The Hockey Captain's Secret Girl

Hailey Cartenz's POV "I hate Toronto." The words slipped out of my mouth the exact moment the biting, cold air slapped my face as I stepped out of the bus terminal. I zipped my jacket all the way up to my chin. It was freezing here, way colder than I had ever imagined, and it was only the beginning of fall. Glancing through the terminal's glass window, I stared at the gloomy gray sky before shifting my gaze to the blue suitcase sitting right next to my feet. Just yesterday, I was still in Vancouver, sleeping soundly in my old bedroom and waking up to the familiar sound of my mom yelling from the kitchen. Now, I was in Toronto. Completely on my own. "Great, Hailey. You're officially an adult," I muttered to myself. My phone vibrated against my palm for the umpteenth time. As expected, my screen was already flooded with notifications from Mom. She was asking if I had arrived, what I was doing, and demanding that I let her know the second anything happened. She was fiercely overprotective, yet she somehow still let me move across the country to this city. A small smile tugged at my lips as I started typing. I'm doing well, Mom. Toronto hasn't killed me yet. Her reply came almost instantly. Not yet, but this is the first time you've been this far away from me. I let out a soft laugh. Yeah, I missed her already. I was so engrossed in my phone screen that I didn't even notice the heavy shadow approaching me from behind at an unnatural speed. CRASH! A hard impact shoved my shoulder, knocking me completely off balance. "Oops, sorry!" a rough voice called out. I stumbled, trying to keep my footing. I opened my mouth to accept the apology, but the guy who had bumped into me didn't even slow down. He just kept walking, pulling his hood lower. That was when a strange, weightless sensation registered in my mind. My hand instinctively went to my shoulder, then down to my waist. Damn it. My bag was gone. "Huh?" My heart hammered violently against my ribs as pure panic set in. No, no, no, no way! "Hey!" I screamed, my finger pointing at the retreating figure. "That's my bag!" The guy broke into a full sprint the moment he realized he was caught. Without thinking, I bolted after him. "Hey! Stop!" Deep down, I knew this was a losing game. I was never a runner; I was historically terrible in PE class. My lungs immediately burned against the harsh cold, and my legs felt like lead, but I forced myself to push harder. Inside that bag was my entire life: my wallet, my new student ID, and every single important document I needed for university. "Stop!" I yelled, my voice cracking. Tears of pure frustration pricked the corners of my eyes. Seriously? I hadn't even been in Toronto for an hour and I was already getting robbed. "Stop, thief!" Then, out of nowhere— CRASH! Another figure materialized from the opposite direction, colliding with the thief with the force of a freight train right in front of my eyes. I skidded to a halt. The thief hit the icy sidewalk hard, and my bag slipped from his grip, skidding across the asphalt. "You bastard!" the thief hissed, but as he looked up at the towering shadow standing over him, he quickly thought better of it. He scrambled to his feet and took off down a side alley, leaving the loot behind. My breath came in ragged, painful gasps, but a wave of relief washed over me as I saw my bag. I shifted my gaze to the guy who had just intervened. He was huge, easily 6'2" with a broad, athletic build. He was wearing a heavy black hoodie, a black baseball cap pulled low, and clean sneakers. He calmly bent down, scooped up my bag, and walked toward me. I took a shaky breath. For some reason, as he drew closer, a different kind of nervousness took over. "Is this yours, princess?" His voice was low, deep, and slightly raspy. It snapped me right back to reality. But, did he just called me princess? "Yes," I managed to say, quickly snatching the bag from his hand. I zipped it open with trembling fingers. My wallet, documents, and even my spare phone were all intact. The thief hadn't had the time to take anything. I let out a long, shuddering sigh of relief. "Thank you." The man simply gave a curt nod. "Next time, don't walk while staring at your phone." I blinked, thrown off by his tone. "Huh?" "That's the fastest way to become a pickpocket's target, princess," he said, casually adjusting the brim of his hat. "So..." I pointed a defensive finger at my bag. "You saved me, and the very first thing you do is criticize me? I just had the scare of my life." The man seemed to pause, tilting his head slightly. Now that he was facing me fully under the streetlamp, I could catch the sharp lines of his jaw and his strikingly handsome features. "If I said you were lucky I happened to be passing by, would that sound better?" he countered. I shot him a glare, and to my surprise, a low, melodic chuckle escaped his lips. He had a really nice voice. And a ridiculously attractive face. Wait, why am I checking out a stranger right now? Focus, Hailey. "I'm Hailey, by the way," I said, automatically extending my hand to him. The man looked genuinely taken aback. He stared down at my open palm for a few silent seconds, as if a handshake was the last thing he expected. But finally, he reached out and took it. His hand was incredibly large and warm, a stark, comforting contrast to the freezing Toronto air. "Nice to meet you," he said, a faint, charming smile playing on his lips. I narrowed my eyes playfully. "That's not your name." His smile widened, causing my heart to do a sudden, erratic skip. "I know." "So?" "So what?" He challenged, raising a single, dark eyebrow. "Your name," I pressed. "You haven't told me yet." Before he could answer, a loud, sharp car horn blared behind us, making us both turn our heads simultaneously. A black cab had pulled up by the curb, hazard lights blinking. It was the ride I had ordered to my campus dorm. When he looked back at me, the sharp edge in his eyes had softened into something gentler. "You gotta go," he said bluntly. "It's getting dark." "But I still don't know your name." "Does it really matter?" I pouted, crossing my arms. "Yeah, it does." "Why?" Because I want to remember my hero. There was absolutely no way I was going to say that out loud. It sounded way too cheesy and dramatic. "Because I want to thank you properly," I amended. The guy stared at me for another second, his dark eyes searching mine as if weighing something in his mind. Then, he smiled again. It was unfair how a simple gesture from him could make my chest tighten like that. "Another time," he murmured. "Another time?" "If we meet again, you'll definitely know who I am." Before I could even process his words, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving me standing on the sidewalk. I watched his broad shoulders retreat until his figure completely blended into the bustling crowd. I let out a heavy sigh, clutching my bag tightly. "I don't even know his name." I couldn't deny the pang of disappointment in my chest. I mean, the guy was unforgettable.