MY HOCKEY SECRET

Five Minutes To Breathe

The walk to Residence Hall C felt longer than any hockey game Riley had ever played.

Her duffel bag dug into her shoulder, but the weight wasn't what made every step harder.

It was the room assignment folded inside her pocket.

Room 314.

Jackson Calloway.

She had spent months preparing to fool an entire university.

She had never prepared to fool one man twenty-four hours a day.

The corridor buzzed with laughter as players carried boxes into their rooms. Music blasted from somewhere down the hall. Someone yelled for tape. Another argued over who had stolen protein powder.

It sounded normal.

To Riley, it sounded like a countdown.

One mistake.

One careless moment.

One unlocked bathroom door.

Everything would be over.

She stopped outside Room 314.

The door was open.

Jackson was already inside.

He didn't look up when she entered.

He unpacked with military precision, lining his skates beneath his bed, hanging jerseys inside the wardrobe and stacking books on the desk.

Not a single movement was wasted.

Only after several seconds did he acknowledge her.

"You're late."

Riley glanced at the clock in the hallway.

She was three minutes early.

She said nothing.

Jackson finally looked at her.

"If you're going to survive on this team, stop standing around."

His voice wasn't loud.

It didn't need to be.

Everything about him carried authority.

Riley placed her bag beside the empty bed.

"This side's yours," Jackson said flatly. "That side's mine."

He pointed towards an invisible line running through the centre of the room.

"Don't cross it."

She nodded once.

"My equipment stays where I leave it."

Another nod.

"You don't borrow anything."

Still silent.

Jackson narrowed his eyes.

"You always this quiet?"

"My dad says I waste fewer words."

It wasn't entirely a lie.

Her father had always said that.

Jackson gave a short nod.

"Good."

Silence settled between them again.

Riley resisted the urge to scan the room.

One wardrobe.

Two beds.

One desk.

Then it hit her.

One bathroom.

Just one, for the two of them.

She'd assumed the dorms would have communal facilities, showers down the hall, a row of sinks, anonymity. Instead there was a single door tucked into the corner, and behind it, nowhere left to hide.

Jackson noticed where she was looking.

"We leave for morning conditioning at five."

He tossed a key onto the desk.

"If you're still in there by four-fifty, I'm coming in."

Her pulse stumbled.

"I don't take long."

"You'd better not."

Jackson grabbed his stick.

"Coach called an evening skate."

Without another word, he left.

The door clicked shut.

Riley waited.

Five seconds.

Ten.

Then she rushed to the bathroom and locked the door.

Her hands shook as she peeled away the compression binder.

A sharp ache spread across her ribs.

Dark bruises stained her skin from months of wearing it for too many hours every day.

She inhaled deeply for the first time since sunrise.

Just five minutes.

That's all she allowed herself.

Five minutes to breathe.

Five minutes to be Riley.

A loud knock shattered the silence.

"Rey."

Jackson.

Her blood froze.

"I forgot my tape."

She stared at the locked door.

He wasn't supposed to be back.

"One second."

"Hurry up."

Panic exploded inside her.

The binder still lay on the floor.

Her jersey hung over the towel rail.

She dragged the binder back over her aching chest, biting her lip to stop herself crying out.

Another knock.

Harder.

"What are you doing in there?"

Riley splashed water across her face before unlocking the door.

Jackson stood inches away.

His gaze swept over her damp hair.

"You shower?"

"No."

"What took so long?"

She forced herself to shrug.

"Stomach."

Jackson looked unconvinced.

Then his eyes dropped past her shoulder.

Straight into the bathroom.

Riley's heart stopped.

The loose end of her compression wrap peeked out beneath the sink cabinet.

Barely visible.

Jackson stepped forward.

"What is that?"

A voice echoed from the corridor.

"Captain!"

Both of them turned.

Marco leaned through the doorway with an easy grin.

"Coach wants everyone downstairs."

Jackson glanced back towards the bathroom.

Then at Riley.

For one terrifying second she thought he'd walk inside.

Instead he stepped away.

"You've got sixty seconds."

The moment he disappeared into the corridor, Riley slammed the bathroom door shut again.

She snatched the binder from beneath the cabinet.

Her entire body trembled.

That had been too close.

Far too close.

She stuffed it into the false bottom of her hockey bag before hurrying downstairs.

The team was already waiting outside the arena when she arrived.

Coach Reynolds scanned the group.

"Good. You're all here."

His whistle shrieked.

"Twenty laps."

Groans spread through the team.

Jackson remained expressionless.

The players took off.

Riley stayed close to the middle.

Three laps in, someone matched her pace.

Marco.

"You've got guts."

Riley frowned.

"For surviving Captain Iceberg."

Despite herself, she almost smiled.

"People exaggerate."

Marco laughed.

"No, they don't."

He lowered his voice.

"Last year's rookie lasted two weeks before asking to change rooms."

Riley looked ahead.

Jackson was leading the pack.

Even from behind, his posture radiated control.

"He hates me."

Marco shrugged.

"He hates everyone."

"Not like this."

"No." Marco's smile faded. "Not like this."

Before Riley could respond, Coach's whistle cut through the air again.

"Pair drills!"

Every player found a partner.

Marco turned to her.

"You and me?"

A shadow fell across them.

"No."

Jackson stood there, eyes fixed on Riley.

"He's with me."

Coach nodded without hesitation.

"Good."

Marco looked between them.

"Captain."

"I said I've got him."

There was no arguing with that tone.

Jackson skated towards centre ice.

Riley followed.

He tossed a puck onto the ice.

"Get it."

She lunged forward.

The instant her stick touched the puck, Jackson hit her.

Not illegally.

Not hard enough for a penalty.

Just hard enough to send her crashing shoulder-first into the boards.

Pain exploded through her body.

Around the rink, every conversation stopped.

Jackson didn't offer a hand.

He simply looked down at her.

"Get up."

Riley pushed herself to her feet.

Blood filled her mouth where she'd bitten her cheek.

Jackson fired another puck across the ice.

"Again."

She chased it.

Another hit.

Harder this time.

She slid across the ice.

Laughter echoed from somewhere in the stands.

Jackson's expression never changed.

"If that's all you've got," he said coldly, "you're not making it to Christmas."

Riley wiped the blood from her lip.

Then she smiled.

Just a little.

It was the first genuine smile she'd given him.

"You'll have to hit harder than that."

Jackson looked surprised, and it wasn't because she'd taken the hit. Plenty of rookies took hits and stayed quiet, stayed small, waited for the next one without a word. She hadn't done either. She'd looked him dead in the eye with blood on her teeth and smiled like the pain hadn't touched her at all. Nobody had ever done that to him before. Not once.