Misconducts & Temptation (The Crestwood Elite Hockey Academy #10)

1. Elodie

Chapter 1

Elodie

I hurried through the bustling Crestwood Academy campus, weaving through clusters of students who seemed to have all the time in the world. My heart pounded in my chest, and I clutched my books tightly to my chest. I hadn't finished washing the towels in the athletics department, which meant I was late to my summer class.

Again.

"Your tights have a run in them, sweetie," a girl called out, her voice dripping with condescension.

I glanced over and saw Polly smirking at me, flanked by a couple of her friends.

Polly—one of Stephanie's friends.

Of course.

Because dealing with Stephanie and Annabelle at home wasn't enough; Crestwood had its own reminders of my stepfamily's disdain.

"Thanks for letting me know," I mumbled, not stopping to engage further. My cheeks burned with embarrassment. The last thing I needed was more attention drawn to myself.

I thought taking two summer classes would keep me away from Stephanie and Annabelle, but apparently not even my well-laid plans could escape Polly's petty comments.

My steps quickened as I navigated the campus. The scholarship that set me apart from my classmates also seemed to isolate me. Crestwood Academy was a world of privilege and excess, where designer clothes and luxury cars were the norm. And here I was, trying to make it through each day without drawing too much attention.

I finally reached the classroom door, slightly out of breath. I paused for a moment to collect myself before slipping inside as quietly as possible. Professor Andrews glanced up from his lecture but didn’t comment on my tardiness.

Sliding into an empty seat at the back, I pulled out my notebook and began scribbling down notes, hoping to catch up on what I'd missed. As Professor Andrews droned on about ancient civilizations, my mind wandered back to my job as a locker room attendant for the school’s sports teams.

Balancing academic work with my job was exhausting, but necessary. The extra income helped cover expenses that my scholarship didn't, and it kept me away from home a little longer each day—a small mercy.

Granted, I had to give my check to my stepmother, but still.

I tuned back into the lecture just in time to jot down an important date from history, resolving to focus on what really mattered: graduating early and getting out of this place once and for all.

The bus ride home was a blur of exhaustion and muted colors. By the time I stepped off and walked the last few blocks, the sun had dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the cracked pavement. Our house stood at the end of a cul-de-sac, its peeling paint and sagging porch a stark contrast to the well-kept homes around it.

I took a deep breath before pushing open the front door, bracing myself for what awaited inside.

"Elodie, is that you?" My stepmother's voice cut through the air before I'd even fully entered. She sat in the living room, surrounded by piles of laundry that I’d undoubtedly be expected to fold later.

"Yes, I'm home," I replied quietly, closing the door behind me.

"About time," she snapped. "You know there's dinner to be made and chores to finish. I don't know what you do all day, but it's certainly not enough."

"I was at class," I said, trying to keep my tone neutral. "Then I had to finish work."

"Excuses." She waved her hand dismissively. "You think just because you're at that fancy school on a scholarship that you can slack off here? Think again."

Before I could respond, Stephanie and Annabelle came down the stairs, their footsteps echoing through the hollow house.

"Oh look, it's Elodie the overachiever," Stephanie said with a sneer. "How was your day of pretending to be better than us?"

Annabelle snickered beside her. "And what are you wearing? That uniform looks like it's been through a war."

"It's all I have," I muttered, my fingers clutching my worn-out skirt.

"Well, it's embarrassing," Annabelle continued. "You're embarrassing."

They always found something to pick apart. Today it was my uniform; tomorrow it would be something else. I glanced around the living room—dusty shelves filled with mismatched trinkets, threadbare carpet worn thin in places from years of foot traffic. The house felt like a physical manifestation of my life: neglected and falling apart.

"I'll start dinner," I said softly, hoping to avoid further conflict.

"You better," my stepmother said. "And make sure it's good this time."

I moved towards the kitchen, their voices fading behind me as they continued their tirade about my countless shortcomings. The kitchen was no better than the rest of the house—faded linoleum floors and outdated appliances—but it was familiar territory.

I rolled up my sleeves and got to work, focusing on each task with meticulous care. This was how I coped—with routines and responsibilities that kept my mind occupied.

