27
Campbell
The party was already in full swing—music pounding so loud it rattled the floors, the air thick with smoke, alcohol, and too many bodies pressed together. People were everywhere, dancing, drinking, shouting over the music like that would somehow make their conversations more interesting.
I leaned against the kitchen counter, the condensation from my beer bottle slick between my fingers. My teammates were in the living room, partying despite a loss, a couple of them already halfway to drunk, girls draped over their shoulders like trophies.
But I wasn’t. Because my attention was on her. Across the room, she stood, oblivious to my gaze fixed on her like a heat-seeking missile. She looked different tonight—hair loose, lips glossy, an oversized sweater slipping off one shoulder in a way that felt so effortless it made my teeth clench. And she was smiling. Not the reserved smile she usually gave me, but something lighter. Freer. She appeared carefree.
Her presence lingered, causing me unmanageable turmoil. And the guy standing next to her? The one leaning in too close, his hand brushing her arm like he had every right to touch her? Some fucking freshman.
I should’ve looked away. Should’ve finished my beer, found someone else to focus on, and ignored the way something dark and possessive curled in my chest. However, she then let out a soft, breathy laugh that I hadn’t heard in a while. I tightened my grip on the bottle, my jaw locking so hard I swore I could hear my teeth grinding. She never laughed like that around me anymore. I was the one who pushed her away. I was the one who decided we shouldn’t be anything. I had no right to care.
And yet, I did. I cared too much. Someone bumped into me, sloshing their drink onto the counter, but I barely registered it. I focused on the scene unfolding before me—Hazel tilting her head at the guy, her expression amused, and her open body language churning my stomach.
And then he touched her.
No mere accident. It was deliberate. He reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his fingertips trailing over her skin. Red. That was all I saw. My jaw ached from how hard I was clenching it. I forced myself to take a slow sip of beer, trying to swallow down the rage that burned hot in my throat.
She wasn’t mine. But the way my chest tightened, the way my grip on my beer turned white-knuckled, told me my body hadn’t gotten the fucking memo. I had no right to care. I had no right to watch her like this, to track every movement of that asshole’s hand like it was some kind of fucking offense against me. But that didn’t stop the ugly, possessive feeling rising in my chest, curling hot and dark inside me like a sickness. And when he tucked her hair behind her ear? Red. That was all I saw.
“Campbell?”
My gaze flicked to the guy first. Wide-eyed, a little nervous, his confidence faltering. Good. I let a smirk pull at my lips, forcing my voice into something smooth.
“You should’ve told me you were bringing a date, Ellis.”
The sharp edge in my tone wasn’t intentional. Or maybe it was. Hazel frowned.
“I didn’t think I needed your permission.”
My smirk tightened.
“You don’t.” I turned to the guy, my tone shifting—lighter, casual, but laced with something dark beneath it. “You a freshman?”
The kid nodded, shifting his weight like he wasn’t sure if he was about to get his ass handed to him.
“Figures.” I exhaled, dragging my gaze back to Hazel. “Guess you’ve got a thing for rookies now, huh?”
Her eyes narrowed.
“And I guess you’ve got a thing for acting like a jackass.”
My lips twitched, but I said nothing. Didn’t trust myself to. Hazel rolled her eyes and turned back to the guy, ignoring me.
“Ignore him.”
The kid laughed.
“He’s your friend?”
Before she could answer, I did it for her.
“Something like that.”
Hazel sighed like I already exhausted her.
“I need a drink.”
She brushed past me, her shoulder grazing mine. But that single, fleeting touch? It wrecked me. I watched her go. Watched the guy follow her, but I stopped him before he could go any further.
“Hey, man.” I said, keeping my voice even, controlled.
He looked up, startled.
“Uh. Hey?”
I let my smirk linger, my expression calm.
“Stay away from her.”
His brows furrowed.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“She’s single.”
My jaw flexed.
“And you’re a fucking idiot.”
The kid scoffed, like he thought this was funny.
“What’s your problem, man? You mad ‘cause you lost her?”
I moved before I could stop myself. I fisted his hoodie, shoving him back against a table. Drinks spilled, people gasped, but I didn’t give a damn.
“She’s not some girl you can flirt with at a party,” I said, my voice low, dangerous. “She’s not like that.”
The kid smirked—cocky, but there was fear in his eyes.
“Then what is she? Your girl?” I hesitated. And then he fucked up. “She’s got a nice ass for a bookworm.”
My fist connected with his jaw before I could even process what I was doing. The crack of impact barely registered over the rush of blood in my ears. The kid stumbled onto the table, knocking over bottles, a few people gasping, but I didn’t care. Then I heard her voice.
“Campbell!”
