Chapter 5 Don't Flinch Captain

ETHAN’S POV

I didn’t sleep. Not for real.

I just lay there on the top bunk all night, staring at the ceiling and listening to Ares Cole breathe two feet below me. There was this ugly water stain up there that looked like the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, all brown and rotten in the middle from the leak that never got fixed.

I’d lived in this room my whole life and never once looked up long enough to see it. By three a.m. I had every stupid line of it memorized. The Keweenaw point. The curve of Lake Superior. Every time his mattress creaked or his sheets dragged across his skin, it hit me like he was doing it on purpose. Like he was saying, I’m right here. I know what you did.

The scar on his lip kept popping behind my eyes every time I blinked. That video he’d thrown in my face—the blurry one with my Wolves bag sitting right there in the frame like signed proof—kept playing on loop in my head.

At 6:47 I gave up. I climbed down quiet, bare feet hitting the carpet. Ares was sprawled on the bottom bunk in just black boxer briefs, one tattooed arm slung over his eyes, sheet kicked down to his waist. The ink across his chest rose and fell with every breath. I yanked my eyes away, grabbed sweats from the dresser, and got the hell out.

I brushed my teeth in the hall bathroom like I was running late for something. Then I stood at the mirror repeating the same bullshit I’d told myself for twelve straight months: one drunk night. Means nothing. Doesn’t make you anything.

The scar on my bottom lip had mostly faded, but I still pressed my thumb into it. Still there. Same as his.

When I came back, he was sitting up on the bottom bunk, elbows on his knees, dark hair messed up from sleep. Morning light sliced through the blinds and hit every line of ink on his shoulders. He looked up, gave me that crooked half-smile where the scar tugged tight at the corner.

“Morning, roommate.” His voice was rough. “You always bolt out like the place is on fire?”

I didn’t answer. Just went to my closet. “Breakfast is at seven. My mom makes eggs. Don’t be late or she’ll trap you for twenty minutes about team nutrition.”

“Wouldn’t risk it.” He stood, stretched, ink shifting over muscle. I kept my back to him, pulled on a clean Wolves shirt, and tried to ignore how the whole room felt smaller, like it had shrunk around him overnight. My room. My space. Now it had him in it.

I grabbed my bag and went downstairs without another word.

April was already in the kitchen, humming while she set the table. She saw me, came straight over, and hugged me around the waist the way she still did even though she was nineteen. Same strawberry shampoo.

“Morning, Captain Big Shot.” She pulled back, eyes shining. “You guys killed it last night. That new guy Ares—is he even human? Those goals? And he’s staying in your room? This is crazy.”

“Yeah.” The word came out flat. I ruffled her hair like always. “It’s temporary. Don’t make it a thing.”

Too late. Her cheeks were already pink just saying his name. I wrapped both hands around my coffee mug. The thought of her getting feelings for the guy who had video proof of me on his phone sat in my chest like a blade. April was the good one. She still thought her big brother had his shit together. If Ares Cole wrecked that, I’d never forgive myself.

Mom came in from the laundry room with towels. “Ethan, honey, set another plate. Your roommate coming down?”

“On his way,” I said.

Dad was at the end of the table with his tablet, glasses low. “Heard the transfer scored twice on his first night. Coach must be thrilled. You two getting along?”

I almost cracked the mug. “It’s fine. He’s a lot.”

The stairs creaked before I could say more. Ares walked in wearing gray sweats and a plain black shirt that did nothing to hide the ink starting at his sleeves. He looked like he belonged in our kitchen.

“Morning, Mrs. Drake. Mr. Drake.” He nodded at them, then at my sister. “April.” Then that little chin tilt at me. “Captain.”

Mom turned from the stove with that soft stray-dog look she gets when she’s already decided to keep someone. “Ares, sit, sit. How do you like your eggs?”

“However they come out is perfect.” He dropped into the chair right across from me. His knee bumped mine under the table. I jerked mine back like it burned.

April handed him the orange juice, practically glowing. “That wrist shot in the third—I thought the goalie was gonna walk off the ice.”

He laughed low. “Your brother set up most of it.” His eyes cut to mine. “Right?”

I stabbed my fork into the eggs the second the plate hit the table. “Just running the plays.”

The conversation rolled on without me. Dad asked about his old school. Mom offered seconds before he finished the first plate. April leaned in every time he spoke. I kept my jaw locked and watched the clock.

Every time Ares laughed at something she said, every time his foot found mine under the table, the knot in my chest pulled tighter. He wasn’t just in my house. He was in every corner of my head I’d spent a year trying to scrub clean. That video lived on his phone—one tap away from blowing up my entire life.

After breakfast I went upstairs for my gear. His footsteps followed me down the hall. The second my door clicked shut, the air changed.

I zipped my bag in hard jerks. “You don’t have to do all that down there.”

“Do what?” He leaned against the door, arms loose over his chest, watching me.

“Act like we’re friends. Flirt with my sister. Charm my parents.” I turned on him. “This isn’t a game, Cole. I’ve got a scholarship, a captain spot, a future that one wrong story could destroy. So whatever you think happened last summer—”

“I don’t think. I know.” His voice stayed calm, but he stepped closer, scar catching the light. “You kissed me. You wanted it. You left your bag behind on purpose. I’ve had a whole year to sit with that while you tried to erase it. Not the same thing.”

My back hit the closet door. He was close enough I could smell the soap on his skin, close enough to see his eyes drop to my mouth for half a second. My pulse hammered in my ears.

“I can’t do this,” I said, voice cracking even though I fought it. “Not in this house. Not with you six feet away every single night. Stay out of my way.”

That half-smile came back, slower. “We share a room, a bathroom, a locker room, a whole team. Staying out of your way isn’t an option.” He reached past me for his bag, his arm brushing across my chest.

Heat shot straight down my spine. “But sure. I’ll back off. Right up until you stop pretending you want me to.”

He slung the bag over his shoulder and opened the door. “See you at practice, Captain. Try not to flinch every time I look at you—people notice.”

The door shut.

I stood there a full minute, breathing through my nose, fists clenched at my sides. The room still smelled like him. His bunk was rumpled from where he’d slept. My whole life—the one I’d built and controlled down to the last detail—now had this tattooed, laid-back problem sitting right in the middle of it. And the worst part? He wasn’t even trying.

I grabbed my bag and went downstairs. At the bottom step I stopped, squared my shoulders, and put on the smile I used for parents and reporters—the one that never reached my eyes. April waved from the porch. I waved back like everything was fine.

Ares slid into the passenger seat of my SUV like it had always been his. The drive to the rink was dead quiet except for the radio. I kept both hands on the wheel and my eyes straight ahead.

But at every red light, every stop, I felt him watching.

The scar. The video. The kiss that had been eating me alive for twelve months no matter how many times I told myself it didn’t matter.

By the time I pulled into the arena lot, my knuckles were white on the wheel.

He unbuckled, reached for the door, then paused.

“One more thing, Ethan.”

I didn’t look at him.

“I’m not trying to burn your life down.” His voice dropped, softer now. “Last summer, for three minutes, you stopped pretending. I want to know if that guy’s still in there.”

The door opened. Closed. His footsteps crossed the lot and faded toward the rink.

I sat there with my forehead against the steering wheel long after he was gone, trying to figure out my next move. The part of me I couldn’t kill off—the part I’d buried since summer—kept circling the same

question.

What would’ve happened if I’d stayed.

Previous Chapter
Next Chapter