All Chapters of Stuck between Hockey Player and his Quarterback Brother: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

83 Chapters

The Midnight Blues

Tamine’s POVMay hit Blackridge Academy with a feverish, glittering intensity.At a normal high school, Prom was a gymnasium decorated with crepe paper and a rented disco ball. At Blackridge, Prom was an arms race. It was held at the grand ballroom of the city’s most exclusive country club. There were rumors of girls flying to Paris for weekend fittings, and guys renting exotic sports cars that cost more than my mother’s entire duplex.For weeks, the hallways were choked with elaborate, cinematic "promposals" involving flash mobs, rented billboards, and even a minor fireworks display on the lacrosse field.Evans’s quiet, folded origami skate in the empty hallway felt like a secret treasure compared to the suffocating opulence surrounding us. But as the date drew closer, the reality of attending a Blackridge Prom began to settle heavily on my chest.It was a Tuesday evening, and I was sitting on the floor of my bedroom, staring into my open closet.Hanging all the way in the back, shro

The Country Club

Saturday evening arrived with the heavy, humid promise of early summer. The air in the duplex was thick, the rattling window AC unit in the living room struggling to keep up with the rising temperature.I stood in front of the full-length mirror attached to the back of my closet door.The midnight blue satin draped over my frame like liquid shadow. It was so impossibly simple compared to the armor I usually wore to survive Blackridge Academy. There were no layers to hide behind, no oversized hoodies or protective beanies. The cowl neckline dipped elegantly, and the thin straps left my shoulders bare. I had pinned my hair up into a loose, messy twist, leaving a few dark strands to frame my face. My makeup was minimal—just mascara and a muted rose lipstick I had bought at the drugstore.I stepped into the fifteen-dollar strappy black heels. They clicked softly against the cheap linoleum floor of my bedroom.I looked at my reflection. I didn't look like a Thorpe. I didn't look like a Bla

The Tassle

June hit Blackridge Academy like a furnace, burning away the last lingering shadows of the spring semester. The sprawling, manicured lawns turned a vibrant, aggressive green, and the air grew thick with the humid, suffocating reality of the end.Graduation day was a spectacle that rivaled the Winter Showcase. The football field, the exact spot where Atlas had lifted me over the retaining wall months ago, was transformed into a sea of folding chairs and towering white tents.I stood in front of the scratched mirror in the girls' locker room, tugging at the collar of my cheap, synthetic black graduation gown. It trapped the heat against my skin, making me sweat, but I didn't care. To me, it felt like a superhero cape. It was the physical manifestation of my survival."It's crooked."I turned around. My mother was standing in the doorway of the locker room.My breath caught in my throat. I had left her a ticket on the kitchen counter that morning, fully expecting to find it untouched whe

The Expiry Date

"Are you going to fold that, or just aggressively glare at it?"I looked up from the half-empty cardboard box on my bedroom floor. Evans was sprawled across my narrow twin bed, his broad shoulders taking up most of the mattress. He was tossing a scuffed baseball toward my water-stained ceiling, catching it with maddening, effortless precision."I am applying the principles of advanced spatial geometry," I said, grabbing a faded gray hoodie and shoving it into the corner of the box. "Trying to fit eighteen years of existence into three recycled grocery boxes requires absolute concentration, Thorpe.""I offered to buy you actual suitcases," Evans reminded me, his green eyes tracking the ball. "The ones with wheels. Revolutionary technology. Highly popular among people moving a thousand miles away.""And I told you that hauling heavy cardboard builds character."Evans finally caught the ball, his fingers gripping the worn leather tightly. He sat up, the playful banter instantly evaporati

The grid and the Ice

Tamine’s POVChicago didn't welcome me; it swallowed me whole.The fourteen-hour train ride had left my spine feeling like a rusted accordion, but the second I stepped out of Union Station, the sheer, vertical scale of the city stole the breath right out of my lungs. The grid was a living, breathing monster of concrete, steel, and screaming sirens.I hauled my three taped-up cardboard boxes up three flights of stairs to my shoebox-sized dorm room, dumped them on the bare mattress, and immediately left. I didn't have time to unpack. Orientation for the College of Architecture and Urban Planning started in exactly twenty minutes.The main studio was a cavernous, industrial loft space filled with rows of drafting tables, glaring overhead lights, and the sharp smell of graphite and anxiety.I found an empty table near the back and dropped my battered backpack onto the stool."You're in my light."I turned. The boy leaning against the adjacent drafting table looked like he had stepped stra

