Chapter 5:The Captain's Ultimatum
1362 Words
Skye's POV
“What the f**k are you doing in my apartment?”
Mercer stood up slowly from the couch, all six-four of him unfolding like pure trouble.
The tight black T-shirt clung to his broad chest and shoulders, still slightly damp, showing off every cut of muscle. Gray sweatpants hung dangerously low on his hips. Dark messy hair, sharp emerald green eyes narrowed in disbelief, and that strong jaw clenched tight.
He looked stupidly hot even when he was pissed off.
It made me irritated.
I froze in the doorway, suitcase heavy in my hand. “This is unit 3B, right? The manager gave me the key.”
He stared at me for a long beat, then let out a low, bitter laugh. “You’ve got to be f*****g kidding me.”
His phone rang on the coffee table. He grabbed it, checked the screen, and answered with zero patience.
“Yeah, Coach?”
I could hear Coach Harlan’s voice on the other end and Mercer’s expression got darker.
“Thanks for the heads-up, Coach,” he said, his voice thick with sarcasm. “Really appreciate you ruining what was left of my night.” He hung up and tossed the phone back down.
He turned those intense green eyes on me and the apartment suddenly felt way too small.
“So,” he said, his voice low and rough, “It looks like you’re my new roommate. Temporary. They swear they'll try to rectify the situation.”
“Fantastic,” I muttered. “My favorite person.”
Mercer stepped closer.
God, he was overwhelming up close. Tall, broad, radiating heat and frustration. His scent hit me: soap, cedar, and that clean masculine edge that made my stomach flip.
“Here’s how this works,” he said quietly and very dangerously. “You stay on your side. Don’t touch my stuff. No loud noise. No bringing people over and on the ice? Stay the hell out of my way unless I decide to pass to you. Which I won’t. Clear?”
I didn’t back up. I tilted my chin and met his stare. “And if I don’t feel like following your little rules?”
His gaze roamed my face for a second, then slowly came back up to meet my eyes and for a moment we just stood there, inches apart, breathing the same air.
“Then this season is gonna be hell, Brooks,” he murmured, his voice dropping even lower.
I swallowed. “Wouldn’t want it any other way, Mercer.”
He stared at me another long second, jaw tight, before turning sharply. “Your room’s on the left. Bathroom’s shared. Don’t take forever."
He disappeared into his room and slammed the door so hard the walls vibrated.
I let out a shaky breath. Holy s**t.
My room was decent. There was a decent-sized bed, decent closet, and a window with a view of the campus lights. I dragged my suitcase in and tried to unpack, hanging up a few hoodies and shoving some clothes into drawers, but I was exhausted. My body ached from practice and the emotional whiplash of the day.
I gave up after ten minutes.
I grabbed my stuff and headed to the shared bathroom. It was surprisingly clean and modern, with a big shower. I locked the door, stripped, and stood under the hot water for a long time, letting it ease the soreness in my muscles. My mind kept replaying the way Mercer had looked at me, that mix of anger and heat in his eyes.
Stop it, Skye. He hates you.
I dried off, threw on an old T-shirt and shorts, and flopped onto the bed. I was out cold in seconds.
My phone ringing yanked me awake, and I saw the room was still dark.
Who could possibly be calling me at this time?
I fumbled for it, squinting at the screen. Unknown number. I answered with my voice sounding groggy.
“Hello?”
“Where the hell are you, Brooks?” Coach Harlan’s voice snapped through the line. “Morning conditioning started twenty minutes ago. The whole team is here. Mercer didn’t tell you?”
My stomach dropped. “No, he didn’t—”
“Get your ass to the rink right now. We don’t wait for anyone.”
He hung up.
“f**k,” I whispered.
I scrambled out of bed, threw on practice gear, and rushed into the hallway. Mercer’s door was wide open. His room was empty. He had already left without saying a word.
Of course, he did.
I grabbed my bag and ran the whole way to the rink in the freezing early morning air. When I finally burst through the doors and stepped onto the ice, the entire team was already deep into drills. Mercer was at the front, moving like a machine. He was fast, powerful, and in complete control.
The jerk didn’t even glance my way.
Coach Harlan blew his whistle hard. “Ten extra laps, Brooks. Welcome to the team.”
I pushed hard, but my legs were dead, and I was slower than everyone else. The guys flew past me. Mercer lapped me twice, his emerald eyes cold every time he passed. By the end of practice, I was drenched in sweat and pissed off.
As we headed off the ice, Mercer fell into step beside me in the empty hallway. We were alone. “You didn’t tell me about morning practice,” I said sharply.
He stopped and turned to face me. “You didn’t ask.”
I stepped closer, anger boiling over. “You’re such an asshole.”
He backed me against the wall without touching me, one hand braced near my head. His tall frame blocked out everything else. Those sharp green eyes burned into mine, intense and dangerous. Up close, he smelled like cedarwood and musk from the workout, and it felt hard to breathe.
My heart slammed against my ribs. It was definitely from anger.
“You want me to make things easy for you?” he murmured roughly. “Then keep up. Because right now you’re dead weight on my line, Brooks.”
“I’m not dead weight,” I shot back, refusing to look away even though my knees felt weak. “And maybe if you actually treated me like a teammate instead of—”
“Instead of what?” Logan cut me off. His voice dropped low, full of mean authority. He leaned in so close his nose almost touched mine, and I could feel the literal heat radiating off his jersey.“You think because the school gave you a key to my apartment, you’re safe? You think you’re one of us?”
He let out a low, mocking laugh that made my blood boil. “Let’s look at the calendar, Brooks. The official team roster does not lock for two months. That is exactly eight weeks of hard games, 5:00 AM workouts, and living with me. The school wants a big show, but my contract lets me cut any player who puts the team at risk.”
His fingers slowly wrapped around the handle of my hockey stick, gripping it tight.“Here is the bet. If you can survive my line, my drills, and my rules for the next sixty days without crying to the Dean, I will pass you the puck. I will let you stay on the team. But if you slow us down one more time? If your little tricks cost us a single game against our rivals? I will call a team meeting and take that jersey right off your back. I don't care what the school wants.”
He stepped away, his green eyes throwing one last icy glare over his shoulder. “Day one starts now. Don’t burn the dinner.”
I watched his big shoulders disappear around the corner. My chest heaved and my fists were clenched so hard my nails dug into my skin. This was not just a temporary roommate situation anymore, it was a sixty-day countdown to my execution.
And Logan Mercer had just started the clock.
- Writer