I turned. Hazel was there, staring at me, shocked, furious, and—worst of all—hurt. I shook off whoever was holding me back, my knuckles throbbing. Hazel stormed toward me, arms crossed, eyes blazing.
“What the hell was that?”
“He was a dick.” I said, wiping the blood off my knuckles.
Hazel’s breath came out in a sharp exhale, her hands tightening into fists at her sides.
“So, you just… what? Solved it with violence?” she spat. “Like that’s going to change anything?”
“He fucking touched you.”
“And?!” She threw her arms up. “Since when do you get to decide who does and doesn’t get to be near me?” She scoffed. “Who the hell do you think you are, Campbell?” My throat tightened. Her voice dropped lower, shaking now, not with fear but with something worse—disappointment. “You don’t get to do this anymore. You don’t get to act like you care and then walk away.”
That one hurt. More than the bruises on my knuckles. More than losing a game. Because she was right. And I had no fucking idea how to fix it.
**
I could feel the eyes on me. I could hear the crowd, but it all felt distant, muffled. The game promised excitement, but my thoughts remained elsewhere. Hazel. Where was she? Why wasn’t she in the stands, cheering me on like she always did?
I couldn’t get it out of my head. Every time I needed to focus on the puck or make a perfect pass, my mind went blank. It kept circling back to her. Was she mad at me? Did I push her away for good? Did I ruin everything?
I missed an easy shot—hit the post instead of burying it in the back of the net. My stick snapped against the boards in frustration, the sound sharp and angry. I was a fucking wreck. My coach’s voice cut through the fog in my mind.
“What the hell was that, Atwood?” he barked. “You think this is a joke? You’re playing like a rookie!”
I just nodded, but I knew he could tell. The entire team could. It was obvious something was amiss. One guy muttered as they skated by, “Bet it’s about a girl.”
I wanted to snap at him, tell him to mind his own business. But I didn’t. I didn’t even respond. I didn’t have the energy for it. Hazel consumed my mind slipping away from me and the possibility of never regaining her.
The game dragged on with me distracted, enduring harder hits than usual, and each time I looked up, I hoped to see her in the stands, but she was nowhere to be found. I wanted to feel the rush of victory, but all I could feel was the slow burn of disappointment.
The locker room smelled like sweat and ice, the sharp scent of victory mingling with the sting of failure. We won, but it didn’t feel like it. I felt like I’d lost everything, and it was my fault. I pulled my jersey over my head, feeling the weight of the fabric like it was too much to carry. Still sweaty, still angry, I made my way out of the locker room. The noise of the crowd outside was deafening, but it was nothing compared to the roar of my own thoughts.
Then I saw her. Hazel was standing just outside, her back to me. She was looking at her phone, oblivious to my presence. The air in my lungs seemed to freeze as my heart skipped a beat. She wasn’t watching me. I walked past her, my boots pounding against the concrete, but something in me snapped.
“You weren’t there.”
The words came out hoarse, rough, more accusation than statement. Hazel looked up, startled, like she hadn’t expected me to notice. Like she hadn’t expected me to care.
“What?”
“The game,” I said, jaw tightening. “You always watch. Every time. But tonight?” I let out a hollow laugh, shaking my head. “Guess you had better things to do.”
I could see the way her brows furrowed; the way she searched my face for the real reason I was saying this. And I fucking hated that she could always tell when I was lying.
“Campbell -” she started, softer now.
I didn’t let her finish.
“Forget it,” I muttered, turning away. “Doesn’t matter.”
But it did. It always did.
“I don’t think I can keep watching you, Campbell,” she said, her voice small, but firm.
I felt my chest tighten, as if something sucked all the air from the space between us.
“What?”
She dismissed me, leaving me breathless.
“You’re a mess,” she added. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, but it’s not fair to me.”
I wanted to reach for her, to grab her, to fix this, but my legs felt like stone.
“Hazel.” I whispered, but she was already walking away.
**
That night, after I left the rink, the call came. I didn’t even have to look at the ID.
“Saw the game,” my dad’s voice came through the speaker, low and angry. “You looked like an amateur out there.”
I gripped the phone tighter, my teeth grinding. I could feel the tension building in my chest again, the frustration bubbling just below the surface.
“Just a poor game.” I muttered.
My father scoffed.
“No, you distracted yourself. You’ve got that damn girl in your head, don’t you?”
My hands tightened around the phone. I could feel the blood rushing to my ears.
“Leave her out of it.”
“Oh, I’m not gonna let you screw up everything, son. You think she’s gonna save you? You think you deserve that?”
My mouth went dry.
“I’m not the one ruining anything.”
