Offside Hearts

Chapter 3

Morning light streamed through the dusty classroom windows, casting lights across my open notebook while the professor’s lecture went on in the background.

Psychology was far from my favorite subject, but I forced myself to pay attention.

My pen tapped against the wooden desk, my eyes drifting down to my phone wedged between two heavy textbooks. I knew I should be taking notes, but the impulse won out.

I tapped the screen awake and pulled up i********:.

The first thing filling my feed was the official university hockey account. The chaotic reel of game highlights, locker room celebrations, and post-win chaos.

I scrolled through mindlessly, lulled by the steady pulse of recorded goals and roaring crowds.

And then his face stopped me cold.

Ashton Monroe.

His pictures were a mix of game shots, laughs with his teammates, and the rare smile that never quite made it to his eyes.

One post in particular pulled me in. Ashton sat leaning against the glass boards with his helmet off, damp hair clinging to his forehead, his dark gaze fixed on the ice with a fierce, quiet burn.

The caption was simple: ~First game, first win. Ready for the season.~

My throat felt dry as I stared at it. Here, away from the party noise and the arrogant swagger, he looked different. Less guarded. Real.

Curiosity got the better of me, drawing me deeper into his profile. I tapped into his tagged posts, skimmed through the endless stream of comments, looking for subtle glimpses of the man behind the jersey.

Beneath the polished athlete persona lay an unmistakable edge. A hidden story waiting to be unraveled.

A sudden buzz in my hand broke my trance as a text notification popped up from Nadia.

~Nadia: So? What's your official verdict on our resident star athlete?

A faint smirk touched my lips as my thumb hovered over the keyboard. I told myself I shouldn't care.

Except I did.

~Isla: He's... complex. Definitely doesn't fit the typical party-boy mold.

~Nadia: You mean the arrogant captain with the lethal grin? Yeah, that's Ashton for you.

~Isla: Well, don't expect to see me joining his fan club anytime soon.

~Nadia: Keep telling yourself that. I can practically feel you overthinking from here. Don't play coy.

~Isla: I'm just curious. His posts show a completely different side than the chaos everyone talks about.

~Nadia: Oh, there's a story there alright. And you know I live for a good scandal.

~Isla: I don't do drama.

~Nadia: Which is exactly why this is going to be so entertaining. Just keep your guard up, Is. Ashton might be more than you bargained for.

~Isla: Believe me, my life is complicated enough already.*

~Nadia: All the more reason for a fun distraction.

I stared at the screen long after the conversation ended, trying to convince myself that I truly didn't care.

Ashton Monroe wasn't supposed to be on my radar.

He was just another arrogant athlete with a reckless reputation, nothing more.

Then my thumb slipped.

A tiny heart flared red on one of his posts.

A wave of utter panic hit me. ‘No, no, no.’

My thumb flew across the screen to unlike it, my heart hitting against my ribs. It was a stupid, mindless slip-up. Nothing major.

Absolutely not a sign that I was curious, or interested, or anything even close to it.

I put my phone deep into my bag and forced my focus back toward the professor, desperate to lock my mind onto the lecture. No distractions.

Yet the image of that post kept flashing behind my eyelids.

By late afternoon, long shadows stretched across the campus quad as students drifted between buildings.

I walked with my earbuds plugged in, though the music was little more than background static.

Every time I tried to clear Ashton from my thoughts, the memory of him came rushing in.

I pulled my jacket tighter around myself, fighting off a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the weather.

The last thing I needed right now was another complication in my life.

As I passed the campus arena, the sharp, scrape of steel blades slicing across ice echoed out through the open heavy doors.

I paused for a split second, listening to them. I shook my head and kept walking. Not my world. Not my business.

Still, the tension held tight in my chest.

The apartment was quiet and warm when we returned after our final classes. Nadia immediately sank into the couch like she'd survived a war, while Cleo dropped her bag by the entryway and went straight to the kitchen cabinets.

I kicked off my sneakers and followed her, grabbing a cold bottle of water from the fridge before leaning back against the counter.

"Are we ordering takeout, or am I facing another night of sad cereal?" Cleo asked, holding up a nearly empty box of granola with a dramatic glare.

Nadia groaned from the couch, slumping deeper into the cushions. "Please tell me we're ordering. I cannot be expected to cook after the day I've had."

I smirked. "What exactly did you do that was so exhausting?"

She cracked one eye open to glare at me. "I existed. In a classroom. With people. And midterm I'm definitely failing."

"She's being dramatic," Cleo chimed in, pulling a bag of chips from the pantry and tossing it onto the counter. "She spent half the class stalking Sebastian on i********:. Again."

I raised an eyebrow. "Still?"

"Still," Cleo confirmed, grinning. "She's in deep."

"Not deep," Nadia protested weakly, sitting up just enough to reach for the bag of chips. "Just... observant."

"Observant?" I echoed, trying not to laugh. "Nadia, you've memorized the man's jersey number, his stats, and probably his class schedule at this point."

"Okay, first of all, he wears number 18," she said without missing a beat, popping a chip into her mouth. "And second, if I were actually stalking him, I'd have slid into his DMs by now."

"Give it time," Cleo teased, grabbing the remote and flicking on the TV. "At this rate, you'll have your wedding colors picked out by next week."

I shook my head, amused. This was familiar. Safe. It felt good to just... exist with them like this. No pressure, no pretending.

"Look, it's harmless," Nadia insisted between bites. "I'm allowed to think he's hot. It doesn't mean I'm gonna, like, marry into the hockey team or something."

"Yet," Cleo muttered under her breath, earning a throw pillow to the face.

I let them bicker as I settled into the oversized armchair, pulling my knees up to my chest. The laughter, the banter, it was easy. And for a little while, I let myself sink into it.

No complicated Ifs. Just me, my friends, and the kind of nonsense that made the weight in my chest feel a little lighter.

"Okay," Nadia announced dramatically, clapping her hands together. "We're ordering pizza. And I'm picking the movie because I had a hard day."

"You scrolled i********: for most of it," I pointed out, half-smiling.

"Exactly. Emotional labor," she shot back without missing a beat.

Cleo groaned, grabbing her phone. "If you pick another rom-com, I'm leaving."

Nadia stuck her tongue out. "You love them."

Cleo rolled her eyes but didn't argue. She knew she'd stay, and so did I. We always ended up like this, curled up on the worn couch, half-watching a movie, half-talking over it, surrounded by mismatched throw blankets and the faint smell of takeout that never really went away.

It was... nice and normal.

But when the pizza was half-eaten and the opening credits rolled, my thoughts started to drift, quietly, subtly, but they were all the same.

The noise of the day faded: the party, the crowded rooms, the faces. The harmless teasing about Sebastian.

I leaned my head against the arm of the chair, tuning out Nadia and Cleo's laughter as the movie played.

And without meaning to, my mind tugged at the edges of things I didn't want to think about.

The texts I'd ignored. The tension that never quite left my chest. The way my stomach still twisted anytime I let myself remember what it felt like to be trapped in something toxic, how easy it had been to confuse control for affection.

I exhaled slowly, my fingers tightening around the blanket in my lap.

I wasn't going back there. Ever.

"Earth to Isla," Nadia's voice broke through, playful but curious.

I blinked, pulling myself back. "Huh?"

"You good?" Cleo asked, tossing a chip at me. "You spaced."

I gave a small shrug, managing a tight smile. "Yeah. I'm just tired."

They didn't press. And I was grateful.

The movie carried on, the warmth of the room pulling at my eyelids, but even as I let myself drift, I felt the weight of something.

Something was coming. I could feel it.

I just didn't know what yet.