Chapter 2 The C on My Chest

Julian

Elena Rossi had a sharp way of speaking. I’d seen it before, but hearing it on the ice? It stung worse than any puck to the ribs. I stood there, sweat stinging my eyes, watching her walk away like she didn’t even notice me. She moved like she owned the place, and maybe she did. Everyone else felt small, invisible.

“Ouch, Vane,” Robbie skated past, spraying ice across my skates. “That violin girl just humiliated you. You're letting her do that?”

“Shut up, Robbie,” I muttered. My eyes flicked back to Skybox. 4. Broken glass. My mess. My mistake.

I’m the captain. Scouts watch me. Dad calls every night, counting goals and practice hours. And now? Failing grades. Everything is pressing down. Practices, games, pressure. My chest is tight, my shoulders heavy. And now I had to deal with failing ethics.

“Vane! My office. Right now,” Coach Miller barked from the bench.

Stomach flipped. I knew why. Ten minutes later, I was sitting in his small office. Smelled of old coffee and leather. Coach didn’t ask me to sit. He shoved a piece of paper across the desk: my midterm progress report.

42 percent.

“You’re benched, Julian,” the coach said quietly. “Get that up to seventy-five by playoffs, or you’re off the ice. NHL doesn’t sign players who can’t make grades.”

“It’s ethics, Coach,” I said. “I don’t have time for books and lectures.”

“Make time,” he snapped. “I talked to the department head. There’s a student, a genius in ethics, who needs service hours for a music scholarship. She’ll help you.”

“Who?” I asked, knowing the answer already.

“Elena Rossi.”

I buried my face in my hands. The same girl whose practice window I shattered. Who looked at me like I was a bug.

“Then you better apologize, Vane,” Coach said. “Without her, you’re just a spectator.”

I walked out feeling crushed. Legs like lead. Pride shredded. And then I saw her.

Dark hair, violin case pressed to her chest. Watching a black sedan outside. Fear is visible. Not a twitch, real, sharp fear.

She saw me approaching. Ice Queen mask on. Sharp eyes, guarded.

“You lost your way to the weight room, Vane?” she asked. Calm but mocking.

I didn’t joke. “The department sent me,” I said lowly. “You’re the only person smart enough to save my career. I’m the only one who can control who comes into the arena after hours.”

Her eyes flicked to the street, back to me. “I don’t tutor athletes,” she said.

“I’m not asking for tutoring,” I said. “I need a deal. You need a place to practice without interruptions. Private. Safe. I passed Ethics. You get safety.”

Her eyes narrowed. Thoughtful. “I don’t need to hide.”

“Everyone hides from something,” I whispered. “I’ll give you the arena key. Total privacy. You make sure I pass that class.”

She looked at the empty street, then back at me. Finally, she spoke. “A deal. My way. No distractions. Six feet apart.”

I leaned slightly closer. “Three feet, and it’s a deal.”

Her gaze measured me. Ice Queen mode. But she paused, thinking. “A deal,” she said again.

We walked through campus. Not talking. Night air is sharp, boots crunching on frost. Her violin case pressed against her side, hands tight on the strap. Smaller than usual, vulnerable, but tense. Always ready.

“You’re really doing this,” I said quietly. “Pretend to date me?”

She didn’t look up. “Better than pretending to be alone.”

“You’re terrible at pretending,” I muttered.

“Not pretending,” she said softly. “Surviving.”

We reached the arena. Concrete cold. Doors looming large. Inside, it was empty except for ice and echoing lights. I opened the gate. She stepped in.

“You ready?” I asked.

She nodded. Hands tight on her case. Breathe steadily, jaw tense.

“Good,” I said. “Here, it’s quiet. Safe. Your practice won’t get interrupted.”

She scanned the empty rink. Then back at me. “You’re really going to be my shadow?”

“Call it protection,” I said. “I’ll make sure no one bothers you. That’s the deal.”

Her lips pressed together. “You don’t know what you’re getting into.”

“Neither do you,” I said.

She exhaled. Then relaxed slightly. “Fine,” she said.

The next few days were strange.

I showed up before her. Just to make sure everything was ready. By the time she arrived, I was skating in circles. Blades scraping ice, noise echoing off walls. She watched quietly from the edge.

“You’re early,” she said. Quieter and curious.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I like having the ice to myself first.”

She smirked, tiny and reluctant. “Control freak.”

“Someone has to be,” I said.

Hours together in that empty arena. I didn’t hover. Didn’t speak unless necessary. She played, I watched. Presence is quiet; shield in place. Uncomfortable, but steady.

Sometimes she glanced at me. Eyes sharp, measuring. Sometimes fully focused on her music. I realized she was brilliant. Fierce. Controlled. But scared. Ex-boyfriend, threats. Everything she carried.

And me? My own weight. Pressure from scouts, Dad, and the team. Grades. Pride. But here, with her, focus narrowed. The purpose is clear. Protect Elena Rossi.

A week in, her hands shook less. Jaw eased slightly. She started talking. Small things. Assignments. Campus life. Jokes. Quiet laughs.

I realized she was letting me in. Not completely. But enough to notice. Enough to see Elena Rossi, not just Ice Queen.

I didn’t touch her. Not yet. Not until she needed it. Stayed close. Shadow. Shield. Bodyguard.

The pact had weight now. Not just grades and protection. Responsibility. Couldn’t fail her. Physically, emotionally. The more time in the arena, the more complicated.

Because I wanted to see her smile more. Laugh without restraint. Because every time I did, I felt lighter. Alive.

Yet… she was dangerous. Not physically, but in how she could unravel me with one glance, one word. Perfectly aimed insult. She made me want to protect her. And I didn’t know if I could keep my own feelings out.

But that was the deal. Fake boyfriend. Shield. Three feet apart.

Still, leaving the arena that night, I realized it wouldn’t be simple. Not Elena Rossi. Not Marcus lurking. Not my mistakes piling up.

But for the first time in a long time, I felt purpose. Not just as a hockey captain. But as someone who mattered. And that, messy and complicated, felt… good.