The Witch And The Hockey Captain

At first, it was just Jake and me, kissing hard and fast in the dark. His hands were everywhere, pulling me close, and suddenly my clothes were gone. I didn’t care how it happened—I was just dizzy with the fact that he was actually touching me, that he finally saw me.

Then the lights slammed on.

I wasn’t with Jake. I was standing naked in the middle of the school gym, the center court transformed into a hockey arena. The bleachers were packed. Every person I’d ever tried to avoid, every classmate I’d ever shrunk away from—they were all there, staring.

Panic locked my joints. I looked down, desperately clutching my basic, unglamorous white cotton underwear to my chest. The kind of underwear you never want anyone to see. I tried to curl inward, but the freezing air bit my skin, and a sharp, cruel whistle cut through the quiet.

The gym erupted.

"Oh my God!" a girl in the front row shrieked, laughing so hard tears streamed down her face.

I tried to run, but my feet felt glued to the floor.

"Evi?"

I recognized the voice and turned. Jake was standing at center ice, holding his hockey stick, laughing. His jersey was pristine. He looked exactly as he had a moment ago when he was kissing me, back when I foolishly thought someone finally cared.

But his smile wasn't warm anymore. It was venomous.

"Did you actually think," he said, tilting his head with pure disgust, "that I would ever touch you? You ugly witch."

The room went dead silent, and then the mockery doubled. The laughter vibrated in my chest, suffocating me.

"Freak!" someone yelled from the crowd.

"Burn her!"

"She’s a witch. You know what we do with them in Firescrawn."

Before I could move, hands grabbed me. Dozens of them. They dragged my bare feet across the ice. I looked back, but Jake just watched with his arms crossed, that horrible smile fixed on his face.

"BURN HER! BURN HER!" the crowd chanted.

Terror swallowed me whole. Then came the fire… a blazing orange and agonizingly hot fire and It felt entirely real.

"NO!" I screamed as the flames reached my face.

I woke up gasping.

"Evi. Evi, hey."

My mother’s voice cut through the darkness. I wasn't on the ice. I was in a moving car, the cold window pressed against my cheek and the seatbelt digging into my collarbone. I looked down; my hands were shaking violently.

"You're okay." Mom reached across the console, pressing her palm firmly against my chest. Not patting, just anchoring me. "You were dreaming."

I breathed through the panic and gently leaned away from her touch, looking out at the endless black highway. The headlights illuminated nothing but passing trees. No crowds. No Jake.

"Same one?" she asked quietly.

I didn't answer. She already knew. She pulled her hand back and returned it to the steering wheel, letting the silence settle. That was the best thing about my mother—she knew exactly when words would only make things worse.

After a few miles, she spoke softly. "We're forty minutes out."

I closed my eyes and leaned back against the glass. Forty minutes from Crownsdale. From the new house, and the new school where she was taking over as principal.

It was the life she had just married into. My mother had officially married the man people called the Alpha King of Crownsdale. I’d only seen photos of Richard Hawkins—strong jaw, expensive tailoring, the kind of man who commanded a room without saying a word. He had a son my age who went to Crownsdale High, the incredibly expensive private school I was now attending on their dime.

The fire is behind you, I told myself, watching the dark rush past. The shame is behind you. All of it.

New town. New start. I just hoped I knew how to actually live one.

The house looked like a millionaire's bank statement.

It was a three-story fortress of dark stone and massive windows at the end of a private road, with two pristine luxury cars parked in the driveway. Mom pulled up slowly, looking a little intimidated, though she’d never admit it.

"Ready?" she asked, checking her lipstick in the rearview mirror.

I wasn't. "Yes."

Richard was already waiting on the front steps. He was tall, broad, and carried himself with an effortless authority, his dark hair silvering at the temples. His expression softened the moment he looked at my mother. He loved her; that much was obvious.

"Evi," he said warmly as we approached. "I've heard so much about you."

"Evi is fine," I said, flashing the polite smile I’d been practicing for the last forty miles.

He smiled back. "Welcome home, Evi."

Home. I looked up at the looming stone structure, skeptical.

Right then, the front door swung open, and my stomach dropped.

A guy stepped out, leaning against the doorframe with casual arrogance. He was incredibly tall, with dark hair pushed back messily, a sharp jawline, and even sharper eyes. He was wearing a grey hoodie and sweats, looking like he’d just rolled out of bed and still managed to look perfect.

