His Enemy, Her Desire

Aria’s suitcase hit the polished floor of Blackridge Hockey Academy’s main lobby with a sound that felt far too loud for the silence that followed. She had rehearsed this moment for weeks. The surprise. The smile. The way Ethan would drop whatever he was doing, cross the space in three long strides, and pull her against him the way he used to before the scholarship and the scouts and the endless training camps. She had even worn the soft gray sweater he once said made her look “like home.” Home, it turned out, did not notice her arrival. Ethan stood near the trophy wall with two of his teammates, laughing at something on a phone. His hair was shorter than the last time she’d seen him over video call. His shoulders looked broader. He looked… fine. Perfectly fine without her. Aria cleared her throat. One of the teammates glanced over first—tall, freckled, the kind of face that belonged on a cereal box. His eyes flicked from her face to the suitcase to Ethan, and something like secondhand embarrassment crossed his features. “Uh, Eth. Dude.” Ethan turned. For half a second his expression was blank. Then recognition landed, followed by a smile that was a beat too slow. “Aria?” He crossed the lobby, pulled her into a hug that was warm enough to be convincing if she hadn’t been counting the weeks since he’d last touched her like he meant it. “Holy s**t, you actually came.” “Surprise,” she said against his shoulder, trying to match his lightness. “I finished the transfer paperwork early. Thought I’d—” “That’s amazing.” He pulled back, already glancing toward his teammates. “Guys, this is Aria. My girlfriend. From back home.” The cereal-box one gave a friendly nod. The other—dark-haired, sharp-eyed—barely looked up from his phone. Ethan squeezed her arm. “I wish you’d told me. I have weight training in twenty and then film session. Coach will murder me if I’m late again.” “I can wait,” she said quickly. “Or help you unpack later, or—” “I’ll text you the code to my dorm. It’s a double this year but my roommate’s barely around. You’ll be fine.” He kissed her temple, already stepping backward. “We’ll do dinner. Promise. Just… tonight’s stacked.” And then he was gone, absorbed back into the current of athletes moving toward the athletic wing, leaving her standing beside a suitcase that suddenly felt heavier. The lobby smelled like floor wax and expensive cologne and the faint metallic tang of ice somewhere deeper in the building. Students flowed around her in Blackridge hoodies and team jackets. No one looked twice at the girl who had just followed her boyfriend across state lines only to be handed a dorm code like a delivery package. She dragged the suitcase toward the elevators. That was when she felt it—the weight of a stare that didn’t belong to curiosity. Across the lobby, near the glass wall that overlooked the indoor rink, a man leaned against the railing. Tall. Broad in the way hockey players were broad—built for impact. Dark hair still damp from a recent shower. A Blackridge captain’s C stitched in white on the left side of his black training jacket. Kane Rivera. She knew the name the way everyone who followed junior hockey knew it. Ethan’s rival since their under-18 days. The one the sports blogs called “the problem” and “the future” in the same sentence. The one Ethan had once, after three beers, admitted he hated more than he hated losing. Kane’s eyes moved over her with slow, open assessment—suitcase, sweater, the way she was still standing there like someone had just unplugged her. Then one corner of his mouth curved, not quite a smile. He pushed off the railing and walked toward her. Aria’s fingers tightened on the suitcase handle. He stopped close enough that she had to tilt her chin up. Up close he was worse—sharp jaw, a thin scar cutting through his left eyebrow, eyes that looked like they’d already decided something about her. “You’re Ethan’s girl,” he said. Not a question. “I’m Aria.” “Same thing around here.” His voice was low, rough around the edges, the kind that sounded like it had been used for yelling over ice and then lowered for something more private. “Didn’t know he was importing company this season.” “I transferred.” “Ambitious.” He glanced at the suitcase. “Or desperate.” The word landed with just enough sting to make her spine straighten. “Excuse me?” Kane’s mouth tilted further. “Relax. I’m not judging. Yet.” His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth, then returned to her eyes. “You look like someone who expected a different welcome.” Heat crawled up her neck. “You don’t know me.” “I know the type.” He stepped sideways, giving her a clear path to the elevators without fully moving out of her space. “Welcome to Blackridge, Aria. Try not to get broken on the first day.” He walked away before she could answer, heading toward the rink doors with the easy stride of someone who owned the floors he walked on. Aria stood there longer than she should have, pulse tapping hard against her throat. The elevator finally arrived. She dragged her suitcase inside and leaned against the mirrored wall, staring at her own reflection—cheeks too pink, eyes too wide. Her phone buzzed. Ethan: Code is 4821. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll try to swing by after film. She typed back a simple okay and stared at the screen until the elevator doors opened on the third floor. Ethan’s dorm smelled like laundry detergent and the faint ghost of his cologne. The bed on the left was neatly made. The one on the right looked slept in and abandoned. She chose the neat one, sat on the edge, and tried not to notice how little of him was actually in the room—no photos of them, no hoodie she’d given him, nothing that said a girlfriend had ever been expected. She unpacked anyway. By the time the sky outside the window had gone fully dark, Ethan still hadn’t appeared. Aria ordered delivery, ate cold fries on his bed, and told herself this was normal. Pre-season. Pressure. He would settle. She was scrolling through the academy’s student portal when a new message appeared from an unknown number. Unknown: You looked lost in the lobby. Her stomach dipped. Aria: Who is this? Unknown: The guy who told you not to get broken. Kane. She should have blocked it. Instead she stared at the three dots that appeared and disappeared. Unknown: Ethan still missing in action? Aria’s thumbs hovered. Aria: He’s busy. Unknown: He’s always busy. That’s the point. Another pause. Unknown: Door’s unlocked on the east side of the rink if you get tired of waiting in an empty room. Ice is quieter at night. She didn’t answer. She also didn’t sleep for a long time. Sometime past midnight she heard the dorm door open. Ethan moved through the dark like a ghost, stripped down to boxers, and slid into the other bed without waking her—or without checking if she was awake. Aria kept her eyes closed and listened to his breathing even out. In the morning the other bed was empty again. A folded note sat on the desk. Early lift. See you at lunch? – E She crumpled it, then smoothed it out, then left it there. When she stepped into the hallway, Kane Rivera was leaning against the opposite wall as if he’d been waiting. He held out a paper cup of coffee. “Peace offering,” he said. “For calling you desperate.” Aria stared at the cup, then at him. “How did you know which room?” Kane’s smile was slow and sharp. “I make it my business to know where the interesting things are.” He pressed the coffee into her hand. His fingers brushed hers, warm and deliberate. “Drink up, transfer. Day one is about to get worse.” He walked off toward the stairwell. Aria looked down at the cup. On the side, written in black marker, were three words: You’re already late.