The Captain’s Rule: She’s Off Limits

Chapter 3

The easiest way to stop loving someone is to stay away from them.

Too bad fate had other plans.

Actually, scratch that. It isn't fate. It’s just my brother's terrible planning and the Maplewood University housing department conspiring against my sanity.

"I'm going to drop this," I gasp, my biceps literally trembling as I balance a massive cardboard box labeled BOOKS / HEAVY AF against my chin. "Mia, grab the door. Please tell me you have the key card out."

"Got it, got it! Keep your shirt on," Mia mutters, frantically swiping her student ID against the scanner of our new residence hall.

The heavy glass door clicks open with a loud beep. I stumble into the air-conditioned lobby of Alder Hall, letting out a pathetic groan as I dump the box onto a nearby plastic bench. My hands are completely indented with red lines from the cardboard flaps. My messy bun is half-falling out, and I'm sweating through a gray tank top.

But despite the manual labor, a small spark of genuine excitement flares in my chest.

Classes start tomorrow. The campus is alive, packed with students hauling mini-fridges and giant blue Ikea bags across the manicured lawns. This morning felt like Day One of my new life. A reinvention. No more hiding in the shadows of my past. No more losing sleep over the boy who caught my wrist on a dark porch two nights ago and looked at me like I was a puzzle he couldn't solve.

I am officially a college student. I have new goals, a new schedule, and a completely blank slate.

"Hey, look," Mia says, tapping the glass window of the lobby and pointing across the concrete courtyard. "Isn't that the athlete housing? The upperclassman apartments?"

I look over her shoulder. Directly across the small grassy quad sat Cedar Crest, the premium, modern brick building reserved for varsity sports players. It’s close. Way too close. Like, I-can-literally-see-into-their-living-room-windows close.

"Yeah," I say, a tiny knot forming in my stomach. "Liam said he and Jace scored a suite over there."

"Perfect," Mia chirps, completely oblivious to my internal mini-panic attack. "Free security guards and built-in party invites right across the grass. We lucked out."

I force a tight laugh, trying to ignore the sudden, nervous flutter in my throat. It’s fine, I tell myself. It’s a huge campus. I won't even see them.

"Alright, let's grab the last load from my car," I say, trying to shake off the weird feeling. "The sooner we unpack, the sooner we can hit the dining hall."

We walk back out to my tiny sedan, which is packed to the roof. I haul a heavy plastic bin full of winter sweaters out of the trunk, while Mia grabs a pair of lamps and a giant plush rug. Balancing the bin against my hip, I kick the trunk shut with my sneaker and turn around toward the stairs.

Suddenly, a shadow falls over me.

"Need a hand with that?"

The voice is low, smooth, and instantly recognizable. My muscles lock up before my brain can even process the sound.

Jace is standing at the bottom of the concrete steps. He’s wearing dark athletic shorts and a backward Maplewood Hockey cap, a silver chain catching the bright Vermont sunlight against his tanned neck. He looks like he just got back from a morning workout—his skin is slightly flush, and there are faint patches of sweat on his grey t-shirt.

"Jace," I breathe, my heart instantly betraying me by doing a violent, erratic tap-dance against my ribs. "What are you doing over here?"

"Helping Liam move some extra gear into our storage locker downstairs," he says, nodding toward the basement entrance of my building. He steps closer, his dark eyes sweeping over the massive bin in my arms. "That looks heavy. Give it here."

"I can manage," I say quickly, my stubborn pride flaring up. "I'm fine."

Jace doesn't even argue. He just steps directly into my personal space, his broad frame completely blocking out the sun. He reaches down, his large, calloused hands brushing against mine as he takes the weight of the plastic bin from my arms. A sharp, electric jolt shoots straight up my wrists at the brief contact.

"I know you can manage, Violet," Jace says softly, his voice dropping an octave as he lifts the box effortlessly. "But you don't have to."

I swallow hard, my throat completely dry. "Floor three," I mutter, turning to lead the way up the concrete stairwell because my face feels like it's burning at a thousand degrees.

The interaction is so simple. Almost entirely ordinary. Just a guy helping a girl carry a box upstairs. But as I walk a step ahead of him, the silence between us feels incredibly loud. I can hear the heavy, rhythmic thud of his sneakers on the stairs, the steady sound of his breathing.

When we reach the third-floor landing, I pause outside room 312 and open the door. Jace walks in, setting the heavy bin down onto the vinyl floor with a soft click.

"Thanks," I say, leaning back against the wooden doorframe, suddenly feeling very hyper-aware of how small our dorm room is.

"Don't worry about it," Jace says. He takes off his baseball cap, running a hand through his damp, dark hair before flipping the hat back on.

And right then, in the harsh fluorescent lighting of the hallway, I notice things I’ve somehow never seen before.

He isn't the invincible, larger-than-life hockey god from the arena bleachers anymore. Up close, there’s a tiny, faded white scar right near his jawline—probably from an old skate blade or a high stick. There are dark, heavy shadows of exhaustion tucked beneath his eyes, the physical proof of a guy carrying the weight of an entire team and an NHL draft future on his shoulders.

But the craziest part? The way his expression softens when he looks down at me. The intimidating, intense armor he wears around everyone else completely vanishes.

My chest aches with a strange, heavy realization. This isn't a childhood crush anymore. He isn't a poster on a wall or a distant dream. Jace Donovan is becoming a real, breathing, dangerously complicated person. And that makes him ten times harder to resist.

"Liam’s going to be hovering all week," Jace says, a faint, rare smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "He’s already stressing about your schedule. If he gets too annoying, just tell me. I’ll make him do extra suicide sprints at practice."

I can't help the small laugh that escapes my lips. "Please do. He already lectured me about my shirt choice on Saturday."

Jace’s eyes drop for a fraction of a second, tracking the line of my collarbone before snapping back up to my face. The air in the room instantly goes still, thick with a sudden, unspoken tension that makes my lungs ache.

"Yeah, well," Jace mutters, his jaw tightening slightly as he steps backward into the hallway. "He's just being a brother. I'll see you around, Violet."

"See you, Jace."

I close the door, leaning my back against the wood and letting out a long, shaky breath. Get it together, I lecture myself, pressing my palms against my hot cheeks. He’s just being nice. He’s Liam’s best friend. That’s it.

By eleven o'clock that night, the dorm is finally completely unpacked. Mia is already asleep, snoring softly under her pile of throw pillows, the glow of our new fairy lights casting long, cozy shadows across the room.

I’m sitting cross-legged on my bed, wearing an oversized t-shirt, scrolling through a syllabus on my laptop. Outside, the Vermont wind is howling softly, rattling the glass.

Suddenly, my phone buzzes against the mattress.

I pick it up, squinting at the bright screen.

Unknown Number: Welcome to campus, Violet.

I frown, my thumb hovering over the screen. Before I can even type a response, a second text lighting up the display makes my breath catch completely in my throat.

Unknown Number: It's Jace. Save my number.