Rejected By The Hockey Alpha

Harper's POV The rink was freezing, but I'd gotten used to it. The soft tapping of my typewriter echoed softly through the noise from the hockey fans at the arena. It was another night, another hockey game, another column I would be rewriting three times or even more, before it passed my father's inspection. A soft sigh slipped from my lips as my fingers moved fast on the typewriter. The hockey players from NorthPeak College were playing against a team from a rival school. My job was simple: record the stats, edit the sport column for the school newspaper page and try not to fall asleep when the puck was being slammed into the opponent's net. I tilted my head up slowly and my eyes locked on someone with broad shoulders and wavy brown hair that stood out among the other players. My heart surprisingly skipped a beat as I suddenly recognised who it was. "Harper! Are you watching the plays or you're dealing with something out of the box up there?" A familiar voice yelled from the bench. I did not bother glancing down. I knew that voice so well because it belonged to my father. It was sharp, just like a blade scraping against the ice. The man could easily tell when I was distracted. And right then, I was. I lowered my gaze and kept typing, murmuring to myself to be focused. "Focus, Harper. Focus. Focus." I kept saying as if that would stop me from staring at the star hockey player of the college, Ryker Soren, NorthPeak's hockey team captain. I was staring at him. I knew I was, and it was f*****g weird because I'd sworn on my life not to get involved with any hockey player. Except that Ryker Soren was impossible to ignore. He was six foot something with broad shoulders — enough reason for me to stop staring at him. He moved across the ice too fast, too strong, like he'd been born with skates instead of feet. His movement felt strange. All eyes were on him now with every shift of his body. A stunned gasp rippled through the air when he passed the puck straight with a speed that felt inhuman. "Goal," The crowd roared, chanting his name like he was some god. I lowered my gaze again and punched into the typewriter. A goal. I lifted my head up again, then my breath caught in my throat. His brown eyes were fixed where I was sitting in the press box. No, they were on me. Heat rushed to my face for some damn reason I didn't care about. I tilted my head down and told myself it was a coincidence. Or that was just the way he looked at every other person. I just had to find an excuse, because if he was actually looking at me, then I was already in more trouble than I could write my way out of. A few minutes later, Ryker scored the final goal and the game ended. NorthPeak College won against the rival school and the crowd turned into a familiar chaos, roaring and chanting the winning team's name. My father snapped out orders, reminding the players not to let their winning make them think more highly of themselves than they should. I wondered if that was necessary considering how long he lectured them everyday in the locker room until their sweat turned cold. I gathered my notes, slipping the last page into my backpack. All I wanted was to sneak back to the dorm before my father could trick me into doing more work. But the universe rarely let me off easily. "Harper!" Too late. I scrunched up my nose and stopped halfway down the press box steps. My father was waiting at the bottom of the steps, clipboard under his arm and his expression unreadable. "Dad?" I called out, acting surprise like I did not know he was standing there. "You weren't paying attention tonight," he said, his eyes narrowed. "I could feel it." I swallowed hard, then forced a smile. "I got the stats, dad. Every goal, every foul were recorded neatly. I'm just fine," I said softly. "You were staring." A jolt shot through my chest. I told myself he didn't mean his words the way I heard them. But my father's gaze was cold. There was no doubt he knew where my attention had drifted. "Stay away from the players, Harper." His voice dropped to a whisper, but laced with an edge. "Especially him." A cold chill ran through my spine. I swallowed, gripping my backpack tighter as if it would shield me from falling apart. He knew exactly who I'd been staring at. "I don't even talk to them outside the press box. You've made sure of that," I raised a protest because I could not let him see through me. "Keep it that way," He sighed, probably in relief. "Hockey players will ruin your life." Before I could reply, he darted towards the locker room, leaving me trembling with words I couldn't say. Stay away from hockey players. No falling for jocks. You can't date jocks. I sang to myself like it was a rhyme as I walked through a group of fans waiting for autographs. I kept my head down, hugging my backpack tightly to my chest. Everywhere smelled of sweat and cleaning fluid and I just wanted nothing more than to get to my room and have a sweet sleep. And avoiding hockey players, of course. "Hey, Harper," A voice stopped me in my tracks. The voice was low, steady and too close. I turned slowly, my heart racing in my chest for some reason I couldn't even decipher. And my eyes landed on him — Ryker Soren. He was still in his gear, his jersey clinging to his broad shoulders. His brown hair was damp, curling at the ends. His light brown eyes locked on me and suddenly the air shifted. The hallway felt too small. And for a fleeting seconds, I saw something strange in his eyes. Something feral, animalistic, almost not human. What the hell was happening?