway.The reaction was instantaneous. The corridor was packed, a sea of gold and black jackets. As we stepped inside, holding hands, the noise level dropp