Craved By My Brother-In-Law

The Girl I Used To Know

Kent

Freedom. That was what everyday felt like.

I blinked my eyes open and the bright California sun cut through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my off-campus apartment. I didn't move for a long minute. I was just listening to the chorus of heavy breathing around me.

My living room looked like a upscale frat house, or let me just say, a brothel. There were half-naked bodies everywhere. Two guys from the lacrosse team were sprawled over the leather couch, snoring in sync. A girl whose name started with a C—or maybe a B—was fast asleep against the kitchen island, still clutching an empty cup. Another girl was passed out on the rug next to my legs, her tangled blonde hair covering most of her face.

We had partied until four in the morning. Drunk, high, and passed out from s*x, everyone had just dropped where they stood.

I shrugged out of the blanket, stepped carefully over a pair of stray legs, and grabbed my AirPods from the counter. No one was here to monitor me. No parents. No strict rules. No high school expectations. Just me with full autonomy.

I threw on a gray gym hoodie, laced up my running shoes, and checked my phone.

Zero notifications from my parents.

That was the best part about changing my number the week I landed in LA. I’d severed the line completely, cutting off the endless stream of family spies who reported my every move back to the Silver Enterprise. My father had wanted Harvard. He had demanded it. But when my high school grades didn’t hit the Ivy League threshold, the narrative changed. Now, I had to be the absolute top star player at a prestigious Tier-1 school to make up for it. I needed the athletic clout to secure that Harvard Business transfer later.

I stepped out into the morning air and started my run. I always did this to help clear the fog from my brain.

By the time I looped back to the apartment an hour later, the crowd had thinned out. Most of the randoms had slunk away, leaving only Frank and Derek, my defensemen, sitting at the kitchen table with black coffees.

"Look who’s alive," Frank grunted, not looking up from his phone. "You have about fifty missed calls, man."

"My phone didn't ring," I said, pulling off my hoodie.

"Not on your new number, genius. On the old one," Derek chimed in, tossing a banana toward me. "Sophie called my phone three times. She says you're ghosting her. When are you going to pick up her calls?"

I caught the banana and cracked a dry smile. "I don't have a definite answer for that."

"She’s going to get a gun if you keep this up," Frank warned.

"Let her get it. It's America, the land of the free," I muttered, grabbing my gear bag from the closet. "Come on. We have a friendly scrimmage in thirty minutes. Move your asses."

The ice rink was the only place in the world where my mind actually went quiet. The moment my skates hit the ice, the noise of the Silver Enterprise, my mother's voice, and the weight of the future completely vanished.

It was just me, the puck, and the cold.

Even though it was a Saturday morning friendly match, the stands above the plexiglass were already packed. Half the campus had showed up just to watch our line practice.

"Silver! Number Seven!" a group of sorority girls squealed from the front row, banging against the glass.

I ignored them, focusing entirely on the puck. Derek sent a hard pass from the blue line. I caught it seamlessly on my stick, pivoted around the varsity defense, and drove forward. My skates cut deep into the ice with spray flying as I faked left, drew the goalie out, and slammed the puck into the top right corner of the net.

The siren wailed.

The crowd erupted, cheering my name so loud it echoed off the rafters. We won the scrimmage by a brutal seven-point margin. I skated back toward the bench, sweating through my jersey, and casually blew a lazy kiss toward the front row. A few girls clutched their chests, giggling and pretending to faint.

I grinned, wiping the sweat from my forehead with the back of my glove. I loved this city.

I turned to head toward the locker room when my eyes casually scanned the crowd behind the thick plexiglass.

Then, I stopped dead in my tracks.

Standing near the exit, holding a heavy stack of textbooks against her chest, was a girl.

My breath caught in my throat.

Kira?

It couldn’t be. But it was.

She wasn't the chubby-cheeked kid who used to hide in the staff quarters anymore. She had grown. The awkward teenage layers had melted away, replaced by curves that made my chest tighten. She was wearing tight, dark jeans that accentuated a pair of round, soft hips and a waist that looked impossibly small. Her face was slimmer, highlighting the sharp angle of her jawline. The only things that hadn't changed were her thick, medicated glasses and the way her brown hair fell around her face.

She was staring right at me. But the moment our eyes met, she didn't smile. She just turned on her heel and walked away.

"Hey, Kent! Where are you going?" Frank yelled as I ripped my helmet off and threw it onto the bench.

"I'll be right back," I barked, aggressively unlacing my skates as I tumbled into the locker room. I shoved my feet into a pair of slides, completely ignoring the coach calling after me, and sprinted out the back doors of the arena.

"Kira!" I shouted as I ran down the paved campus walkway.

She stopped, her shoulders tensing before she slowly turned around.

"Kent," she called back. Her voice was softer than I remembered.

I stopped a few feet away from her, my chest heaving. I was still in my damp hockey under-gear. "What the hell are you doing here? At USC?"

"I go here," she said simply, adjusting her glasses back on her nose bridge. "I'm a student."

"Since when? Weren't you planning to go to Harvard? You talked about it for years."

Kira looked down at her shoes, a small, tight smile playing on her lips. "I didn't get the grades, Kent. Simple as that."

"Bullshit," I blurted out, stepping closer. "You used to do my assignments back in high school when you were a junior, and I passed with flying colors. You have a perfect GPA, Kira. How did you not get into Harvard?"

"People fail sometimes, Kent. Even me." She shifted on one leg. "Anyway, I have to go."

"Whoa, hold on." I reached out, my fingers hovering just an inch away from her arm before I pulled back. "We haven't talked in months. Let's grab some lunch. Catch up. I want to know how you've been."

Kira looked at her watch, then back up at me. "I can't. I have a criminology seminar in twenty minutes, a study group at three, and then I have to help my roommate move some furniture. I'm busy."

I blinked, totally thrown off. Kira had never been too busy for me. Back home, she would drop anything the second I asked her to hang out.

"Right. Okay," I muttered, scratching the back of my neck. "Then... later? I'll text you."

"Sure. See you around, Kent."

She turned and walked down the path, her long hair swaying against her back. I stood there, completely frozen as I watched her retreat. The old, boyish awkwardness she used to carry herself with was completely gone. Every movement she made now felt entirely womanly.

My chest felt tight.

"Yo, Seven!"

Derek’s voice broke the trance. He and Frank walked out of the arena doors, their gear bags slung over their shoulders.

"You missed the post-game briefing," Frank said, eyeing the direction Kira had just vanished into. "Who was that?"

"Nobody," I muttered, still staring at the empty path. "Just someone from home."

"Well, you better get your head back in the game," Derek said, giving my shoulder a rough shove. "Sophie is waiting by the main entrance. She’s pissed, man. She says she’s not leaving until she sees you."