The Captain’s Rule: She’s Off Limits

VIOLET "You're staring at him again," Mia says beside me as the arena erupts into a deafening roar. I blink, tearing my eyes away from the ice. My roommate is leaning against the metal railing, a massive smirk on her face. She’s wearing a oversized Maplewood Wolves jersey, her face painted with blue and silver glitter. "I'm not staring," I lie, my voice barely carrying over the screaming crowd. "I'm watching the game. My brother is literally on the ice, Mia." "Uh-huh." Mia rolls her eyes, taking a sip from her soda. "Your brother is number forty-four, the defenseman currently yelling at the ref. But your eyes are glued to number nine. The guy who just scored the tie-breaking goal." I swallow hard, my lips pressing into a tight line. She isn't wrong. The Wolves Den is packed to the absolute brim. It’s the final pre-season exhibition game, but you’d think it was the national championship. The air inside the arena is a mix of freezing cold rink air, spilled popcorn, and pure, chaotic college energy. Everyone is losing their minds. And they’re all chanting one name. Donovan! Donovan! Donovan! Jace Donovan. Team captain. First-line center. The campus golden boy who looks like he belongs on an NHL billboard instead of a college campus in Vermont. And my absolute biggest secret. I look back at the ice, my chest tightening. I can't help it. I know his habits better than I know my own college class schedule. I’ve been watching him play since we were kids in community rinks. Right now, as the referee skates toward the center circle, Jace does what he always does. He taps his hockey stick twice against the ice—thump, thump. A lucky pre-game ritual he’s kept since high school. Then, he reaches up with a gloved hand and pushes a strand of damp, dark hair away from his forehead. It’s a fraction of a second. A tiny, insignificant habit. But my heart does a stupid, dangerous flip anyway. "Seriously, Vi," Mia teases, bumping her shoulder against mine. "The pining is getting loud. It's giving tragic romance heroine." "Shut up," I laugh softly, though a pang of genuine ache hits my chest. "It’s not pining. It’s just... habit." That’s a safer word. Habit. I’ve loved Jace since I was fourteen years old. Back then, I was just Liam’s scrawny little sister who sat on the bleachers doing homework while they practiced. Jace was the nice, impossibly handsome older boy who would occasionally buy me a hot chocolate from the concession stand or ruffle my hair. To him, I was a kid. Untouchable. Invisible. Liam's baby sister. Now, I’m a freshman here at Maplewood University. I’m supposed to be starting over. I’m supposed to be finding my own identity, building a life that doesn’t revolve around being a shadow to my brother or a secret admirer to his best friend. But looking at Jace right now, wearing the captain's 'C' on his chest, I feel entirely trapped by my own feelings. If I stop loving him... who am I even supposed to be? Suddenly, the crowd gasps. The sound is sharp and collective. My eyes instantly lock onto the far corner of the rink. Jace had possession of the puck, skating hard down the boards, when a rival defenseman caught him completely blind. The impact is brutal. A heavy, bone-crushing body check that slams Jace directly into the plexiglass right in front of the student section. CRACK. The sound of his pads hitting the boards echoes through the entire arena. My breath hitches. My hands instantly grip the cold metal railing so hard my knuckles turn white. A cold, sharp wave of pure panic floods my veins, suffocating me. "Oh, ugly hit," Mia mutters, wincing. Jace doesn't get up right away. He stays down on one knee, his head bowed, his gloved hand resting on the ice. Time completely stops. My heart is hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. The noise of the arena fades into a dull buzz. Please get up, I think, my mind begging, desperate. Please, Jace, just get up. The intensity of my own fear terrifies me. I shouldn't care this much. I shouldn't feel like the world is ending just because he took a hard hit. Then, he moves. Jace pushes himself up, shaking his head slightly. He skates back toward the bench, completely ignoring the trainer who is leaning over the boards to check on him. He looks pissed, his jaw clenched tight, but he's okay. I let out a shaky breath, my shoulders dropping. "Whoa," Mia says, looking at me closely. "Vi, you look like you just saw a ghost. You're completely pale." "I'm fine," I whisper, trying to force my voice to sound normal. "Just... it looked bad." "He's a hockey player," Mia says, waving a hand dismissively. "They're basically made of concrete and testosterone." The final buzzer sounds a few minutes later. The Maplewood Wolves win, 4-3. The arena goes wild, music blasting through the speakers as the players do their victory lap, raising their sticks to the crowd. "Come on," I say, pulling my jacket tighter around myself. "Liam said to meet him by the players' exit after they wrap up media." "Lead the way," Mia says, grinning. "Maybe we'll catch a glimpse of the captain without his shirt on." "Mia, please." We weave through the exiting crowd, heading down the concrete stairs toward the restricted lower level. Because I'm Liam's sister, the security guards recognize me and let us pass into the quiet, brightly lit hallway outside the locker rooms. The air down here smells like sweat, ice, and expensive cologne. We wait for about ten minutes before the heavy double doors open. Players start trickling out, carrying huge gear bags, their hair damp from the showers. "Violet!" Liam emerges first. My brother looks exhausted but energized, a massive grin on his face. He drops his bag with a loud thud and pulls me into a suffocating, sweaty hug. "Ugh, Liam, you smell disgusting," I complain, though I hug him back tightly. "Hey, that’s the smell of a win, Vi," he laughs, pulling back and ruffling my hair. He nods toward Mia. "Hey, Mia. Glad you guys made it." "Great game, Reed," Mia says, giving him a high-five. "Your body checking was top tier." "Always is," Liam boasts. He turns back to me, his expression shifting into that familiar, overprotective older-brother look. "You look tired, Vi. Are you eating enough at the dining hall? You know you can text me if you need groceries, right?" "Liam, I'm literally fine," I say, rolling my eyes. "It’s been three weeks. I know how to buy cereal." "Just checking. I gotta make sure—" Liam stops talking because the locker room door opens again. Jace walks out. My lungs instantly empty. He’s wearing gray sweatpants and a black Maplewood Hockey hoodie, the sleeves pushed up to reveal his forearms. His dark hair is still wet from the shower, curling slightly at the nape of his neck. There’s a fresh, nasty red scrape right along his cheekbone from that hit against the boards, and his eyes look dark, intense, and completely exhausted. He looks sweaty. He looks bruised. He looks entirely victorious. Jace is talking to one of the assistant coaches, nodding slowly, but as he gets closer to us, his eyes shift. Usually, Jace looks through me. He gives me a quick nod, a polite smile, and keeps moving. He treats me like a fixture in Liam's life, a background character. But tonight, he doesn't look through me. He looks directly at me. His footsteps slow down. His gaze locks onto mine, heavy and unreadable. The air between us suddenly feels incredibly thick, like the atmosphere right before a summer thunderstorm. "Good game, man," Liam says, reaching out to clap Jace on the shoulder. Jace doesn't answer his best friend right away. He doesn't look at Liam at all. He just keeps staring at me, his dark eyes tracking over my face, my new haircut, the oversized jacket I’m wearing. It feels like he’s cataloging every single change. He pauses mid-conversation, the hallway completely fading into silence around us. He stares for a second too long, his jaw ticking slightly. "When did you get here, Violet?" Jace asks, his voice low, rough, and entirely serious. My heart stops. He isn't asking about the game. He isn't asking about tonight. For the first time in my entire life, it feels like Jace Donovan isn't looking at Liam's little sister. It feels like he's actually seeing me.