OFF THE ICE: FAKE DATING MY HOCKEY ENEMY

REEVE’S POV A hand clamped around my wrist and pulled it hard. My bag hit the floor before I could stop it—the laptop inside making a sickening crack against the tiles. Some students around us paused mid-conversation, eyes widened and their phones already coming up. I knew who it was before I turned around. Zane Ashford’s fingers dug into my skin, his grip tight enough my pulse throbbed against them. He stood close, six-foot-three of barely contained rage towering over me in the middle of the athletics building hallway. His jaw was clenched so hard I could see the muscles jumping, dark dishelved like he’d been running his hands through it. Those eyes-cold and burning as they fixed on me like I was the only person in a hallways packed with students. “We need to talk.” His voice was low in a way that made my stomach drop. My best friend, Demi, stepped between us immediately, her hand on my other arm. “What the f**k, Zane! Let go of her.” He didn’t even spare her a glance. “Stay out of this.” ”You can’t just—!” Demi moved closer. ”I said stay out of it!” He yelled. “Now, Callahan.” His fingers tightened around my wrist. My mouth went dry instantly. “Zane, you’re hurting—“ ”I said now!” His voice echoed across the hallway, and murmurs erupted from the students. Then he started walking, dragging me with him like I weighed nothing. My feet scrambled on the floor, my sneakers squeaking as I tried to keep up. ”Zane!” Demi’s voice rose behind us. “I’m calling security—“ ”Call whoever the f**k you want.” He didn’t slow down or even look back. His stride was fast in the hallway. “Tell them Zane Ashford is having a conversation with a shitty journalist. I’m sure they’ll be really interested.” He yanked me toward the janitor’s closet at the end of the hall—that old door nobody used anymore with the scratched brass handle. My heart slammed against my ribs. “Zane, don’t—“ He pulled the door open and shoved me inside. I stumbled, catching myself against a metal shelf. The door slammed shut between us and darkened swallowed everything except a thin strip of yellow light. My eyes struggled to adjust, I could make out shapes of mops, buckets and shelves stacked with supplies—And him. His silhouette blocking the door, chest heaving with each breath. I backed up until my shoulders hit the door—the metal bit through the thin cardigan into my spine. He took three steps forward. Close enough for I could feel the heat radiating off him—to see his chest heaving and his hands curling into fists at his sides. His right hand came up-slamming against the door beside my head. The sound cracked through the small space like a gunshot. I flinched so hard my glasses slipped down my nose. ”Do you have any f*****g idea what you did?” His voice was barely above a whisper but somehow that was worse than yelling. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Was this about the video I posted on Sunday? ”Answer me.” His left hand came up, slamming against the door on my other side. Trapping me completely with his arms. My pulse hammered in my throat so hard I could barely breathe. “I—I had a source.” “I don’t care about your source!” The words exploded out of him. “Do you know what you’ve done? Do you have any f*****g clue?” ”Zane I don’t understand what you’re talking about!” My voice rose. “You posted a video that made me look like a monster.” His voice shook. “You made people think I hit that woman in the video. I was helping her. And that wasn’t even all the video. You posted only four seconds.” My stomach dropped. “What?” ”You don’t even know.” He let out a laugh. “I’m sure you didn’t verify from your goddamn source either.” I blinked back repeatedly. “I didn’t know there’s a full—“ ”You didn’t ask!” His voice cracked. “You saw a chance to take down the rich hockey asshole and you took it. Didn’t you?” His words hit me like a punch. Because he was right. When my ex boyfriend, Marcus sent me that video three days ago with ‘thought you’d want this’ in the subject line, I’d watched it countless times. Zane Ashford—the star player, trust fund kid, the guy who’d walked past me in hallways for three years like I didnt exist—was dragging a woman by her arm. It looked bad and some ugly part of me was glad. Glad that the golden boy who walked through Campus with his entitled teammates might finally face consequences. That someone