Don’t Tell My Brother I Kissed the Hockey Rookie!

The air in the "Ice House"—the unofficial name for the off-campus frat where the Seattle Vipers lived—didn't just smell like a party; it smelled like a liability.

It was a thick, cloying mixture of spilled cherry vodka, expensive cologne, and the kind of frantic, sweaty desperation that only occurs when two hundred seniors realize they are six months away from the "real world."

I adjusted the strap of my bag, feeling the heavy weight of my organic chemistry textbook digging into my shoulder.

I shouldn't have been here.

I should have been in the quiet, sterile sanctuary of the library, preparing for the exam that would determine my med school applications. Instead, I was playing shepherd to a flock of six-foot-four wolves.

"Elena! Over here!"

I turned to see Chloe, my best friend and the only person who could look runway-ready in a crowded basement. She was wearing a cropped Vipers jersey—Leo’s number, of course, because she’d had a crush on my brother since the third grade—and holding two red cups.

"Tell me you brought my notes," Chloe said, shouting over a bass drop that made my teeth rattle.

"I brought the notes, Chloe, but I’m not staying," I yelled back. "Where is Leo? He hasn't answered his phone in three hours, and the scouts are at the morning skate in exactly seven hours."

Chloe rolled her eyes, taking a sip of whatever neon-colored liquid was in her cup.

"Relax, El. It’s the pre-scout bash. The boys are just blowing off steam. Leo is in the VIP lounge—aka the kitchen—doing captain things. You know, making sure nobody burns the house down."

"And Jaxson Miller?" I asked, my voice tightening. "Is he doing 'rookie things' like picking fights with the furniture?".

Chloe’s expression shifted, a predatory sort of glint entering her eyes. "He’s in there too. God, he’s even more broody in person. He looks like he wants to punch the world and then take it home for dinner. If I weren't terrified of your brother, I’d be all over that."

"He’s trouble, Chlo. My dad says his scouting report came with more red flags than a parade."

"Red is a great color on him, though," she winked, disappearing back into the sea of dancing bodies.

I pushed forward, navigating the "Hockey House" hierarchy. It was a visible ecosystem.

The freshmen were by the door, acting as bouncers; the sophomores were manning the kegs; and the star players, the ones with the names people actually shouted from the bleachers were huddled in the kitchen like royalty.

I found Leo standing by the island, a bottle of water in his hand. He was the only person at the party not drinking, his face a mask of disciplined calm. That was my brother: the Captain, the Golden Boy, the one who carried the weight of our father’s expectations like a suit of armor.

"Elena," Leo said, his eyes softening as I approached. "What are you doing here? It’s late."

"You weren't answering," I said, leaning against the counter. "I wanted to make sure you were actually getting some sleep before tomorrow. Dad called three times."

Leo winced at the mention of our father. "I’ve got it under control, El. The team is staying hydrated, the music shuts off at midnight, and—"

A loud CRACK echoed from the back of the kitchen, followed by a chorus of “Oohs” and the sound of glass shattering.

Leo’s jaw tightened. "And I spoke too soon."

We both turned. In the corner by the industrial-sized refrigerator, the atmosphere had shifted from "party" to "war zone."

Jaxson Miller was backed against the fridge, his knuckles white as he gripped the front of a guy's shirt. Jaxson was the team’s biggest investment, a first-round draft pick with a face carved from granite and a temper that usually ended in a five-minute major. He was gorgeous in the way a storm is gorgeous—something you watch from a safe distance behind reinforced glass.

The guy he was holding was Tyler Vance, a local who had been cut from the team during tryouts. Tyler was drunk, bitter, and currently leaning into Jaxson’s personal space.

"Say it again," Jaxson growled. His voice was a low, vibrating hum that I felt in my own marrow. "Say one more word about my old man and see if you walk out of here."

"Truth hurts, Miller," Tyler sneered, his voice loud enough for the whole room to hear. "The scouts know. Everyone knows. Your old man didn't just lose his job; he sold out his team. Like father, like son. Just a matter of time before you start throwing games to pay off those debts—"

Jaxson’s arm pulled back. The room went silent. The music seemed to fade into a dull throb.

Leo started to move, but he was on the other side of the island, blocked by a group of offensive linemen. I was closer. I was right there.

I didn't think about the "Golden Rule." I didn't think about the fact that I was five-foot-five and Jaxson Miller was a human wrecking ball.

I just dived between them.

My hands slammed onto Jaxson’s chest. Under his thin black t-shirt, his heart was drumming a frantic, violent rhythm—a war drum beating against my palms.

"Jaxson, stop!"

He didn't look at me. His eyes were locked on Tyler, dark and clouded with a blind, jagged rage. "Move, Elena. This doesn't involve you."

"It involves the team!" I shouted, pressing my weight against him. He was like a wall of heated marble. He didn't budge, but I could feel the tremors of adrenaline shaking his frame. "You hit him, and you’re benched. You’re benched, and the scouts leave. You want to prove him right? You want to be the guy who threw it all away over a comment in a kitchen?"

For a heartbeat, I thought he was going to shove me aside. His fingers tightened on Tyler’s shirt, his knuckles turning a ghostly white. Then, slowly, his gaze flickered down.

He finally saw me.

His eyes weren't just blue; they were the color of a frozen lake just before the ice cracks.

They were stormy, bruised, and startlingly human. He breathed out, a jagged exhale that smelled like mint and the cold air of a rink.

"Look at me, Jaxson," I whispered, my voice dropping. "Is he worth your jersey?"

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Behind me, I heard Leo finally break through the crowd.

"Miller! Drop him. Now," Leo commanded, his Captain voice booming.

Slowly, Jaxson’s fingers uncurled. He let go of Tyler’s shirt as if the fabric had suddenly turned into lead. Tyler didn't wait for a second invitation; he scrambled away through the crowd, disappearing toward the exit.

Jaxson didn't move. He stayed right there, looming over me, his chest still heaving against my hands. I should have pulled away. I should have walked over to my brother. But my hands felt like they were glued to his chest, trapped by the sheer magnetic force of him.

"You have a habit of getting in the way, don't you, Princess?" he muttered. The "Princess" wasn't a compliment; it was a blade.

"I have a habit of making sure my brother’s team doesn't implode because of one rookie’s ego," I snapped, finally finding the strength to drop my hands. My skin felt cold the moment the contact broke.

Jaxson stepped closer, crowding me against the counter until I could feel the cold granite pressing into my lower back. He leaned down, his mouth inches from my ear, his scent—sandalwood and ice filling my head.

"Your brother isn't the one I'm worried about right now," he whispered. "You should watch where you step, Elena. The ice is thinner than you think."

He lingered for one second too long—long enough for me to see the tiny silver scar near his eyebrow and the way his lower lip was bitten raw then he turned and vanished into the shadows of the hallway.

Leo was at my side an instant later, his hand on my shoulder. "Are you okay? Did he hurt you?".

"I’m fine, Leo," I said, though my heart was still trying to escape my ribs. I looked at the spot where Jaxson had been standing. "Is he always like that?"

Leo sighed, a heavy, weary sound. "He’s the best player I’ve ever seen, El. And he’s the biggest disaster this team has ever invited in. Stay away from him. I mean it. He’s not just off-limits because of the rules. He’s off-limits because he’ll take anyone down with him when he eventually crashes."

I nodded, watching the hallway where the rookie had disappeared. I told myself I was nodding because Leo was right. I told myself I was nodding because I had an exam to study for.

But as I felt the ghost of Jaxson’s heartbeat still thrumming in the palms of my hands, I knew one thing for sure.

The crash was coming. And I was standing right in the impact zone.