My Hated Rival Hockey Alpha

Celeste The weight of my backpack felt like a physical representation of my life – heavy, relentless, and always pulling me down. The short walk from campus to our house was usually a blur, but today, every step dragged. I was bone-tired, the kind of exhaustion that seeped into your bones and made even breathing feel like a chore. I pushed open the front door, the familiar scent of stale beer and desperation hitting me first. Sienna, my six-year-old sister, was coloring on the threadbare rug in the hallway. Her bright eyes, so full of innocent joy, were a stark contrast to the gloom that usually hung over our home. “Hey, bug,” I whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to her soft curls. She giggled, pointing a crayon at my cheek. "You're home!" she cheered, her voice a tiny beacon in the darkness. Before I could fully appreciate her smile, the shouting started. It wasn’t a surprise, just another Tuesday. My shoulders slumped. I sighed, a long, weary sound that got lost in the rising cacophony. I just needed to make it to my room. “I told you I’ve been sick, we’ve been doing business forever!” my father’s voice boomed, thick and slurred. Another voice, rough and impatient, cut in. “I’ll get you your money, don’t you trust me?” I didn't bother listening for the answer. I knew the script. I navigated the cluttered living room, trying to be invisible, heading for the sanctuary of my bedroom. The voices followed me, clinging to the air like smoke. “You worthless piece of s**t! I’ll kill you, I swear, if I don’t get back that three thousand!” The words were a venomous hiss, laced with pure rage. I reached my bedroom, slamming the door shut with more force than intended. The sound of it rattled the cheap particle board. I just stood there for a moment, leaning against the door, grateful for the thin barrier between me and the chaos. But even here, the echo of the shouting followed me, seeping through the walls. "Kelvin, I want my money! I’ll kill you, I swear, if I don’t get back that three thousand! You worthless piece of s**t!" The debt collector’s words were sharp, cutting through the thin walls. I rolled my eyes. My father, Kelvin, was embarrassing. It was obvious he’d been drinking heavily again. I was a pre-med student, trying to build a future, and he was dragging us all down with his vices. I shrugged off my coat, dropping it onto my desk, and pulled out my tennis skirt. Ralph Lauren. It was expensive, but in Hize, you needed to look expensive. It was one of the unspoken rules, a thin shield that guaranteed our family wouldn’t be sent to Butiva, the seedy underbelly of Hize where slugs and other creatures dwelled. It was a place for the forgotten, and I wouldn't let us end up there. I laid the skirt carefully on my bed, pulled my long auburn hair back into a tight bun, and started my nightly ritual of cleaning. It was the only way I could keep my mind from spiraling. From downstairs, I heard a wet cough. Then, my grandmother’s shrill voice, “Lazy! Can’t even have sons!” She was always harping on my mother for not producing male heirs, as if it were a choice. My green eyes flashed with quiet fury. It was all I could do not to scream back. “Mama, please,” my mother’s weak voice pleaded, trying to intervene. I sighed, pushing down the anger. What was the point? I continued to clean, scrubbing away at the grime, trying to scrub away the resentment too. I had tennis practice soon, then I needed to study for my anatomy exam, and then my night shift at the clinic. My grades were top-notch; I was a first-year, but I was already working as a TA, thanks to my diligence. It was the only way to make ends meet. I picked up empty bottles from the kitchen counter, my mind briefly tickled by the thought of a quiet evening. Then, my grandmother’s voice, sharp as a whip, cut through my thoughts. “Another beer, girl! And tomorrow’s a special day, I hope we can celebrate as a family.” Her words were laced with a passive-aggressive demand. Sienna’s birthday. She’d be seven. I’d promised her a small party. I even considered buying my mother and father some alcohol, just to keep the peace. Suddenly, my dad’s voice erupted in a frustrated scream from the living room. Other male voices, equally slurred, began to poke fun at him for losing. *Again.* The booze, the gambling… a cold dread settled in my stomach. No. No, he wouldn't. I ran upstairs, my heart hammering against my ribs. I tore open my safe box, the one I’d hidden so carefully, the one that held every dollar I’d painstakingly saved for uniforms, books, and feeding the family. It couldn’t be. Empty. A raw, guttural cry escaped me. The money was gone. I stumbled back downstairs, tears streaming down my face, begging my family. My grandmother called me selfish. My father, swaying, even had the audacity to ask for *more*. I was utterly defeated, the last shred of hope draining from me like sand. The next morning, I woke at four, my body aching with exhaustion. I’d only been home from my clinical shift for two hours. I dragged myself out of bed. I had asked my mom for any catering jobs available, knowing we wouldn't eat otherwise. She had told me about one, and I had to get up early to prepare. It was the Hize Hockey Festival, a big deal, trying to unite both humans and werewolves. By nine, I was almost done, a small mountain of delicate pastries and savory bites filling the kitchen of the grand Vanderhutsen estate. My coughing mom slowly straddled into the kitchen, her eyes a little brighter than yesterday. “Celeste, darling, you finished so soon,” she rasped, a proud smile on her face. “I wish I could change your life, you deserve so much more than this.” I shook my head, gently stopping her. “It’s okay, Mom. It’s not your fault.” I would do anything for her. She had always been there for me, a quiet strength in our chaotic home. My grandmother walked in later, her eyes narrowing at the lavish preparations. She spat on the floor, muttering under her breath about cleansing the house from the “bad vibes of the werewolf women.” My father followed, and she surprisingly kissed his cheek. It annoyed me. Sienna’s birthday was today, and I was here working, while they were… being themselves. None of them showed any sign of the werewolf gene, but my father was full werewolf, and I didn't hate him for it. I packed up the last of the trays. Sienna, my little sister, came in to help, her tiny hands carefully placing napkins in a basket. “You promise to celebrate later?” she asked, her eyes wide. “I promise,” I said, ruffling her hair. Rose, my best friend, pulled up in her beat-up car. We loaded the food, and then we were off to the party. People bought from me because I was "Celeste Miss Popular," the diligent pre-med student. No one knew the reality of my family’s terrible situation. As I navigated through the throng of hockey greats from my school pack and others, my mind drifted to Connor. My ex, two years ago, after that accident on the ice with Axel Reid. My teeth clenched. *That bastard.* He ruined Connor’s career, and he didn’t even get punished for it. “The food is divine, dear,” a warm voice purred, pulling me from my dark thoughts. It was Elara Reid, the hostess, Axel’s mother. She gave me a genuine smile. “I like you, Celeste.” A rare flush of pride warmed my cheeks. “Thank you, Ma’am.” “Could you tell me where the nearest restroom is?” I asked, needing a moment to compose myself. She gestured vaguely upstairs. “Just down the hall, second door on the left.” I wandered through the opulent mansion, a little lost, trying a few doors that turned out to be linen closets or guest rooms. Finally, I found a door that looked promising. I knocked. No answer. I tried the handle. It was unlocked. I pushed it open. “What do you want?” a deep, gravelly voice rumbled. My breath hitched. Axel Reid stood there, shirtless, his chest a canvas of dark, intricate tattoos. His dark, curly hair was disheveled, a few strands clinging to his forehead. His grey eyes, sharp and intense, bore into mine. He looked like a wild thing, untamed and dangerous. He looked exactly like the man I hated.