Chapter 2
HAILEY
I didn’t even need to turn around to know who had just strolled in, but my body reacted before my brain could catch up. My shoulders tensed, my jaw clenched, and my already frayed patience splintered at the edges.
Lively . Fucking. Summers .
The exact man I’d least wanted to deal with in this whole nightmare scenario, and yet, there he was—sauntering into the hallway like he owned the place.
And of course, because he was him , the bastard looked perfectly at ease, like this wasn’t the most awkward, tension-choked gathering in the history of collegiate hockey teams meeting.
He had that same easy confidence, that same infuriating smirk that hovered just shy of arrogant but was no less grating for it.
His blond hair was damp, curling at the ends as though he’d just stepped out of the shower or something, and his sharp, annoyingly symmetrical features were lit up with amusement, as if this was all one big joke to him. I suppose having girls fall over him so much warped his fucking brain.
Typical.
He was impossible to ignore, though, and he knew it. It wasn’t just the way he moved—loose-limbed and effortless, annoyingly in tune with his body—it was the way other people reacted to him. Like gravity shifted the second he stepped into a room.
The moment his voice cut through the air, I felt the ripple of reactions around me.
The Rink Runners—who had been bristling just moments ago—visibly eased, some of them smirking, others rolling their eyes, but they were clearly relieved that their captain had arrived.
My girls, meanwhile? Every single one of them stiffened, their irritation flaring even hotter.
I exhaled harshly through my nose, forcing down the urge to snap before he’d even had the chance to say anything else that would make me want to punch him.
I watched him as he stopped just inside the doorway, surveying the room like he was taking stock of the scene, like he was arriving fashionably late to a party instead of the literal cold war that was currently going on.
His gaze flicked to Coach Gunner, noticing the way the coach simply sighed in that deeply tired way he always did when dealing with his captain, then to Coach Hawkins, who met his gaze with a look so unimpressed it could have peeled paint off the walls.
His eyes then swept over my teammates, taking in their rigid postures, the tension radiating from them like heat from asphalt in summer.
And then, finally, his eyes landed on me .
I watched it happen in real-time: the slight shift in his expression, the way his smirk deepened, like he was so damn thrilled to see me for some weird fucking reason . Unfortunately, I already knew the reason, and it only made me want to beat him up even more.
He cocked his head to the side, like he was waiting for me to say something first.
I refused to give him the satisfaction. Instead, I crossed my arms over my chest, arching a brow in silent challenge.
His lips twitched, like he knew he was getting under my skin, and instead of backing off like a normal, reasonable person, he just doubled down.
"Ooh, looks like I missed quite a lot." He grinned again, lopsided, lazy, and downright smug.
I opened my mouth—probably to tell him exactly where he could shove his commentary—but Gina beat me to it.
“Oh, nothing much,” she said, her voice saccharine sweet, “just your team being its usual disaster self and expecting us to clean up after y'all’s sorry asses. Nothing new.”
Lively let out a low whistle, eyebrows shooting up. “Damn. We just got here, and we’re already catching strays?” He looked at me again, that smirk still in place. “Did you put them up to this, Cap?”
Cap .
I hated when he called me that. Not as much as I hated the nickname he was more keen to call me, but I hated it nonetheless.
Not because it was inaccurate—I was captain—but because when he said it, there was always this teasing lilt to it, like he found it endlessly amusing that I was in charge. The little shit.
But then, I already knew that. This asshole enjoyed picking on me—he's bullied me since freshman freaking year. The very first thing this bastard had said to me when he met me was, “Where’s that pretty smile? Smile for me” , like some arrogant bastard who expected me to smile and simp to him just because he was popular or something.
Where did he get off thinking he had the right to tell women what to do with their expressions and shit?
Oh, I disliked him instantly . And he'd seemed to think that it was entertaining.
The bastard didn’t stop bothering me from that moment onward.
In fact, that was the beginning of our rivalry, because it totally didn’t help when I discovered that he was on the men’s hockey team, and they had a habit of hogging the only rink that’d been available at the time.
Oh, the last two years of having the misfortune of meeting and knowing this bastard haven’t been fun, for sure.
I inhaled sharply, forcing myself to keep my tone level even though there were literally daggers in my eyes as I glared at him.
“I didn’t have to put them up to anything. Your team’s reputation speaks for itself. That's why you guys are here, anyway, isn't that right?”
He grinned, unfazed, his eyes twinkling like he enjoyed listening to me rag on him. What a weirdo. “Ah, there she is, my pretty Hailstorm ,” he said, finally using that insufferable nickname he’d given me from the very moment we'd first met.
I gritted my teeth so hard I was surprised I didn’t crack a molar. ‘There she is, my pretty Hailstorm’? That was so cringe . And how many times was I going to warn him to stop calling me ‘his’ in any goddamn capacity? He really was trying to get me to murder him, wasn't he?