He gave his father a curt nod, offered my mother a polite but distant glance, and then his eyes landed on me. His gaze swept over me for two seconds flat before looking away, completely dismissing me like a piece of cheap furniture.

I lifted my chin, instantly annoyed.

"Damian," Richard called out. "Come say hello properly."

Damian stepped off the porch. Up close, his height was intimidating, and I instinctively took a half-step back. He extended his hand for a handshake, the stiff, formal kind you give a business rival you hope to never see again.

"Evi," he said, his voice a low baritone.

"Damian," I replied, gripping his hand firmly. His skin was warm, and I hated myself for noticing. He broke the eye contact first, dropping his hand and stepping back.

Inside, the house was all clean lines, vaulted ceilings, and the faint scent of cedar. I followed the adults into a living room the size of my old apartment, sitting awkwardly on the edge of a couch that probably cost more than a year of college tuition. Damian sat directly across from me, pulled out his phone, and immediately ignored everyone.

"So," Richard began smoothly, "we thought the easiest way to handle the transition is for the two of you to travel to school together."

My head snapped up.

"Same school, after all," Richard continued, smiling as if he were delivering great news. "Your mother mentioned you're a bit nervous about starting fresh. Damian knows everyone at Crownsdale. He’ll show you around, make sure you're comfortable."

Mom squeezed my knee under the table, giving me a reassuring look.

I forced a smile. "That's really thoughtful."

Across from me, Damian’s jaw tightened. He looked like he was barely tolerating the conversation.

"And you won't have to worry about a thing," Mom added, her voice taking on that bright, overly optimistic tone she used when she was trying to convince herself. "Damian is the hockey captain. Richard tells me he practically runs the school."

The room suddenly felt like it was spinning.

Hockey captain.

Jake’s cruel, mocking smile flashed in my mind. Did you actually think I would ever touch you?

I blinked hard, forcing the memory down. No. Stop it. He isn't Jake. Not every hockey captain is a monster.

"That's amazing," I said, proud that my voice didn't shake.

Damian glanced up from his phone for a single, cold second, then looked right back down.

"We'll let you two get acquainted," Richard said, standing up. Mom followed him, eager to give us space, and they disappeared toward the kitchen.

The silence in the room became deafening. I looked at the ceiling; Damian stared at his screen. I decided to try… just once to clear the air.

I stood up, clasping my hands tightly in front of me. "Look, you don't actually have to babysit me," I said, keeping my tone light and conversational. "I know it’s the last thing you want to do. I can figure out the school on my own."

Silence.

Then, slowly, he set his phone down and looked at me. Really looked at me. His expression wasn't angry; it was just incredibly cold.

"Let's not do this," he said, his voice flat.

I blinked. "Do what?"

"The whole 'we're a happy family' performance. I'm not your friend." He leaned back, his eyes boring into mine. "I don't know what my father told you, or what your mother sold him to get into this house, but let’s be real. You're a charity case he picked up. I don't need a new sister, and I don't need a project." My stomach tightened into a hard knot. "Excuse me?"

Damian stood up, all six-foot-something of him unfolding like a silent threat. "Do us both a favor. Stay out of my space. Stay out of my business. Stay invisible."

He turned and started toward the hallway. As he passed me, his shoulder slammed into mine hard enough to be completely deliberate.

I stumbled back a step, a sudden, hot rush of anger overtaking the shock. Don't be a doormat, a voice hissed in my head. Don't just stand there and take it.

"Hey!" I snapped.

He froze, stopping in his tracks, though he didn't turn around.

"I didn't ask to be here either," I said, my voice low but steady. "I don't want your space, I don't want your babysitting, and I definitely don't give a damn about your approval."

Slowly, he turned to face me. I held his gaze, refusing to look away.

"But if you ever put your hands on me or bump into me like that again," I whispered, "I will make you regret it. Politely."

A flicker of dark amusement crossed his face, but I didn't wait around to analyze it. I turned and walked toward the stairs, keeping my stride even until I was out of sight, praying he wouldn't notice how badly my hands were shaking.

Behind me, the hallway remained dead silent. He didn't follow, but he didn't walk away either. And deep down, I knew this was the start of something neither of us was ready for, but for the first time in a long time, I was glad I hadn't stayed quiet.