Offside Hearts

Chapter 5

♦ Ashton's pov ♦

I wasn't sure I could stop looking at her. I found myself walking toward her, the noise of the party fading out bit by bit.

"Hey," I said, voice low, more steady than I felt.

She looked up, meeting my gaze without hesitation. "Hey."

There was a beat, a heavy pause with unspoken things.

"So... last weekend," I started, awkward but honest, "didn't think I'd see you again so soon."

She gave a small, dry smile. "Neither did I."

I chuckled. "Well, I guess the universe has a sense of humor."

She shrugged, sipping her drink. "Or it just likes making things complicated."

I nodded, feeling the tension settle between us like a living thing.

"Not your usual scene," I said, gesturing vaguely at the party around us.

"Definitely not," she agreed.

Another silence stretched. The buzz of the party was distant now, just two people standing in the middle of the chaos, trying to figure out what came next.

It was strange, how, in the middle of a packed, chaotic party, the space between just her and me felt like its own quiet world.

I shifted my weight, suddenly aware of how close I was standing to her. She didn't back away, didn't flinch. Just held my gaze with that steady, sharp look that somehow made me want to both challenge her and protect her at the same time.

"So," I said, trying to break the silence without sounding desperate, "what made you come back tonight?"

She took a slow sip of her drink, eyes never leaving mine. "Curiosity, mostly. And I guess I'm stubborn."

"Stubborn," I repeated with a half-smile. "That's good. I like stubborn."

She let out a short laugh. "You'd have to."

I glanced around, catching the blur of bodies moving past us, the flashing lights. "You don't seem like the type who fits into this scene."

"Because I don't," she said simply. "Parties like this, they're loud. Messy. I prefer a good book or a quiet bar."

I nodded, suddenly appreciating how real she was. No pretending. No filter.

"Yeah," I said, "this isn't exactly my vibe either. But sometimes you gotta play the part."

She raised an eyebrow. "The part?"

I shrugged. "Captain. Leader. Face of the team. It's like wearing armor. You keep up the act so no one sees what's underneath."

Her expression softened for a moment, like she understood without me having to say more.

"What's underneath, Ashton?" she asked quietly.

I looked away, swallowing the lump rising in my throat. "A lot of noise."

She nodded, like she knew exactly what I meant.

For a moment, the space between us felt smaller, less about the party, less about the roles we played, and more about two people who'd both been hurt, both trying not to break.

"Maybe," I said, voice low, "we're both just trying to survive the noise."

She met my gaze again, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes.

"Maybe," she said.

I wanted to reach out, to say more, but the moment cracked, and the party's chaos rushed back in.

A group of guys stumbled past, laughing loudly, breaking the fragile bubble we'd made.

She glanced at them, then back to me.

"Well," she said, lifting her cup slightly in a mock toast, "good luck surviving."

I smiled, the corner of my mouth twitching.

"Same to you."

We both took a slow breath, the air thick with the things left unsaid.

And as the music rose again, the moment slipped away, leaving me wanting more.

♥Isla’s POV♥

The fragile bubble we had built in the middle of that packed living room didn't just pop but shattered.

I watched Ashton step back, his tall frame instantly swallowed by the tide of drunk college students with red cups.

My hand hovered in the air, still feeling him, before I forced my fingers to curl into a tight fist and drop back to my side.

Good luck surviving.

My own words echoed in my head, dry and ironic. But as I watched him disappear, my stomach did a slow nauseating flip.

"Isla!"

Nadia appeared out of nowhere, her eyes wide as she grabbed my forearm. Cleo was right behind her, sipping from a soda with a calculating smirk.

"Tell me my eyes are deceiving me," Nadia demanded over the loud music, , leaning in so close I could smell the sweet artificial flavor of her drink. "Were you just having a full-blown moment with Ashton Moore?"

"It wasn't a moment," I said quickly, pulling my arm back and straightening my jacket. "He was just... being polite."

"Ashton Moore does not do polite," Cleo countered, raising an eyebrow over the rim of her cup. "He does arrogant, he does reckless, and occasionally he does thirty minutes in the penalty box for assault. But polite? Not in his vocabulary."

"We just talked. That's all." I turned away from them, my eyes scanning the crowd against my better judgment. "Can we go? I'm exhausted, and my head feels like it's about to split open."

Nadia exchanged a look with Cleo, but for once, neither of them pushed. "Yeah, okay. Let's get out of here."

We left.

While Nadia and Cleo gossiped about Sebastian and the rest of the team, I stayed wrapped in my coat, staring at the pavement.

My mind refused to quiet down. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the split in his lip, the exhaustion behind his dark eyes, and the surprisingly gentle way he’d looked at me when he admitted how much noise was inside his head.

What's underneath, Ashton?

He was dangerous. Not because he was a star athlete with a bad reputation, but because he was real. Behind the smirk and the armor, there was a person who was just as bruised as I was.

