Claimed By The Hockey Captain

The bass in the lounge was a physical weight. It rattled my teeth. Cheap beer, sweat, five hundred students all pretending they weren't flunking out. Marcus was the center of it. Obviously. Tie loose, sleeves rolled up, those thick, hockey-trained forearms visible. He looked like he owned the building. He was the golden boy. The guy whose number was scribbled on half the notebooks in the lecture hall. Tonight, he was mine. For three hours, he hadn't left my side. Hand on my back. Thumb tracing slow, absentminded circles against my skin. He didn't look at anyone else. Not once. He just kept looking at me with this soft, heavy gaze that made my lungs seize up. *Ten years.* I stared at the ice cubes in his glass. *Ten years of holding his gym bag. Fixing his grades. Listening to him whine about his dates. Being the steady one. Maybe tonight it finally changes.* He leaned down. Lips against the shell of my ear. "I’ve been thinking about us all day, Lena. You’re always the one here for me. No matter how badly things unravel." My legs felt like water. I turned to look at him. He didn't pull away. He looked desperate. Manic, even. Eyes searching mine with a terrifying, sharp intensity. "Let’s get out of here," he said. My pulse jumped. He grabbed my wrist. Firm grip. He dragged me through the crowd. I didn't care where we were going. I was dizzy. The heat, the cologne, the crushing relief that the wait was over—it was intoxicating. He shoved me into a dark alcove behind the VIP bar. The music died into a muffled, dull thud. He spun me around. Pinned me against the wall. He was breathing hard. Hands on my shoulders, fingers digging in. He didn't kiss me. He just held me there, eyes tracking my face, my lips. Jaw tight. Knuckles white. "Lena," he whispered. Voice cracking. "Marcus?" I breathed. I reached up. Hand hovering over his chest. I was ready to pull him down the last inch. He took a ragged breath. Stepped in so close our chests brushed. "I can't do this without you," he said. Fingers biting into my skin. "Chloe won't take my calls. Blocked. You're the only one who can fix this for me." The world tilted. My hand dropped. "Fix what?" My voice sounded like it was coming from a different room. "She listens to you," he rushed out. Eyes wide, pleading. Totally blind to the way I was falling apart. "Just tell her I’m a wreck. Tell her I haven't slept. Tell her I love her, Lena. Please." I stared at him. The party noise felt like it was miles away. "You want me to... matchmake?" I choked out. He didn't notice the tremor in my voice. He actually sighed, like I was being difficult. "You’re my best friend. I don't know who else to turn to." He reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and tapped the screen open to a photo of her, Chloe, laughing. He shoved the screen under my nose. "She trusts you. If you go to her dorm tonight and tell her I’m crying for her, she’ll melt. You’re so good at this, Lena. You know exactly what to say to make people feel okay." "I’m good at this?" I repeated. The air left my lungs. "Yeah. Like when I hooked up with Sarah, or the fight with the coach last year. You always smooth it over. I need you to smooth this over, too. Tonight. Before the morning practice." He wasn't asking for my help. He was scheduling me. Like a cleaning service. "I have to go," I whispered. My stomach was doing somersaults. "Lena, seriously," he said, and he actually gripped my chin, tilting my head back so I had to look at him. His expression was soft, patronizingly sweet. "I know you get lonely. Once this is fixed, I’ll set you up with one of the rookies. Someone simple. Someone who isn't a headache. You deserve that." I didn't slap him. I didn't scream. I just felt a cold, sharp snap inside my chest. I ripped myself away from his hand. "I’m not your fixer, Marcus." "Don't be dramatic," he muttered, already turning back to his phone, his thumbs flying across the screen as he started another message to her. "Just go over there. I’ll text you her room number. Don't let me down, Lena." I didn't answer. I didn't wait. I shoved past the velvet curtain. The strobes were blinding. I didn't care where I was going. I just needed to be away from him before I fell to pieces in the middle of the room. I grabbed the first handle I found. Slammed my weight into the door. The air inside was a shock…heavy, humid, and thick. I stumbled into the dark, gasping, shaking so hard my heels clicked against the tile. "Oh my god."