Claimed by the Three Hockey Brothers

If there was one thing I had learned during my three years at Northbridge University, it was that the Cross brothers didn't need an introduction. They had never needed one. Their name arrived before they did. Cross. It was stamped across hockey jerseys, splashed across campus banners, whispered in lecture halls, and printed beneath photographs that appeared on the university's social media pages almost every other week. Their father owned the Northbridge Hawks, and his three sons had somehow inherited every ounce of power, confidence, and arrogance that came with the name. Grayson Cross, the eldest, was the captain. Landon Cross, the middle brother, was the superstar. And Julian Cross, the youngest, was the rising rookie everyone was already predicting would become the next big thing. The three of them were practically untouchable. And apparently, according to the girls on campus, breathtaking. I personally couldn't understand the fascination. They were arrogant. Reckless. Entitled. The sort of men who walked into a room as though everyone else had been invited specifically to watch them breathe. They didn't ask for attention; they expected it. They didn't seem to notice when people moved out of their way because, to them, the world had probably been doing that since they were born. And nobody challenged them. Nobody dared. Not when their father owned the Hawks. Not when the Cross Foundation funded half the scholarships on campus. Not when the family's name was attached to buildings, programs, donations, and enough influence to make a person's future very uncomfortable if they ever found themselves on the wrong side of it. I'd spent three years making sure I stayed far away from them. It wasn't because I was afraid of them. At least, that was what I liked to tell myself. It was because I knew exactly what happened when you crossed the Cross family. My family knew better than anyone. And as a scholarship student whose education was partly funded through the very foundation I resented, I had even less power than most people to stand against them. That was the part I hated most. Every semester, when that scholarship payment appeared on my student account, I had to swallow the same bitter truth. I was surviving because of the family I hated. My father had wanted me to accept it. I'd wanted to turn it down the moment the offer arrived. I still remembered the way he'd looked at me across our tiny kitchen, looking exhausted. “Your brother already lost his future, Violet. Don't throw yours away too.” Those were his exact words. So I accepted. I'd taken the scholarship. I'd kept my head down. I studied. I'd worked harder than everyone expected me to. And I'd stayed out of the Cross brothers' way. Especially Landon. I had heard enough stories about him to know I wanted absolutely nothing to do with him. He was the one girls whispered about in bathrooms and giggled over in the cafeteria. The one whose name seemed to appear beside a different girl every weekend. The one who could smile at someone and have her forgetting her own name five seconds later. Landon Cross was every girl's fantasy. At least, that was what everyone seemed to believe. Not me. Never me. I was counting down the days until I could graduate from Northbridge and leave all of this behind. No more Hawks. No more Cross brothers. No more watching wealthy students act as though scholarship students like me should be grateful for the privilege of breathing the same air. I had one semester left. Then I would be gone. I couldn't wait. The professor was still speaking at the front of the lecture hall, but I had already packed my notebook into my bag. My fingers were itching to leave. Around me, students were shifting in their seats, whispering, checking their phones, already mentally somewhere else. I barely heard the last few words of the lecture. My mind was already outside. Freedom. A few more minutes. Then I could walk out of here and forget about Northbridge for the rest of the day. The professor finally closed his laptop. "That's all for today." The room erupted. Chairs scraped against the floor. Conversations exploded. Bags were grabbed. Someone behind me actually cheered. I smiled faintly. Freedom at last. I stood, slung my bag over my shoulder, and turned around— And walked straight into something hard. Or rather, someone. My shoulder collided with a solid chest. My pen flew from my fingers. My notebook slipped from beneath my arm. And before I could catch myself, my foot caught against the leg of a chair. I fell. Right onto the floor. The laughter started almost immediately. My face burned. For one awful second, I couldn't move. I had fallen so completely that my palms stung against the floor, my knees aching from the instant impact, my hair falling across my face. And when I finally looked up, humiliation filled me all at once. Because there they were. The Cross brothers. All three of them. Of course. Of all the people in this university. Of all the places. Of all the days. It had to be them. I had spent three years avoiding these men, and somehow, on the very day I was congratulating myself for making it this far without crossing paths with them, I'd managed to fall directly at their feet. Literally. It almost looked as though I had dropped to my knees to worship them. The gods of Northbridge. The untouchable Cross brothers. The men everyone admired, feared, envied, and practically worshipped. My stomach hurt. I would rather have fallen in front of the entire university than bow before any one of them. Especially not after what their family had done to mine. Grayson Cross stood at the front of the group, looking down at me with a face that suggested I'd personally offended him by existing in his path. Julian Cross was beside him, already smirking. And Landon— Landon was looking at the dark stain spreading across the front of his shirt. My stomach dropped like I was falling down a cliff all over again. I'd been holding my coffee when I fell. Somehow, I'd managed to baptize one of the most expensive-looking shirts I'd ever seen. "Seriously?" Grayson asked. The laughter around us grew louder. I pushed myself up, my palms burning against the floor. "I'm sorry." Landon looked at his shirt. Then at me. He looked amused by the looks on his face. "Don't worry," Grayson said dryly. "I'm sure she's not expecting a tip for cleaning your shoes."