“I see you’ve been keeping things nice and... lively around here.” He finished, that expectant twinkle gleaming in his eye like he was waiting for me to blow my fucking top.
And, oh, was I close. Because I really wanted to kill him.
No, I was actually, genuinely going to kill him. Right now.
Before I could shoot something back, however, Coach Hawkins cleared her throat, sharp and impatient. “Summers,” she said, her voice clipped, “if you’re done wasting everyone’s time, maybe you could join your team so we can actually get through this conversation.”
Lively gave her a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”
And then—just to be an ass—he winked at me before stepping back to join his team.
I had to physically restrain myself from throwing something at his stupid, smug face. Ugh. What an annoying bastard.
“Alright, listen up,” she continued, voice sharp enough to slice through the room like a blade as she looked each of us in the eye.
"I don't care about last year. I don't care about old grudges.
I do care about how we're going to make this work, because whether you like it or not, this is the situation. You will share this rink. You will act like the damn adults you claim to be. And you will put aside whatever animosity you’ve been holding onto because neither of you can afford distractions right now. "
Her tone sharpened as she turned her attention to the Rink Runners. " You especially can’t afford distractions, not after what happened."
I didn’t miss the way some of them shifted at that. Good.
Coach Gunner took up the baton. “The university isn’t changing its mind, and unless any of you want to start couch surfing for the next month, you’re going to have to figure out how to coexist.”
Coexist .
A word that sounded simple in theory but felt downright impossible when I glanced across the room and locked eyes with Lively again.
Because he was still smirking at me. Ugh.
I clenched my jaw and forced myself to look back at Coach Hawkins instead, who was now sweeping a sharp gaze over us.
Ha. What the hell was she looking at us for? If anything, the damn troublemakers here were the Rink Runners and their stupid-ass overinflated egos.
Coach Gunner exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple like he could already feel a migraine coming on.
“Look, you don’t have to like each other.
But for the next month, our teams have no choice but to work together.
And I mean work together—If I so much as hear about any of you starting trouble, I swear, I’ll make you regret it. ”
At his words, Coach Hawkins turned her head to give Lively the look she usually reserved for referees who made bad calls. And then she turned the look on me .
Out of everything she'd done, that one pissed me off the most, really. Because why was she looking at me like that? I wasn't the immature one here.
“You hear that, team Captains? For the next month, you’re going to be coordinating as one team.”
One team.
The words settled into my bones like a death sentence. Ugh, I’d rather skate barefoot across broken glass than spend a month sharing ice time with Lively Summers.
Lively must have sensed my horror because when I glanced back at him, he shot me a slow, knowing grin.
Coach Gunner exhaled sharply, clearly losing patience. “Alright, that’s enough of that,” he said. “The sooner we get this over with, the better. We’ll start sorting out practice schedules tomorrow.”
I barely resisted the urge to scoff. Oh, we were so not going to agree on those.
But that was a problem for later. Right now, I had to make sure Lively fucking Summers got the memo.
I waited until both our Coaches had walked far enough out of earshot, just a few paces away from her office, before I returned my attention to the asshole who needed straightening.
Taking in a deep breath, I marched toward Lively Summers while he watched me approach with his stupid baby blues twinkling. When I reached him, I stopped right in front of his face, planting my feet.
"Summers." I gritted out, trying to be damn civil, but the cocky bastard simply flashed me his trademark lopsided grin.
"Didja miss me, Hailstorm?" He drawled, and I had to remind myself of the reason why I couldn't punch him in the face.
What right-thinking human being would call someone freaking ‘Hailstorm’ for shit's sake? What, did he take a masterclass on how to be cringe? He just kept pushing and pushing, didn't he? Good thing I never failed to push the hell back.
"In your dreams, fuckface ." I spat back, my patience completely snapped to pieces.
The bastard pouted. He actually had the audacity to pout. I really needed to sock him in the freaking mouth one of these days, deflate some of that sheer audacity of his.
"Aw, and here I thought you'd be happy to see me." He said, his eyes twinkling with enjoyment even as a vein threatened to burst in my temple.
I didn't even bother to dignify that with a response. Instead, I soldiered on.
"Listen up, asshole,” I said, loud enough to carry through to his team's already raucous roughhousing. “This is our rink. We’re not your hosts, and we’re not your babysitters.
You play by our rules. You stay out of our way.
You keep your bullshit to your side of the ice, and we’ll keep to ours.
” I tilted my head, my voice dropping to a pointed edge.
“If you don’t—well. We’re more than happy to remind you why sharing was a bad idea in the first place. ”
Any other person would've bristled at my tone, at my words and the way I said them. But Lively? Oh, the bastard smirked.
In fact, his smirk widened into a fully delighted grin, and that was when I realized something very important.
This wasn’t just going to be a disaster.
It was going to be war .