Desired By The Hockey Captain Alpha

Emily Summer break is officially over. Which is tragic, because it’s not even like I enjoyed it. Some people travel. Some people party. Some people discover themselves. I spend most of mine buried in textbooks, highlighters, and caffeine. As a nursing student on scholarship, I do not have the luxury of “just chilling.” I have to stay on top of my game. One bad semester and boom, scholarship gone, dreams crushed, ramen upgraded to plain water. So yes. Studying is my summer aesthetic. I’m in my room, crouched on the floor, trying to force the last of my clothes into my box, when my phone buzzes inside my pocket. I freeze. Please be Jack. I grab it immediately and check the screen. It’s not him. It’s f*****g spam. Again. Some stupid message about loans and prizes and things I never signed up for. I roll my eyes and shove the phone back into my pocket. Great. I’ve been trying to get a hold of my boyfriend Jack for three days now, ever since he told me he was back on campus. No calls. No proper texts. Nothing. He’s probably busy with hockey practice or meetings or whatever athletes do all day. Still, it’s weird. He usually at least replies. I sigh and go back to wrestling with my box. Just as I’m about to zip it shut, my phone buzzes again. “What now?” I mutter. I pull it out, already annoyed, then pause when I see the sender. The school. My heart stutters. Oh no. Not this. It’s about my work-study application.My third one actually. After getting rejected twice. So yeah, I’m not exactly hopeful. I take a deep breath and open the email. The first word I see is congratulations. I blink. Then I read it again. Then I start reading everything properly. Approved, ten hours, flexible schedule, work-study. My eyes widen. Oh my f*****g goodness! I stare at the screen. Then grin and then laugh quietly like a crazy person. I did it! I f*****g did it! I got approved. Me…Emily Carter. Professional overthinker and part-time broke girl. I rush out of my room, dragging my box behind me. “Grandpa!” I shout. “You won’t believe this!” He’s in the kitchen by the counter, holding his favorite chipped blue mug and brewing his tea. He’s wearing his old cardigan and reading glasses, and his thinning gray hair is slightly messy like he forgot to comb it again. I drop the box and run straight to him. Before he can even turn around properly, I wrap my arms around him. He laughs in surprise. “Emily, sweetheart, what is it? Did you win the lottery?” I bury my face into his shoulder, breathing in his familiar scent. Warm soap, mint tea, and something that just feels like home. “I got approved,” I say into his cardigan. “My work-study. I got approved.” He pauses. Then his arms come around me. “Oh,” he says softly. “Is that so?” I pull back, grinning. “Yes. Ten hours a week. Flexible schedule.” His eyes light up. “You see? I told you. I told you they’d see how hardworking you are.” I laugh. “You always say that.” “Because it’s true,” he replies. He pats my head gently, the same way he’s done since I was little. “We’re getting closer,” I murmur quietly. He knows what I mean. We both do…the surgery, money, the fear I try not to think about too much. “You don’t have to carry everything alone,” he says softly. “I know,” I reply. “But I want to help. Let me.” He sighs with a small smile. “My brave girl.” I hug him tighter. “We’re going to be fine,” I say. “You’ll get your surgery. You’ll still annoy me. You’ll still steal my snacks.” He chuckles. “I plan to.” “Good,” I grin. “Because I’m not sharing my ramen.” He laughs and shakes his head. That’s when I finally notice what he’s doing. He’s packing something into a lunch bag I squint…wait. Is that…? “Grandpa,” I sigh,“I told you not to bother packing lunch.” He doesn’t even look up. “No, no. If I don’t, you’ll skip dinner and pretend you’re ‘too busy.’” I open my mouth to argue. Then close it. Because he’s right. My heart swells as I watch him move around the kitchen, slow but careful, making sure everything is perfect. He gets tired easily now. He’s sick. Yet he’s still worried about whether I’ll eat. My eyes sting but I blink it away. Not today. “Here,” he says, handing me the lunch bag. “All done.” I take it gently. “Thank you, Grandpa.” Then I point at him. “And don’t forget your meds, okay?” He smiles. “Of course. If anything happens, I’ll