“You ruin everything, Campbell. You’ll ruin her, too. I’ll bet she’ll be gone by next week.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I felt the anger flood my body, but underneath it, there was a panic building, something darker, more suffocating. Something I couldn’t escape. I didn’t respond. I just ended the call. My hands were shaking. I couldn’t breathe.
I needed air. I needed escape; from the rink, my father, everything. I exited, overwhelmed by a sense of confinement. I grabbed the railing outside, my hands gripping it until my knuckles turned white. My chest was tight, and the air felt thick, like I was drowning. My lungs wouldn’t take in enough oxygen. I was suffocating. I heard footsteps, soft and tentative.
“Campbell?”
It was Hazel. My heart slammed against my ribs. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. She stepped closer, her voice low but steady.
“Hey, you’re okay. Just breathe with me.”
Her comforting touch radiated warmth. She didn’t ask questions. Didn’t push me for answers. She just stayed . I focused on her touch, grounding myself with every breath she took. She kneeled beside me, matching the rise and fall of my chest. The world around me calmed down. The dizzying spin slowed, the pressure in my chest eased. I was still shaking, but the panic was fading. My hands stopped trembling.
“You scared me.” she whispered.
I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat making it hard to speak. I wanted to tell her everything. I wanted to beg her not to leave me, not to walk away like everyone else. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t say the words. Instead, I let her hold me, and for the first time in days, I let myself breathe. I held her hands, unwilling to release them.
The cold air pressed in around us, but all I could feel was the heat from her touch, the warmth of her skin seeping into mine like it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart. I wanted to kiss her so badly it hurt, but I couldn’t. She deserved more than this—more than me. I was nothing but a fucking wreck, and I was already ruining this. Ruining everything. My thumb moved over her knuckles, like I couldn’t stop myself, but when I met her gaze, I knew I had crossed a line. There was no turning back now.
“You should go.” I said, my voice raspier than I intended.
I tried to sound firm, but there was nothing in me that wanted to push her away. I just needed to. For both of us. Hazel shook her head, her eyes never leaving mine.
“I don’t want to go.”
Of course she didn’t. She never did. She was the only one who saw past all my bullshit, the only one who didn’t flinch when I pushed her away. It was fucking maddening.
“Hazel.”
I warned, my voice low. But she didn’t listen. She never did. She stepped even closer, just a breath away from me. I could smell the soft scent of her perfume, feel the warmth radiating off her. My heart raced. Her lips parted like she was waiting for me to kiss her. I felt the pull of her, like a magnet, stronger than anything I’d ever felt. I tilted my head down, my hand reaching up without thinking, like it was going to caress her face. Her eyes were wide, breath caught, lips parted in anticipation. I was losing myself in her. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t.
I jerked back, moving away from her as if I’d just been burned, my heart pounding in my chest, the weight of my failure crushing me. Hazel blinked at me, her face confused.
“Campbell?”
I shook my head, the words choking me.
“I can’t.”
Her brow furrowed.
“Why not?”
Because I was a fucking mess. Because I was afraid that if I let myself love her, I’d break her too. I couldn’t keep doing this. I couldn’t drag her down with me. But I couldn’t say that. I couldn’t let her see how much of a coward I was.
“You deserve better.” I muttered, the words feeling like a knife twisting in my gut.
Hazel didn’t move. Her lips pressed pouted, like she was holding back tears, and I felt my chest tighten, like I’d just punched a hole through her heart. But she didn’t let me off the hook.
“You don’t get to decide that for me.”
Her words hit me harder than anything. Because I wanted to be that guy for her. I wanted to be the one who deserved her. But I wasn’t.
I turned away before I could say anything else, before I could let her see how much it hurt to walk away from her again. The pain in my chest was suffocating, but I kept moving, kept putting distance between us. I couldn’t do this. Not now. Never.
I turned my back on her, but I couldn’t stop my feet from dragging. Every step felt heavier than the last, like I was being pulled back toward her, even though every fiber of my being knew I couldn’t. I shouldn’t.
I heard her soft breath catch behind me, and I knew she was still standing there, waiting for something—maybe for me to explain, maybe for me to turn around. But I couldn’t. My jaw tightened, muscles seizing as I fought the impulse to break down right there in front of her. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t let her see that side of me. The side that wanted to hold her so badly it ached.
When I reached the doorframe, I gripped it, the wood rough against my palm, trying to hold myself together. My knuckles turned white, and my breath came in short, shallow bursts. If I didn’t keep myself grounded, I’d turn back and take her in my arms. I’d tell her everything. I shoved the door open and stepped outside into the night, the cold air biting at my skin, but it didn’t numb the pain. Nothing did. Behind me, I knew she was still standing there, shivering in the cold. But I had made my choice. And I couldn’t undo it now.