Because if I stopped for even a moment to think about it all, I might just fall apart too.

I know they can be a bit much , my father's voice echoed in my head. It was the same words he had said after he introduced me to them, when they had left. But I need you to show them kindness. They lost their father overseas.

I sucked in a breath, trying to keep my emotions in check. What about me? I lost my dad too, just last year. A car accident caused by his heart attack had taken him away. It’s not like that gave me an excuse to act like a spoiled bitch.

Guilt crept in at the harshness of my thoughts. Shaking my head, I tried to refocus. My fingers worked mechanically, chopping vegetables and stirring pots. The repetitive motions provided a small comfort, a sense of control over at least one aspect of my chaotic life.

Instead of dwelling on the unfairness of it all, I let my mind wander to the book I was writing—a romance set in a small town where love bloomed against all odds. My main character, Lily, was everything I wasn’t: bold, confident, unafraid to chase her dreams.

But I wanted to learn from her.

I wanted to live through her.

Lily would never let herself be treated the way I was. She’d stand up for herself and fight for what she deserved.

"Elodie!" Annabelle's voice snapped me back to reality. "Don't burn the chicken again."

"I won't," I replied evenly, keeping my frustration buried deep.

"Better not," Stephanie added as she lounged against the doorway, her phone in hand. "We have guests coming over tonight."

Guests? No one had mentioned anything about guests.

I felt a knot form in my stomach. More people meant more work and more scrutiny. I finished preparing dinner and set the table as quickly as possible, hoping to avoid any further confrontations.

As I moved around the kitchen, arranging plates and silverware, I couldn't help but think about how different things could be. In my story, Lily would meet someone who saw her worth, who valued her for who she was rather than what she could do for them.

Maybe one day, I would find that too.

But for now, there was dinner to serve and guests to entertain—more roles to play in this never-ending charade of family harmony.

With everything finally done, I called out softly, "Dinner's ready."

My stepmother appeared first, inspecting the spread with a critical eye before nodding approvingly. "About time," she said curtly.

Stephanie and Annabelle followed suit, taking their seats without so much as a thank you.

And then the doorbell rang.

Great—our guests had arrived.

I smoothed down my apron and went to answer it, wondering what fresh hell awaited behind that door.

I opened the door to find a well-dressed man and woman standing on the porch. The man held a clipboard, and the woman clutched a designer handbag.

"Hello, you must be Elodie," the man said with a practiced smile. "I'm Mr. Carter, and this is my wife, Karen. We're from Premier Realty."

A cold wave washed over me as I processed his words. Premier Realty? I glanced back at my stepmother, who was already approaching with a saccharine smile plastered on her face.

"Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Carter," she greeted them warmly. "Please come in."

They stepped inside, their eyes sweeping over the house with a mix of professional detachment and mild curiosity.

“We were just getting ready for our dinner,” my stepmother said smoothly. "But I'd be happy to give you a tour of the property."

A tour? Property? My chest tightened as the realization hit me.

"Wait," I blurted out before I could stop myself. "You're selling the house?"

The room went silent. My stepmother's eyes widened in surprise and then narrowed with anger.

"Elodie," she said through gritted teeth, her voice low and dangerous. "This is not the time."

"No," I insisted, my voice shaking but resolute. "You can't sell it. This house—it's all I have left of Dad."

My stepmother's face turned an alarming shade of red. The Carters exchanged awkward glances, clearly uncomfortable with the unfolding drama.

"I think we should come back another time," Mr. Carter suggested, edging towards the door.

"Nonsense," my stepmother snapped, her fury now directed solely at me. "Elodie, you are being incredibly rude."

"I don't care!" I cried out, my emotions finally spilling over. "You can't just?—"

The slap came so fast I didn't even see it coming. My cheek stung sharply where her hand had connected, and I stumbled back in shock.

"Get out to the backyard," she hissed, her voice trembling with rage. "And don't come back inside until you've picked every last weed out there."

I stood there for a moment, frozen by humiliation and fury.

"Now!" she barked.

I turned on my heel and walked out to the backyard, feeling every pair of eyes boring into my back as I went. The evening air was cool against my burning cheek, but it did little to soothe the turmoil inside me.