call Miss Gordon.” I nod, forcing a smile. Miss Gordon is our next-door neighbor. A mature, kind woman who lives with her grumpy dog and somehow knows everything happening on this street. I already begged her to keep an eye on Grandpa while I’m away. She agreed. Twice. And threatened me if I stopped visiting. “I promise,” I say softly, holding the lunch bag closer. “I’ll get a job soon and start earning. We’re going to get you that surgery.” “I know,” he replies. Then he pulls me into another hug. I melt into it. His arms are thin, but they’re still strong. Still safe. Still home. “Don’t worry too much,” he murmurs. “I’ll be fine.” I nod against his shoulder. After a moment, I pull back, grab my box, and sling the lunch box over my shoulder. “Okay,” I say. “I’ll get going.” “Be careful,” he says. “Always.” I hug him one last time, wave dramatically like I’m going off to war, and head for the door. …… After spending what feels like half my lifetime on the road, my cab finally pulls up in front of Silverwood University, Chicago. I almost cry in relief. Not emotional tears. Tired tears. My body is stiff. My back hurts. And my soul has f*****g left my body at least three times during this journey. I step out of the cab and inhale deeply. Cold air hits my face immediately. Yep. Definitely back at school. It’s already dark, and the campus is still buzzing. Students are walking around in groups, laughing, dragging suitcases, arguing on the phone, or speed-walking like they’re late for something important. Streetlights glow softly along the paths. The wind is rude and I am exhausted. “Finally,” I mutter. I grab my box from the trunk and start dragging it behind me. This thing is f*****g heavy. Silverwood is huge. One of the most elite universities in the country. Fancy buildings. Perfect lawns. Expensive-looking students. And me? No car, no ride, no stupid boyfriend in sight. Cabs aren’t allowed inside campus without special IDs, and of course, my driver forgot his. So now I have to walk all the way to my dorm like a lost tourist carrying her entire life in a damn box. Fantastic. I struggle forward, muttering curses under my breath. “Stupid box. Stupid rules. Stupid campus. Stupid…” And where is Jack? Where is my so-called boyfriend who is supposed to be helping me? Doing boyfriend duties. Like lifting heavy things. Or at least answering his stupid phone. But no….his phone is switched off. Again. By the time I finally reach my dorm, I’m sweating, out of breath, and questioning all my life choices. When I catch you Jack. I drag my box and bag inside, drop it dramatically on the floor, and lean against it for support. “I survived,” I whisper. My roommate Nicole isn’t around yet, which is probably a blessing because I look like I just fought a war and lost. I don’t even bother unpacking. I grab my hoodie, pull it over my head, and head straight back out. Nope. I’m done waiting. I need to see Jack right now. It’s dark, which is perfect. Dark means stealth mode. Female students aren’t allowed in the male dorms without permission, but… it’s not like this is my first time sneaking in. I know the rules. Avoid security, avoid noise and most importantly…avoid dorm manager Ken. Ken is evil. The man is everywhere and lives to ruin fun. I pull my hoodie low over my face and walk quickly toward the male dorm, trying my best to look invisible like a shadow. A tired, annoyed shadow. The building is huge. Tall. Bright. Way too obvious. I slip inside and immediately spot a group of guys laughing near the entrance. One of them glances at me, and I look away instantly. Nope. Not today. I keep my eyes on the floor and walk faster, my heart starting to pound as I head toward the elevator. I’m almost there now. I press the button, and the doors begin to open. “Stop right there.” I freeze. Oh f**k. I know that voice. Manager Ken. I close my eyes for half a second. Maybe if I pretend I’m invisible… “Now turn around,” he says. Slowly, like I’m walking toward my execution, I turn. He’s standing there with his arms crossed, wearing that suspicious look. “Caught you,” he says smugly. My brain panics. Think, Emily. Think. I glance to the side and spot the stairs. Beautiful. Magnificent. Freedom. Without thinking, I sprint. “Hey!” Ken shouts. “Get back here!” I run like my life depends on it. Because honestly, it does.