Forced To Room With My Hockey Rival

EIGHT

Moxie's POV

Over the time I had come to stay at Quince's house, I felt more at peace than I have ever felt since I lost my parents, Quince made sure to never leave me alone out of worry that I would be depressed or hurt myself. I was grateful for her and George who continued to look out for me.

The doctor came to visit a few more times and in a few more days, I was fully healed if all the injuries I got from the last time Dustin attacked me, all thanks to the doctors medicine and ointment. I felt better and my skin was glowing and improving. Slowly, I felt like I was gaining my old self again.

Changing my SIM card helped more than I expected. The constant fear that Dustin would call me or contact me and threaten me, was totally gone now.

One afternoon I sat at the small desk in the guest room Quince had given me, scrolling through modeling agencies and job listings. I needed to find a job as quickly as I could. I was grateful for Quince and everything she was doing for me but i wouldn't want to impose on her. It was already enough that she had provided shelter and food for me. But I knew I couldn't continue to act like a leech on her and be dependent.

I needed to work for money. I had only just finished high school and it was my dream to go to college. That dream almost died along with my parents. But now with the help of Quince, I was getting on my feet. All I needed was to find a job so I would be able to afford the tuition fee for college. If I wanted to achieve this dream of mine, I had to earn enough to support myself.

Print modeling had always been my best option. It wasn’t glamorous like runway work, but it paid well enough when I could book consistent jobs. Most of the work involved advertising catalogs, magazines, or small brand campaigns. It required patience, professionalism, and a willingness to spend hours holding the same pose while photographers adjusted lighting. Compared to the chaos of the past year, that kind of routine sounded almost peaceful. After sending out several applications and attending two small auditions, something finally worked.

I finally got accepted somewhere. It wasn’t a huge campaign. Just a clothing catalog for a local brand that needed someone athletic-looking for their sportswear line. The pay wasn’t extraordinary either, but it was more than enough to get me started again. When the confirmation email arrived, I stared at the screen for a full thirty seconds before the excitement actually hit me.

“I got it,” I murmured to myself. Then I jumped up and ran downstairs. Quince was in the living room flipping through a fashion magazine.

“You’re not going to believe this.” I said to her with a smile. It almost felt foreign on my face, when was the last time I was able to smile so fully.

She looked up immediately. “What happened?” She asked with her eyes slightly widened.

“I got the modeling job.” I announced happily.

“What?” She tossed the magazine aside and sprang off the couch. “Seriously?”

“Yes!” I nodded in excitement. She grabbed my shoulders and shook me lightly in excitement.

“That’s amazing! I knew you would get it.” She said, smiling so brightly.

“According to the email I got, I am to start next week.”

“Then we’re celebrating. This is good news, we must celebrate it”

“Celebrating?”

“Yes,” she announced confidently. “Tonight.”

I probably should have suspected something when she said that. A few hours later we were sitting at the kitchen counter with a bottle of wine between us.

“I’m still proud of you,” Quince said while pouring another glass.

“You’ve said that five times already.” I chuckle

“I’m going to say it ten more times.”

She lifted her glass toward me. “To your comeback.” She cheered.

I laughed and clinked my glass against hers.

“To my comeback.” I said. The wine tasted stronger than I expected. Maybe it was because I hadn’t drank anything in months, or maybe Quince had chosen something particularly potent. Either way, the warmth spread quickly through my chest and shoulders.

“You know,” Quince began while leaning against the counter, “this means you’re officially back on track.”

“I hope so.”

“You will be.” She swirled her glass thoughtfully. “And once you save enough for tuition, you’ll go back to campus.”

“That’s the plan.” I smiled with a nod.

“Maybe you’ll even start playing hockey again.” She winked.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” I shook my head.

“But you miss it.”

Of course I did. Hockey had been a huge part of my life for years. Still, I wasn’t ready to think about it yet, considering how I need my career on the ice.

“One step at a time,” I replied.

At some point the second glass turned into a third. Then a fourth. “You realize we’re finishing this entire bottle ourselves,” I pointed out while laughing.

“That’s the point.” Quince leaned back on the stool, clearly enjoying herself. “You deserve this moment.”

“I guess I do.” I smiled.

By the time we reached the bottom of the bottle, Quince’s words started blending together in a cheerful blur.

“You know what the best part is?” she asked while resting her chin on her hand.

“What?”

“You’re smiling again.” She said and I blinked at her, surprised. “You looked… tired. Even when you tried to hide it.”

I didn’t respond right away. The truth was she wasn’t wrong. “I’m trying,” I said finally.

Quince lifted her glass again. “To trying.” She mumbles.

“To trying.”

She took another long drink.

About five minutes later she blinked slowly and frowned. “Why is the room spinning?”

“That might be the wine.” I laughed.

“No way. I’m perfectly—”

Her sentence ended abruptly when she slumped forward onto the counter.

“Quince?” I called out but got no response. I poked her shoulder gently. “You can’t pass out already.” I shook my head at her with an amused smile.

She didn’t move, instead a quiet snore escaped her lips. I stared at her for a moment before bursting into laughter. “You’re unbelievable.” I whispered. Unfortunately, I wasn’t in much better condition myself. When I stood up from the stool, the floor tilted slightly beneath my feet. “Okay,” I muttered. “Maybe I drank more than I thought.” Getting upstairs suddenly felt like a complicated mission. I grabbed the railing and carefully started climbing. Halfway up the staircase I stopped and blinked at the hallway. Which door was mine again? The hallway looked suspiciously longer than usual.

“Alright,” I told myself quietly. “Just walk straight.”

That seemed reasonable. I steadied myself as I walked towards a door. I pushed it open and stepped inside. The room looked slightly darker than usual, but my brain was too foggy to question it properly. All I wanted was sleep. I kicked off my shoes somewhere near the door and stumbled toward the bed. The mattress felt incredibly comfortable when I collapsed onto it. “This bed feels different,” I murmured into the pillow. It smelled different too, but my drunken brain couldn’t identify the scent properly. My eyes closed almost immediately and I fell into a deep sleep.