Dropping to my knees in the garden bed, I began pulling weeds with shaky hands as tears blurred my vision. It wouldn't get dark until nine or ten at night.

I kept at it until my fingers were numb and the sky had turned a deep shade of indigo.

I was still yanking weeds from the garden bed when I heard the back door creak open. I didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

“Mom is fuming, you know,” Stephanie said, her voice laced with smug satisfaction. “You really messed up this time, Elodie.”

Annabelle snickered. “Yeah, you’re lucky she didn’t kick you out on the spot.”

Ha. As if she would. Then who would she boss around?

I kept my focus on the task at hand, ignoring their taunts. I had no energy left for their petty games.

“You’re such a loser,” Stephanie continued, stepping closer. “Always ruining everything.”

Annabelle joined in, adding, “Maybe you should just leave. No one wants you here, anyway.”

Their words stung, but I had grown used to the sting. I pulled another stubborn weed from the ground, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a reaction.

Without warning, their taunting turned into shrieking. My head snapped up in alarm.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, rising to my feet.

“There! There!” Annabelle screamed, pointing towards a patch of grass near the fence. “A snake! Get rid of it!”

Stephanie’s face had gone pale as she backed away, nearly tripping over her own feet. “Do something, Elodie!”

I moved cautiously towards the snake, its eyes watching me warily. It was a harmless garter snake, nothing to be afraid of.

“It’s not dangerous,” I said calmly as I crouched down. “It’s just a garter snake.”

“Get rid of it!” Stephanie shrieked again, her voice hitting a high pitch. “Kill it if you have to!”

Ignoring her frantic demands, I reached out slowly and carefully picked up the snake. It wriggled slightly but didn’t resist much as I cradled it in my hands.

Annabelle and Stephanie continued to scream and yell for me to dispose of it.

“Stop it!” Annabelle cried out. “Just throw it away!”

Instead of listening to them, I carried the snake gently to the edge of the yard where the woods began. There was a quiet patch under some bushes where it could safely slither away.

“It’s okay,” I whispered to the creature as I released it into the undergrowth. “You’re safe now.”

The snake disappeared into the brush without hesitation.

Turning back towards my stepsisters, who were still standing at a distance with looks of horror on their faces, I felt a small sense of triumph.

“Are you insane?” Stephanie spat out once she found her voice again. “That thing could have bitten you!”

I shrugged and wiped my hands on my skirt. “It didn’t want to hurt anyone.”

Annabelle shook her head in disbelief. “You’re so weird, Elodie.”

"Next time," I murmured. "I'll slip the snake into your bed while you're sleeping."

"What?" Stephanie shrieked.

I smiled sweetly. "Nothing."

They stomped inside. The slam of the door caused my lips to turn up.

Despite my stepfamily’s treatment, I held onto my ambition to succeed at Crestwood. The academy was my lifeline, the one thing that might offer an escape from this existence. Each day there was a reminder of what lay beyond these suffocating walls—a world of possibilities where I could forge my own path.

My mother always wanted that for me. I remember her voice, soft and full of dreams as she talked about the future. She died when I was too young to fully grasp the weight of her absence, but my father kept her memory alive through stories and mementos, including a dress she had worn to their engagement party. I kept it just in case I would ever attend an event that required such attire. Doubtful, considering, but still. Her old photographs, tucked away in a worn album under my bed, were a source of comfort on the darkest days.

But then Dad remarried, and those memories grew faint under the weight of new burdens.

I missed her so much it hurt sometimes. And Dad—I missed him too.

My chest squeezed with the familiar ache of longing as I glanced over to where I had released the snake. It had slithered away quickly, finding freedom in the underbrush. I envied it, wishing someone would come along and set me free from this life too.

The snake was gone now, disappearing into a world that didn’t chain it down with expectations or cruelty.

I shook off the thought and returned to pulling weeds, my fingers moving automatically through the dirt. The scholarship at Crestwood was more than just an opportunity; it was a promise—a chance to break free from the chains that bound me here. If I could just make it through another year, I might finally have a shot at living on my own terms.

I pulled another weed from the ground, tossing it aside with more force than necessary. One day , I promised myself, one day I'd find my own way out .

And when I did, I'd never look back.