All Chapters of Hate Should Be A Hockey Term: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

SLOANEBy the ten-minute mark of the first period, I had already lost the war with myself.Not the obvious war. That one had ended the second Chase stepped onto the ice and made “stay objective” feel like a punchline I’d written to mock my own intelligence.This was the quieter war.The one between what I was supposed to be writing and what I kept actually seeing.I came here to cover a game.System notes. Pace. Special teams. How the Vancouver Titans looked against a real opponent instead of summer-league chaos and exhibition sloppiness.Instead, every line in my notebook curved back toward him.Hartley controlling half-wall pace Hartley forcing BC D to overcommit Hartley sees lanes before they existThat last one sat on the page too long.I underlined it once, then immediately regretted the underlining because it felt too admiring, too close to the truth.The Boston College Eagles tried to settle after the power-play goal. They slowed the neutral zone. Stacked bodies high. Start

SLOANE“Wait.”The word hooked me mid-step.I turned slowly, satchel strap digging into my shoulder, notebook pressed to my ribs like armor. Chase stood just outside Room B, one hand loose at his side, the other still half-curled—as if he’d almost reached for me and caught himself in time. The fluorescent lights turned everything harsh: the cinderblock walls, the scuffed floor, the raw intensity in his eyes that had no right to exist here, in public.“What?” I asked. My voice came out steady. A small miracle.He glanced down the hallway. Staff lingered at the far end. A student reporter slipped out of the press room, phone already glowing in her hand. A cart rattled somewhere deeper in the building. Too many eyes. Too much air. Too much reality.“This way,” he said quietly.He didn’t touch me. Just tilted his head toward the side exit and started walking.I should have gone the other direction. Found Ethan, grabbed the photos, filed my notes in the car, and driven the three hours home

CHASEI hooked my fingers into the waistband of her underwear and dragged them down slowly, watching her face the whole time. She lifted her hips to help. The black fabric slid down her thighs, over her knees, off her ankles, and dropped to the floor.Naked.Completely, devastatingly naked in my bed.I settled between her thighs and looked—really looked. The soft curve of her stomach. The faint lines at her hips. The dark, glistening heat between her legs. Every inch of her had been burned into my memory all summer, but memory was nothing compared to this.“You’re staring again,” she breathed.“I’m memorizing.”“You have the worst lines.”“You’re still here.”Her laugh broke into a moan when I pressed my mouth to her inner thigh.I kissed the soft skin there, then the other side. Higher. Slower. Teasing because I could feel how badly she wanted it and I wanted to make her wait—just a little longer.“Chase.” Her voice cracked. “Stop teasing.”“Make me.”Her hand fisted in my hair and y

SLOANEI left Chase’s dorm at 9:47 p.m. with my turtleneck inside out and my pulse still trying to murder me.I didn’t notice the shirt until I was halfway down the hall.I stopped under the stale dorm heat, satchel slipping off my shoulder, hair wrecked, mouth swollen, thighs aching, and just stared at the wrong-side-out seam like it could save me from the fact that I had just spent the night in my stepbrother’s bed.Again.In his actual college dorm this time—which somehow made it worse.And better.And worse.I fixed the shirt in the communal bathroom with shaking hands, splashed cold water on my face, and met my reflection long enough to hate it.Flushed cheeks. Blown pupils. A mouth that had zero interest in pretending it had only been kissed once.“Great,” I muttered. “Very subtle. Very journalist.”My phone buzzed.ETHAN: Still good? About to head back.Right. Ethan. Because I had shown up at Dalton with another person and then detonated the entire return plan by letting

SLOANE“Family’s calling. Sorry I have to go now. It was nice having dinner here first.” Jake stood up, already shrugging into his coat like he’d been counting the seconds until escape.Priya and Leah followed, murmuring polite thanks to Victoria, dodging the obligatory hugs, promising to text. Riley lingered longest. Her eyes locked on mine with the wide, horrified fascination usually reserved for train wrecks. She leaned in, kissed my cheek, and whispered, “If you survive this, I’m billing you for therapy.” Then she was gone. The front door clicked shut behind them, and the house went abruptly, dangerously quiet.The second the latch caught, the performance snapped back into place.I smoothed my napkin across my lap. Chase reached for the water pitcher, knuckles brushing the linen, his posture easing into that careless, armored slouch he wore like a second skin. We were Sloane and Chase again: the step-siblings who shared a roof, a last name, and absolutely nothing else.At least, t