Chapter 2

This time, within days, Philip and Kinsley were the most public, obnoxious couple in the youth circuit. 

They ditched morning skates for late-night concerts. They skipped dryland training for weekend getaways to Whistler. Philip’s social media was a constant feed of red cups, VIP sections, and Kinsley sitting on his lap. He was throwing his career into a blender, and he didn't care.

This afternoon, I was walking down the locker room hallway, hugging my tactical clipboard, when I turned the corner and almost ran into them. Philip had Kinsley pinned against the lockers in the shadows, and they were kissing passionately, completely wrapped up in each other.

I just kept walking.

Philip caught my reflection in the glass door. He pulled back from Kinsley, and blocked my path. 

"Look, Arabella," he said. "Stop following me around. It’s pathetic."

I blinked. "I'm heading to the equipment room."

He scoffed, pulling Kinsley closer by the waist. She smirked at me, chewing her gum loudly. "Just save it," Philip cut in. "I like Kinsley. She’s real. She’s vibrant. She’s like a fire that actually lights up my life, instead of the same boring, robotic hockey routine we've been doing for ten years. So do us both a favor—stop coming around. You're too boring for me now."

"Got it," I said flatly. 

I sidestepped him and walked straight into the equipment room without looking back.

I didn't have time for teenage soap operas. Mentally, I had been away from the U18 circuit for a decade. My muscle memory was rusty, my tactical awareness needed a hard reset, and the AP Calculus and SAT prep I needed for Harvard were completely wiped from my brain. 

In my past life, I missed the National Team cut by two spots and lost the Harvard full-ride by a single point. 

Not this time. 

I was on the ice at 4:30 AM every single day, running edge drills until my thighs burned like battery acid. I shot hundreds of pucks until my wrists went numb. At night, I buried myself in the library, grinding through practice tests, and after lights out, I sat in the dark of my dorm, eyes glued to my laptop, analyzing game film until my vision blurred. 

I didn't give Philip or Kinsley a second of my time. All my energy belonged to me.

The results came crashing down during the quarterly evaluations. 

The scoreboard didn't lie. Philip, the so-called prodigy, totally tanked. His stamina was shot, his skating speed was sluggish, and his shooting percentage fell off a cliff. He plummeted to the bottom half of the men's roster. 

Meanwhile, I swept the women's division, taking first place in overall metrics. I walked away with the sole golden ticket—the only recommendation letter for the National Team Selection Camp.

An hour after the results were posted, I headed to Coach Miller’s office to sign my camp paperwork. 

Before I even touched the doorknob, I heard the shouting.

"Are you out of your damn mind, Philip?!" Coach Miller was roaring. "Do you even care about your future? The selection camp is next month! With the garbage you just put on the ice today, you won't even make it past the first round of cuts!"

Philip was leaning casually against the edge of the coach’s desk. Kinsley was right there with him, her arm looped through his.

"Relax, Coach," Philip sighed, waving a hand dismissively. "You’re doing way too much. I know what’s good for me. I’ve got it all under control."

"Under control?" Coach Miller's face was purple. 

Fast footsteps echoed down the hall. 

The office door was shoved open violently. Eleanor—Philip’s mom—stormed in. 

I stepped back in shock. Eleanor was usually the definition of elegance. Today, she was wearing baggy sweatpants, no makeup, and her hair was a mess.

She marched straight past me and raised her hand, aiming a slap right at Philip’s face. 

"Shut your mouth!" Eleanor screamed. "You ungrateful little punk! Is that how you speak to your coach?!"

Philip flinched, instinctively shoving Kinsley behind him. He caught his mother’s wrist mid-air. 

"Mom, stop!" Philip barked, his grip tightening. "This isn't Kinsley’s fault. If you’re mad, take it out on me. But you are not touching her. Stop acting crazy."

Kinsley peeked out from behind Philip’s broad shoulders, rolling her eyes. "Seriously, back off, old lady. Who do you think you are, busting in here like that?"

"Who do I think I am? I’m the mother of the idiot you’re dragging down! You’re nothing but a distraction. You’re turning him into a lazy, skipping-practice loser and ruining his entire career!"

Kinsley crossed her arms, glaring right back. "Ask your precious son if I forced him! He’s the one following me around like a puppy. He ditching practice to take me out is his choice. If you can’t control your own kid, don't take your sad anger out on me, you crazy old woman."

Eleanor pointed a shaking finger right at Philip’s nose. 

"Philip Mitchell. I poured my blood, sweat, and tears into raising you. I sacrificed everything for your hockey career. And you throw it all away for this... this trash? You let her stand there and disrespect me to my face?"

Philip stood tall, throwing his arms out to shield Kinsley completely. 

"Mom, I promise you, I am going to be massively successful in this lifetime. I don't need to do it the old way. But this time around, I am protecting Kinsley. Nobody is going to hurt her."

"I never said you couldn't date," she said, her voice cracking. "But Kinsley is poison for you. Why couldn't you just be with Bella? She actually makes you better."

The moment my name left Eleanor's mouth, the atmosphere in the room shifted.

Philip’s head snapped toward the doorway. He locked eyes with me. 

"Arabella," Philip spat, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "You snitching bitch. You actually went behind my back again? I guess the lesson I taught you last time wasn't enough to severely put you in your place."

My breath hitched. My blood ran ice cold. 

Last time.

The lesson I taught you.

He meant the hockey stick. He meant my eye. He meant blinding me. 

My stomach dropped into a bottomless pit. He remembers. Philip didn't just have a sudden change of heart about Kinsley—he was reborn, just like me. 

Eleanor looked at her son in absolute horror. She stepped between us, shielding me from Philip’s glare. 

"What the hell is wrong with you, Philip?!" Eleanor yelled. "Were you just going to hit her?! Bella didn't say a word! Coach Miller called me an hour ago to tell me you were ditching practice. Bella has absolutely nothing to do with this!"