The Ice Bath and The X-Acto Knife

Tamine’s POVThe architecture studio at 2:00 AM was a surreal, liminal space.The towering windows of the loft overlooked the glowing Chicago grid, but inside, the only illumination came from the harsh, adjustable desk lamps clamped to our drafting tables. The air smelled of spray adhesive, stale espresso, and the frantic desperation of fifty freshmen trying to finish their first conceptual models.I was hunched over my cutting mat, my fingers cramping as I dragged an X-Acto knife through a thick sheet of basswood."You're cutting against the grain, Jordan."I didn't flinch. I kept the blade steady, finishing the slice before looking up.Julian Hayes was leaning against the edge of my table. He held a sleek, perfectly pristine 3D-printed model in his hands. He looked impeccably awake, sipping an iced matcha latte as if it were a Tuesday afternoon instead of the dead of night."The grain is structural, Julian," I said, my voice hoarse from lack of sleep. "I'm building a tension-bridge

The Critique and The Grind

Tamine’s POV "Next," Professor Aris snapped, her sharp, hawk-like eyes scanning the exhausted faces of the freshman studio. It was Friday afternoon. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, highlighting the dark circles under everyone’s eyes. The conceptual critique was in full swing, and the air was thick with the smell of spray glue, stale sweat, and sheer panic. Julian Hayes stepped up to the front podium. He didn't look tired. He looked like he had just stepped off a yacht. He placed his pristine, white, 3D-printed bridge model onto the viewing pedestal with a confident, arrogant smirk. "The fundamental concept here," Julian began, his voice smooth and heavily practiced, "is a seamless integration of modern aesthetics into the urban fabric. I utilized a continuous synthetic polymer to ensure maximum visual flow. It’s clean, it’s progressive, and it redefines the Chicago riverfront." Professor Aris didn't say a word. She stood up from her stool, walked over to the pedest

The Espresso Burn and The Drop Box

Evans’s POVThe Boston D1 locker room smelled like ammonia, sweat, and sheer misery.I sat on the wooden bench, my forearms resting on my knees, staring blankly at the rubber floor matting. Every single muscle in my body was screaming. My ribs throbbed a dull, relentless ache where I had taken the cross-check the day before."You look like a corpse, Thorpe."Leo, a massive, bearded sophomore defenseman who locker next to me, tossed a rolled-up towel at my head.I caught it without looking up, pressing the damp terrycloth against my flushed face. "I feel like one. Did Kavanagh intentionally run us through the boards for three hours, or did I hallucinate the last period?""Oh, it was intentional," Leo groaned, unlacing his skates with trembling fingers. "He's trying to break the freshmen early. Weed out the weak ones before the exhibition games start."Before I could reply, the heavy metal door to the coaches' office slammed open, hitting the cinderblock wall with a sound like a gunshot

The Radio Ice

Evans’s POVThe Boston ice was unforgivingly hard at 4:30 in the morning.I shoved my phone deep into my duffel bag, my jaw clenched so tight my teeth ached. Knowing Tamine was exhausted, running herself ragged in a coffee shop while Julian Hayes probably slept on a thousand-thread-count sheet, made me want to punch a hole through the cinderblock wall."Alright, ladies, listen up!"Coach Kavanagh stormed into the center of the locker room, holding a massive, empty plastic storage bin."Hell Week is officially in full swing," Kavanagh barked, slamming the bin down onto the center bench. "And I meant what I said yesterday about distractions. The scouts are looking at us. The board of trustees is looking at us. We are not losing focus because you miss your mommies or your high school girlfriends."He pointed a thick, calloused finger at the plastic bin."Phones. In the box. Now."The locker room went dead silent. A few of the seniors exchanged nervous glances, but nobody moved."Coach,"

The Stolen Seconds

8:00 AM: Headed to class. Hope Kavanaugh didn't kill you. 12:30 PM: Lunch break. Miss you. Text me when you're alive. 2:15 PM: Evans? Is everything okay? Nothing. No read receipts. No typing bubbles. Just an echoing, terrifying void. A sudden, paranoid thought hit me. What if he was hurt? What if that cross-check into the boards was worse than he admitted, and he was sitting in the campus hospital? I excused myself to the hallway, my heart hammering a frantic, erratic beat. I dialed his number. "You've reached Evans. Leave a message." "Evans, please call me," I said, my voice shaking slightly. "I'm starting to panic. Just send me a thumbs-up emoji so I know you aren't bleeding out on the ice. Please." I hung up, leaning my back against the cool cinderblock wall of the corridor. No walls. Just us. That was the promise. So why was I suddenly staring at a massive, thousand-mile brick wall? Evans’s POV My lungs were on fire. "Again!" Kavanagh’s whistle shrieked, boun

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