Forced To Room With My Hockey Rival

SIX

George's POV

I expected breakfast to be simple as always. But the moment Moxie walked into the dining room, the air changed in a way that was impossible to ignore. Even before she sat down, I could see the tension in her posture. Her shoulders were stiff, her steps hesitant, and her eyes avoided mine completely.

I couldn't really blame her for her reaction towards me.

The last time we interacted properly had ended with her shoving me in front of a crowd. For months after that, the only impression she probably had of me was an arrogant opponent who humiliated her during the state championship. Now she was in my house, eating breakfast across from me.

Under normal circumstances, that would already be awkward. With everything else that had happened, the discomfort was even more obvious.

Quince, on the other hand, noticed none of it.

She was happily eating and talking as if this were any normal morning. When she realized we had never been formally introduced, she immediately decided to fix that.

“This is my stepbrother, George,” she announced with a bright smile, pointing toward me. “He is a big man on campus and captain of the university hockey team.”

I almost sighed. Quince had always liked dramatic introductions. Then she pointed at Moxie. “And this is my best friend, Moxie. She was a star hockey player in high school.”

The moment the word hockey left her mouth, Moxie visibly froze. Her fingers tightened slightly around her fork. The reaction didn’t surprise me.

Yesterday, she arrived here bruised and exhausted after escaping an abusive boyfriend. The last thing she probably wanted to talk about was high school sports rivalries. But Quince wasn’t aware of that history yet.

Moxie cleared her throat awkwardly. “Well… we’ve actually met before.” She said, taking both Quince and me by surprise. I wasn't expecting her to share that piece of information, since it seemed she was hellbent on avoiding me.

“You have?” Quince asked in surprise.

“At the state competition.”

I watched her for a second before speaking. “Yes. We played against each other.”

Quince’s eyes widened. “Wait, seriously?”

I nodded slightly. “You were an excellent player,” I added. It was a compliment, but it was also the truth.

During that tournament, she had been one of the most impressive players I had faced. Even now, remembering that game still made me respect the level of determination she showed. But apparently she hadn’t expected those words. Moxie looked up at me as if I had just spoken another language. Her expression was completely stunned.

For a moment, she simply stared, clearly unsure how to react. And unexpectedly, I found the situation… amusing. This version of her was very different from the one I remembered on the ice. Back then, she had been fierce and relentless, the kind of player who would charge straight through a defensive line without hesitation.

Yesterday, she looked fragile and exhausted, barely able to stand without support. Now she looked… confused. Her eyes widened slightly as if she was still trying to process whether I was being sarcastic, but I wasn’t.

She lowered her gaze quickly and focused on her breakfast again. Quince looked between us curiously. “Wait a minute,” she said slowly. “So you two were rivals?”

“Something like that,” I replied, but Moxie didn’t say anything. She continued eating in silence. The conversation faded after that, and breakfast continued in relative quiet.

Eventually, Moxie finished first. She stood up from the table, murmuring a small “thank you” before stepping away toward the living room.

A few minutes later, I heard the faint sound of a phone powering on. Quince glanced in that direction.

“It seems like she turned her phone back on.” She commented, and I frowned.

“That’s probably not a good idea,” I said.

Quince frowned slightly. “Why?” She asked.

“Because the first person who will call is the one she ran away from.”

As if on cue, the phone began ringing. Quince and I exchanged a look. Then she stood up and walked toward the living room. I followed a few steps behind. Moxie stood near the window, staring down at her phone with a pale expression. Her hand trembled slightly.

“Is it him?” Quince asked.

Moxie didn’t answer immediately. She nodded. The phone continued ringing. After a moment, she finally answered. She didn’t put it on speaker, but the volume was loud enough that we could hear the angry voice on the other end.

“Moxie, where the hell are you?” The voice was sharp and aggressive. It made even Quince flinch a little. The sound of how aggressive he sounded over that call made me wonder how aggressive he would have been physically. My heart ached for Moxie; she must have been through hell. “I woke up, and you were gone. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Moxie didn’t respond. Her lips pressed together tightly as she listened.

“You think you can just run away?” the voice continued. “Don’t forget whose money you owe. I will find you Moxie, and make you regret setting foot outside of my house without my permission!” He snapped, and a second later the call ended.

Moxie stared down at the phone again. Another notification appeared almost immediately. It was a voice message. She pressed play before anyone could stop her. Dustin’s voice filled the room again. “If you don’t come back right now, you’re going to regret it.”

Moxie’s hand was shaking badly, and I felt like that was enough. I stepped forward and gently took the phone from her hand. Thankfully, she didn’t resist. Her mind seemed frozen somewhere between fear and shock. I ended the message and closed the screen. “That’s enough,” I said to her.

Moxie looked at me uncertainly. “He’ll keep calling,” she murmured.

“Let him.”

“That doesn’t solve anything.”

“No,” I replied calmly. “But there is a solution.” She looked up at me with questions swimming in her eyes. “We should call the police,” I said.

"No," She responded so quickly that Qince and I were surprised.

“Moxie, why not?” Quince asked, unable to believe Moxie was refusing to turn him in.

She shook her head quickly. “I don’t want to make things worse.” She said, and I stared at her in disbelief.

“Worse?” I repeated.

“Yes.”

“He’s threatening you.”

“I know.”

“Then why protect him?” The question slipped out more bluntly than I intended.

Moxie’s eyes snapped toward me. “I’m not protecting him.” She argued back.

“That’s exactly what it looks like,” I replied. “If someone is abusing you and making threats, the logical step is to report him,” I added.

Her jaw tightened. “You don’t understand anything.” She said coldly.

“Then explain it to me.”

She looked at me in silence, then turned away abruptly. “I need some air,” she muttered. Before either of us could stop her, she walked toward the door and left the room.