And that was the last thing I needed to get close to.

When we finally got back, I said a quick goodnight, locked myself in my bedroom, and collapsed onto my bed without even changing out of my clothes.

I stared up at the dark ceiling, my heart beating.

I pulled out my phone, intending to set an alarm for tomorrow's study session, when a new notification popped up across the top of my screen.

No name. Just an unknown number.

My throat went bone-dry. My thumbs trembled as I tapped the message open.

~Unknown: Ignoring my texts won't make this go away, Isla. I know you're back on campus. We need to talk about what happened before you left.

A violent wave of nausea rushed through me. The breath caught in my chest, tight and suffocating.

It was him. My ex.

The man who had spent a year turning my confidence into dust, making me feel small, isolated, and entirely dependent on him.

The reason I had spent the last six months building walls so high that no one could ever get close enough to hurt me again.

He was here. Or at least, close enough to track me down.

Panic seized me. I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing the palm of my hand against my forehead as the walls of my bedroom felt like they were closing in.

I couldn't do this again. I couldn't let him drag me back into that dark, suffocating trap.

Before I could spiral any further, another notification flashed across the screen.

A Direct Message on i********:.

I blinked back the sting of unshed tears and opened the app, my heart in my throat.

@ashton_moore9: You left your red scarf on the kitchen counter at the house.*

I stared at the text, my pulse racing. I hadn't even realized I’d dropped it.

Before I could type a response, a second message popped up from him:

@ashton_moore9: Look out your window.

My breath hitched. I pushed myself off the bed, my legs feeling like lead, and walked over to the glass. I pulled back the thin white curtain and looked down at the street below.

Parked beneath the dim yellow glow of the streetlight across from my building was a black truck. Lean, broad-shouldered, and wearing a dark hoodie pulled over his head, Ashton was leaning against the driver's side door.

He held up my knitted red scarf in one hand, his face shadowed in the dark.

My phone buzzed again in my grip.

@ashton_moore9: I saw you walk out looking like you'd seen a ghost. You okay, Carter?

I looked down at the screen, then back out the window at him. He was standing in the freezing cold, holding a silly piece of fabric, checking on a girl he barely knew.

A girl who had done nothing but snap at him and push him away.

I grabbed my jacket, rushed down the stairs, and pushed open the heavy front door of the apartment building.

The freezing night air hit me, but I barely felt it as I crossed the empty street toward him.

Ashton straightened up as I approached, his dark eyes tracking every step I took. Up close, I could see the fresh bruise forming along his jawline and the tiny white bandage sticking to his split lip.

"You didn't have to drive all the way here just to drop off a scarf," I said, my voice shaking slightly from the chill.

"I didn't," he said quietly, holding the red fabric out to me. "I drove here because when you walked out of that party, you looked like you were carrying the whole world on your shoulders. And I know what that feels like."

I took the scarf, my fingers briefly brushing against his warm hand. The electricity of the contact shot straight up my arm, making my heart slam against my chest.

"Ashton..." My voice cracked, the exhaustion and fear from my ex's text finally caught up to me.

He narrowed his eyes, stepping a fraction closer.

The lazy smirk was completely gone, replaced by a sharp, intense focus. "What's wrong, Isla? And don't tell me 'nothing.' I'm an expert at lying, remember?"

I looked away, staring down at my boots. "Just... stuff from the past. People who don't know how to let go."

Silence fell between us, heavy and thick. When I looked back up, Ashton was studying me, his jaw clenched tight.

"Is someone bothering you?" he asked, his voice dropping an octave, laced with a dangerous edge that made my pulse jump.

"It's complicated," I whispered. "I just... I need a way out. I need people to leave me alone. I need him to see that I've moved on, that I'm not the same weak person he used to control."

Ashton stared at me for a long moment. Slowly, a dark, dangerous spark ignited in his eyes.

It was the same wild intensity I’d seen on the ice before he slammed that player into the glass.

He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, leaning in until he was shielding me from the biting wind.

"I have a lot of eyes on me right now, Carter," he said, his voice a low, rough rumble. "Scouts, coaches, reporters. They're all waiting for me to mess up again. My agent told me yesterday that I need to clean up my image. Look stable. Settled."

I blinked, confused by the sudden shift. "Okay... what does that have to do with me?"

Ashton tilted his head, a slow, wicked grin spreading across his face. The one that didn't reach his eyes, but carried an edge that made my breath lock in my throat.

"You need a shield so your ex stops hunting you down," he said softly, his gaze locking onto mine with terrifying clarity. "And I need a distraction so the press stops looking at my fists and starts looking at my personal life."

My heart stopped. The world around us seemed to freeze.

"What are you saying, Ashton?"

"I'm saying," he murmured, taking one step closer until the distance between us evaporated entirely,

"we help each other out. We give everyone a show."

He leaned down, his warmth washing over my face, his dark eyes searching for mine.

"Fake date me, Isla."