Chapter 11 #2
"Don't lie to me," the Dean cut me off. "I have eyes. Now, listen carefully. The scouts are here. The NHL draft is in three months. You are projected first round. That is a life-changing opportunity. For you. For your family."
He paused, letting the weight of my father's expectations settle on my shoulders.
"If you continue this… whatever this is… with Maeve, you will be distracted. You will lose focus. And worse, you will create a scandal. 'Scholarship athlete seduces Dean's daughter.' Do you know what that headline does to your draft stock? It makes you a liability. Teams don't draft liabilities."
He wasn't wrong. The NHL was old school. They wanted soldiers, not lovers. They wanted clean records.
"So here is the deal," the Dean said. "You stop. Today. You finish the semester as roommates—polite, distant roommates. You focus on hockey. You get drafted. And you leave Blackstone. You leave Maeve."
"And if I don't?"
"Then I call your father," the Dean smiled thinly. "And I tell him that his investment is failing. I tell him that you are prioritizing a college fling over your career. I imagine he will have… strong opinions on the matter."
The threat was a physical blow. My father would pull me. He would drag me back to Russia so fast my head would spin.
I stared at the photos. Maeve looked so happy in the diner picture. She was laughing.
I was going to lose her.
Either I lost her now, on my terms, or I lost her later, when my father destroyed my life.
"Do you understand, Kai?"
I looked up. I locked away the anger. I locked away the fear. I put the mask back on. The cold, unfeeling mask of the King.
"I understand," I said.
"Good," the Dean nodded, taking the folder back. "You're a smart boy. Don't throw away a kingdom for a girl."
I stood up. I walked out of the office.
I walked straight past the locker room. Past Silas. Past the rink.
I walked out into the cold air.
I couldn't breathe.
I didn't go back to the penthouse. I drove. I drove for hours, aimlessly circling the town, listening to the tires crunch on the snow.
I had to end it.
I had to break her heart to save her future. And mine.
If I stayed with her, her father would make her life miserable. He would cut her off. He would blame her for ruining me.
And my father? He would end me.
I pulled into the parking garage at 8 PM.
I went up to the penthouse.
The smell hit me first. Garlic. Rosemary. Something roasting.
Maeve was in the kitchen. She was wearing an apron over her clothes—my apron. She was dancing slightly to music I couldn't hear, probably humming. There was a bottle of wine open on the counter.
She turned when she heard the door. Her face lit up.
"You're late!" she scolded playfully. "The chicken is almost dry. I tried to save it, but cooking is really not my—"
She stopped.
She saw my face.
The smile dropped from her lips like a stone.
"Kai?" she whispered. "What's wrong? Did something happen? Is it your knee?"
She started to walk toward me, wiping her hands on the apron.
I stepped back.
The movement stopped her cold. She froze, hurt flashing in her eyes.
"Don't," I said. My voice was unrecognizable. Cold. Dead.
"Kai, you're scaring me."
"Sit down, Maeve."
"I don't want to sit down. Tell me what's going on."
"I said sit down!" I roared.
She flinched. She backed up until she hit the island stool, then sank onto it. She looked terrified.
I couldn't look at her. I looked at the wall above her head.
"This," I gestured between us. "It stops. Now."
"What?" She blinked, confused. "What stops? Us?"
"There is no 'us'," I said cruelly. "There is me. And there is you. And we are done."
"Kai," she stood up, reaching for me. "You're not making sense. This morning... in the library..."
"This morning was a mistake," I lied. "It was all a mistake. I was... bored. Stressed. I used you to blow off steam."
The words tasted like acid. They burned my throat.
Maeve recoiled as if I had slapped her. Her face went pale.
"You used me?" she whispered.
"Yes."
"To blow off steam?"
"Yes."
"Liar," she said. Her voice shook, but her chin went up. "You're lying. I know you. I feel it when we're together. You care about me."
"I care about hockey," I corrected. "I care about the draft. And right now? You are a distraction. A liability."
I used her father's words. I used them like a knife.
"The Dean called me in today," I said. "He showed me photos. He knows, Maeve. And he threatened my scholarship."
"So fight him!" she cried. "We can fight him together. I'll tell him—"
"Tell him what?" I laughed bitterly. "That you love me? That we're soulmates? Grow up, Princess. This isn't a fairy tale. This is business."
I walked closer to her. I needed her to hate me. Hate was easier than grief.
"You were fun," I said, looking her dead in the eye, watching the light in them die. "But you're not worth my career. You're not worth the NHL."
She stared at me. Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over onto her cheeks. She didn't wipe them away.
She looked at me like I had just killed her.
"I thought you were different," she whispered. "I thought you were the one person who saw me."
"I see you," I said. "You're a spoiled girl playing house. And I'm done playing."
I turned my back on her.
"Pack your things," I said over my shoulder. "Get out of my room. Stay on your side of the penthouse. We're roommates. Nothing more."
I walked into my bedroom and slammed the door.
I locked it.
Then I slid down the wood until I hit the floor. I put my head in my hands.
And I listened to the sound of Maeve crying in the kitchen.
It was the worst sound I had ever heard.
But I didn't go out. I stayed in the dark.
I had saved her. I had saved myself.
So why did it feel like I had just lost everything?