Collide: A Hockey Romance

DESPERATION REEKS. OR maybe it’s the hockey team’s locker room after practice. Running showers and loud voices drift through the halls as I try to find Coach Kilner’s office. Staying away from the rink like it has a contagious disease is proving to be a disadvantage when the long hall of blue doors resembles a maze.

When a phone rings behind me, my eyes meet a shirtless guy in a low-hanging towel. “Summer?”

Crap. “Hey, Kian.” I awkwardly wave.

Kian Ishida was in every psychology class I took in junior year. We became friends when we got partnered at an extra credit seminar about brain dysfunction. I was happy to have someone who cared about sports psychology as much as I did, until I found out he’s a hockey player. Much to my dismay, the six-foot-two right-winger has been playing for Dalton since freshman year. After I learned that, our friendship fizzled because even the depth of the ocean couldn’t take me as far as I wanted to be from hockey. Just hearing someone talk about it made my insides churn at a slow, agonizing rotation.

He steps toward me. “I texted you about my schedule. Do you have Chung for Advanced Stats?”

I saw his text, and we do have two of the same classes this semester. I was hoping I could find a seat in the back of the lecture hall to avoid him. “I do, and Philosophy with Kristian.”

“Sick, I’ll see you in class then.” My plastic smile doesn’t match his bright one. “What are you doing here? I didn’t take you for a hockey fan.”

“I’m not. I’m here to see Coach Kilner. Do you know where his office is?”

His gaze moves down the hall in confusion before he suppresses a smile.

“What’s so funny?” I ask warily.

“Nothing.” He clears his throat. “He’s the last door on the right. See you in class, Sunny.” He’s gone before I can analyze his expression or the weird nickname.

Finding Coach Kilner’s door, I knock on the translucent glass panel, and a gruff voice calls, “Come in.”

The door creaks ominously like it’s telling me to run before I get caught in a mess. I’m met with a smiling Coach Kilner and someone sitting before him. Shower damp hair and the Dalton logo sit on the back of his shirt.

I pause, thinking I’m intruding, but Coach waves me in. “Have a seat, Ms. Preston.” The guy doesn’t acknowledge me when I sit beside him, and I don’t bother to, either. “Laura contacted me about your assignment. I understand you would like to do your project on hockey,”

I would rather do it on the gum on the bottom of his shoe, but I can’t exactly say that. “Right. It’s research on college athletes and burnout for my grad school application,” I say.

“Great. Then meet Aiden Crawford, the captain of our hockey team.”

My eyes widen in alarm. The captain? They’re making me do my research with the captain? “Oh. Uh, that’s cool but I can work with a third or fourth line. I don’t want to disrupt the team.”

“You won’t be disrupting anything. Besides, Aiden needs it,” he says, a tight string of tension suffocating his words. They clearly had a heated conversation before I entered. That would explain why the captain is simmering beside me. “Right, Aiden?”

This time I turn to him. Wavy brown hair and flawless skin meet my eyes. His side profile could be mistaken for one of the models off Amara’s firefighter calendars. But despite all that he still looks like a prick.

“Coach, this is a waste of my time.” His deep voice is filled with poorly contained irritation. “This can’t be my only option.”

Surprise, surprise. My prediction of the hockey captain has been proven to be accurate. “My grad school paper is not a waste of time,” I say.

“Maybe not for you,” he retorts, without even looking at me. The guy can’t even bother to insult me to my face. This is my worst-case scenario, and now I have to deal with him on top of it?

“Look, I don’t need to sit here and listen to you be an asshole.” I fail to suppress the anger that boils to the surface.

That’s when he turns, deep green eyes narrow when they meet mine, but Coach Kilner interrupts the charged look.

“All right, that’s enough. Aiden you don’t get to argue about this.”

“I’m not doing this, Coach. I’ll do fundraisers and teach the kids, but not this.”

He’s acting like I’m not even here. His little tantrum is inciting the anger that Langston had kindled earlier. Aggravation shoots up my spine. “Don’t think I’m so eager to do this with a hockey player either, Clifford.”

“Crawford,” he corrects.

Coach sighs. “I’m not here to babysit either of you. I’ve given you the assignment. The rest you can figure out like adults.”

“But Coach—”

“You know the consequences, Aiden.” He shoots him a stern look and Aiden’s jaw tightens. “And Ms. Preston, you’re free to discuss a switch with your professor. But even you know you won’t get a better candidate than the captain.”

When he walks out, Aiden curses under his breath. He runs a frustrated hand through his hair before turning to me. “Look, I’m sorry but I can’t help you with this. You can find someone else.”

He doesn’t sound the least bit apologetic. “Clearly. You’re not exactly the belle of the ball.”

The way his head rears gives me a spark of satisfaction. “I’m the captain of the team. I’m quite literally the belle of the ball.”

“You’re also the asshole of the ball, and those two don’t mix well.”

He glowers. “Glad that’s established because we won’t be working together. I’m not your research experiment.”

“Good! I don’t want you to be,” I say, pushing my chair back. “Damn hockey players.” I slam the door behind me. I couldn’t have gotten out of there quicker if there was a fire. Judging from the way his eyes flamed there might as well have been.

Cold January air doesn’t cool my skin as I storm over to the psychology building. Halfway there, I’m wrapped in a bear hug.

“Sampson,” I wheeze.

Tyler Sampson loosens his hold. “Ah, so you remember me?”

“Shut up, I saw you before break,” I say, pushing him away.

Sampson is the only hockey player I can stomach without breaking out in hives. We grew up together because our dads are best friends and we’ve stuck by each other’s side at every grueling family event.

He watches me. “Why do you look so pissed at that building?”

“I’m not pissed at the building. I’m pissed at the devil inside it.” I take a deep breath, glancing at him. “You’re going to laugh.”

He gives me a look to continue.

“You know that research paper I have to submit with my grad school application so I’m considered for co-op?”

He nods.

“Langston assigned hockey as my sport.”

Tyler knows about my turbulent relationship with my dad, so his surprised reaction is expected. “And you’re going in there to tell her off? Are you sure?”

I lift my chin confidently. “I’m standing up for myself.”

“Summer, just think for one second. She gave you your assignment and you’re going to go in there and tell her no? The woman who rejected a student’s thesis because he double pasted a reference?” He gives me a pointed look. “You think she is going to be okay with you refusing something she assigned?”

I remember that story circulating, but I don’t know the full truth. Langston is strict, she isn’t unreasonable. Though she did threaten to give away my spot.

My stomach takes a dip. “I don’t feel so good.”

I’m close to tears when Sampson takes hold of my arms. “You’ll be fine, it’s only a few months. But if you really can’t do it, at least present her with an alternate proposal.”

“You mean, like a different sport? She already said no.”

“Give it another try.”