The Hockey Star Regret

Episode 8

COLEEN

I hadn’t slept.

The night crawled by in a haze of embarrassment, replaying my outburst in class on a loop in my head. My voice cracking. My heart racing. The silence that followed. Hayden’s face, confused, almost guilty. And worst of all, the way the whole room looked at me like I was two seconds from combusting.

This wasn’t how I imagined college going. It wasn’t even close.

I curled deeper under my sheets, hoping for some kind of divine intervention. Maybe the ground could swallow me whole or I’d wake up in an alternate timeline where I’d kept my mouth shut and hadn’t exploded in front of my classmates.

But the sun kept rising and the responsibility of going to school knocked like an annoying landlord.

By 8:00 a.m., I was sitting up in bed with dark circles under my eyes and a knot in my stomach the size of a boulder. There was no way around it, if I wanted to survive this school, this scholarship, this life I was clawing toward, I had to face what happened.

I showered, dressed in a hoodie and jeans, and pulled my hair into a tight bun. The second I stepped out of my apartment and wandered into campus, the stares began.

Two girls near the elevator glanced at me and whispered just low enough to be annoying.

“That’s her, right?”

“Yeah, the one who screamed at Hayden Michaels in class.”

I ignored them and pressed the elevator button. My fingers were shaking.

The ride to the second floor felt longer than the first twenty years of my life. I considered taking the stairs next time just to avoid eye contact with the whole human race.

When I got to the hallway outside Professor Linton’s class, I froze.

Students milled about, waiting for the lecture hall to open. A few were on their phones. Some looked up. One guy outright smirked at me and I felt eyes on me again.

“That girl’s crazy,” someone mumbled behind me but I didn’t turn around to see who it was.

Instead, I clenched my fists and walked straight to the lecture hall doors, which had just been unlocked. I took a seat in the second row, hoping that sitting up front would make me look serious, focused, maybe even unbothered when deep down, I was feeling the exact opposite.

I opened my notebook to a clean page, even though I couldn’t stop fidgeting with the corner. My palms were sweaty. Every creak of a chair or shuffle of a bag behind me felt like another dart aimed at my back.

Then I heard the laughter.

A group of girls walked in, probably juniors, judging by their confidence, and took the row behind me. I recognized one of them from orientation.

“I swear, it was like a scene from a soap opera,” one said, loud enough for me to hear. “She totally flipped on him.”

“Isn’t he the hot new center for the hockey team?” another asked, fake-shocked. “Imagine having the audacity to scream at Hayden Michaels.”

“I kind of respect it,” a third voice added. “I heard he’s heavily loaded so she’s either fearless or stupid.”

I didn’t turn around. I kept writing the same word over and over again in my notebook: focus, focus, focus.

The room slowly filled, and then, just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, he walked in.

Hayden.

He looked like nothing had happened. Dressed in a white long-sleeve shirt that clung to him in all the unfair ways, with a backpack slung lazily over one shoulder. His eyes scanned the room until they landed on me.

And for a second, he just… watched.

I felt my throat tighten. Please don’t sit near me. Please don’t talk to me.

Thankfully, he took a seat near the back.

But the girls behind me? They noticed.

“God, look at him. He’s totally brooding,” one whispered.

“Over her?” another scoffed.

“Must’ve been some breakup.”

My face burned. I wanted to scream ‘we never even dated!” but what was the point? Gossip had already taken root. It would spread now, feed off itself, mutate into something even uglier.

I needed to fix this. At least the part that mattered to my future.

So when Professor Linton walked in, heels clicking authoritatively, I stood up before I lost my nerve.

“Professor?”

She looked at me, eyebrow raised. The room quieted slightly.

“I’d like a word… after class, if that’s alright.”

She studied me for a second. Then nodded. “Very well, then. Please have your seat.”

I sat.

The lecture passed in a blur. I tried to focus on her notes about 19th-century literature, but my brain kept drifting back to what I’d say when everyone left. What if she rejected my apology? What if she reported the outburst? Could I lose my scholarship over this?

When class ended, I packed my things slowly, watching as students trickled out. Most of them didn’t look at me while some did. Hayden walked out last, giving me a strange look I couldn’t decipher.

Once we were alone, I approached her desk.

“Professor Linton,” I began, voice steady but quiet, “I wanted to apologize for what happened yesterday.”

She didn’t speak right away. Just clasped her hands on her desk and looked at me with that unreadable expression professors seemed to have mastered.

“It was unprofessional,” I continued. “And inappropriate. I let someone get to me, and I let it affect your class. That won’t happen again.”

She raised one perfectly arched brow. “Someone?”

“Hayden Michaels,” I admitted.

“And what exactly did Mr. Michaels do to warrant such a reaction?” she asked.

I hesitated. “It’s… complicated. We have history. High school history.”

Her lips twitched like she might’ve smiled. “Miss Maine, I’ve been teaching long enough to know that students arrive with baggage. Personal history, rivalries, and drama. But I’m not here to sort through your past. I’m here to teach.”

“I understand,” I said quickly. “And I promise, you won’t have to deal with anything like that again.”

She leaned back in her chair, examining me. “I’ve read your essays. You’re smart, disciplined. But discipline means more than just academic performance. It means emotional maturity.”

I nodded. “I’m working on that.”

She seemed satisfied with that.

“Then let this be a learning experience. Consider the slate clean, for now.”

“Thank you,” I said, breathing again. “Really.”

She waved me off. “Go. Try not to become campus folklore by the end of the semester.”

I almost laughed.

Almost.

The hallway was empty when I stepped out. Cold air rushed against my cheeks, and I exhaled sharply. I’d survived.

But as I walked toward the library, I passed a group of students. One of them looked at me, snorted, and muttered, “Drama queen.”

I kept walking, making sure to keep my eyes forward.

Let them talk.

I had offered my apology to my professor. I had my pride and most importantly, I had no plans to let Hayden Michaels, reformed or not, live rent-free in my head any longer.

At least, that’s what I told myself.

But deep down, I knew this wasn’t over.

Not even close.