like him whose father donated buildings and whose last names opened doors—would have to answer for something. So I posted it without checking—or call for a comment, or do any single thing I’d been taught in three years of journalism school. ”I’m sorry—-“ I whispered. ”Sorry?” He leaned in closer, so close his breath ghosted across my face. “I have this feeling I’m about to get suspended. And my season starts in eight days.” ”Zane, wait…” ”Scouts have seen it and sponsors are starting to pull out.” His knuckles went white where his fists pressed against the door. “If everything I have spent years building disappears because of you—-“ He paused. I swallowed down hard—holding his gaze as the guilt tied my stomach in knots. ”And the worst part?” His voice dropped, even deadlier. “I can’t even explain what happened. Because If I do, I ruin someone else’s life. I’m considerate enough to think that, but you? You’re f*****g selfish, you’ve gotten the attention you wanted now, Callahan.” Tears burned behind my eyes. “I swear I didn’t know. Why—“ ”You don’t get to ask me s**t now.” He pushed off the door suddenly, putting space between us. I could breathe again. But somehow it felt worse. He turned away, running both hands through his hair. His shoulders heaved with each breath, in the thin strip of light from under the door. I watched his hands shake before he curled them into fists. “I’ll fix it.” The words stumbled out desperately. “I’ll issue a correction. I’ll find the full video and I’ll tell everyone—“ ”It’s too late for that.” He didn’t turn around. ”It’s not—“ I pushed off the door. “Just cut the crap already.” His voice was flat. For a moment the only sound was our breathing—his ragged ones and mine. Then he turned back, and the look in his eyes was even colder. Nothing behind them except rage and hurt and something that looked like betrayal even though he’d never known me at all. “You’re ruining my life, Callahan.” The tears I had been holding back finally slipped and rolled down my face. ”And I’m not going to give you chance to fix it.” Outsde the door, Demi’s voice rose. “Reeve? Answer me right now or I’m getting campus security.” Zane reached past me for the door handle. His arm brushed my shoulder as he gripped it and I flinched at the contact. He noticed and his lips tightened into a hard line. “Zane, just let me fix this.” I begged. “I will hurt you the same way you’ve hurt me. And unlike you, Callahan. I’ll make sure you see it coming.” He leaned in close, so close only I could hear. He pulled the door open, Demi stood right there with her phone already by her ear. Then he walked away. His footsteps echoed down the hallway, and students parted for him automatically. I stood there frozen with tears rolling down my face. Demi rushed in, her hands grabbed my shoulders.”Oh my God, are you okay? Did he hurt you?” I shook my head mutely. ”I’m calling security. That was assault—“ ”Don’t” The word came out flat. ”Reeve—“ “Please. Just—don’t.” I pushed past her, stumbling back into the hallway where some students turned their attention to me. I’d spent three years in this building—covering hockey games nobody else wanted to write about. I watched entitled athletes like Zane Ashford cruise through campus on their parent’s money, natural talent and their complete certainty that the world would always bend to their will. Hockey players were all the same. Rich kids who thought rules didn’t apply to them. I’d hated them since freshman year. And Zane Ashford was the worst of them. The captain of the team—star center and NHL draft prospect whose signing bonus would be more than anything I could imagine. The trust fund kid whose father’s name was on the athletics buiding we were standing in. He’d never looked at me once in three years. “Reeve?” Demi walked out of the closet. “What did he say to you?” My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out with shaky hands. “The athletic board has requested an urgent meeting tomorrow concerning the video portraying hockey star ‘Zane Ashford’ in an ugly manner. Be there by 9am.” My vision blurred. I stared at the screen. I’d been so sure he deserved it. “What is it!?” Demi snatched the phone from me, her eyes scanning the screen. And judging by the look in Zane’s eyes, he was about to teach me exactly what happened when you went after someone who had nothing left to lose. Shit. ”I’m so screwed.”