S O P H I A H O N E Y

"YOU HAVE FORGOTTEN all about us, huh?" my dad says on the phone just as I open the fridge and grab a chocolate protein bar.

After allowing myself to just feel and finally relax, I took a long, hot bath and changed into something comfortable- Jean short and a black top. A note to self: send Blair a big thank you for the toy.

I needed it.

With no desire to step outside again today, I decided to spend the rest of it curled up on the couch, watching some series I'd already seen a hundred times.

Just as I sat down in my favorite spot, my phone rang, and the moment I saw Dad flashing on the screen, I braced myself.

I was so ready for discipline.

"No, Dad..." I sigh, putting the protein bar on the coffee table. "I've been... busy."

"Busy?" He huffs. "I was also busy in my time, but I made sure to call my parents twice a week."

Oh, here we go.

"Dad, I just talked to you last week," I remind him, trying to keep my voice even.

"Exactly! Last week! And before that, two whole weeks. Your mother is convinced you've abandoned us."

I roll my eyes. "That's dramatic."

"Maybe," he says, unimpressed. "But she's your mother. She worries."

I exhale, staring at the ceiling. I love my parents, I do. But sometimes, talking to them felt like being back in high school-where I had to check in constantly, tell them where I was, what I was doing, who I was with. I moved out for a reason.

"I'm fine, Dad. Nothing to worry about."

"You say that, but how am I supposed to know? You could be-"

"Dad," I cut in before he spirals, "I'm literally sitting on my couch, eating a protein bar, and watching TV. I promise I'm alive and well."

He pauses, probably debating whether to push more. Then, he sighs. "Alright. But don't forget to call your mother later. And come visit soon."

"I will." I nod, even if he can't see me.

"Good," he says. "So, how was your weekend? Did anything fun happen?"

Hmm. Where should I even start? Should I mention that your daughter decided to make some extra cash by photographing a guy I want absolutely nothing to do with-except I can't ignore him because he's literally in the next room? Or that today, I got hit by some random guy, and my roommate proceeded to smash his face in?

Yeah. That's way too much information for your father, Sophia.

"My week's been fine," I say instead. "Just working on some homework and editing pictures."

"I see you still love what you chose, love," he says. "I thought maybe by now you'd be complaining about the stress and considering moving back."

Move back? His words make me grimace. I know exactly what he's trying to do.

"Dad... are you still not happy with my choice of course?"

He exhales, the sound barely audible over the phone. "It's not that I'm unhappy, Sophia. I just worry. Photography isn't the most stable career, and I don't want you struggling."

There it is again-that ever-present concern wrapped in thinly veiled disapproval. I press my lips together, trying to ignore the way my chest tightens.

Struggling? Like we aren't already? Dad's a mechanic back home, working long hours just to make ends meet, and Mom-well, she does everything she can as a housewife, but things have never been easy for us. And yet, he wants me to study law or medicine? Like those paths don't come with their own struggles?

I get it. He never got to boast about having a child in those prestigious fields, and maybe that stings a little. But Ryan is already studying engineering. He gave up being an artist for it-because he wanted Dad to be proud, because being the firstborn already came with enough pressure to carry. And the cost of his tuition alone is already too much for Dad to handle.

Does he not see I'm trying to make things easier? That I chose photography not just because I love it but because I don't want to add to his burdens?

I love Dad. I do, so much. But I want this.

And I don't want to end up like Ryan-trapped in a future he didn't choose.

I want my own life too.

My freedom.

"I'm not struggling," I say evenly. "I love what I do, and I'm good at it."

"I know you are, sweetheart," he says, softer this time. "I just-sometimes I think about how much easier things would be if you'd chosen something... safer."

Safer. Like a path he can understand.

I lean back against my bed, staring at the ceiling. "Dad, I need you to trust me on this."

He's quiet for a long moment, and for a second, I think the call has dropped. But then he sighs again, heavier this time.

"I do trust you," he says. "I just hope you know what you're doing."

I swallow the frustration rising in my throat. "I do."

"Alright." He clears his throat, shifting the conversation. "Have you been eating well?"

I can't help but smile a little at the change in topic. Classic Dad. Always circling back to making sure I'm not living off instant noodles and caffeine.

"Yes, Dad. I eat actual food," I say, rolling my eyes even though he can't see me.

"Good," he says, satisfied. "And how's Theo? Still tolerable?"

I glance toward the closed door, where I know my roommate is inside, probably fuming about what happened earlier.

"Tolerable is a strong word," I murmur.

Dad chuckles, the warmth in his voice easing some of the tension. "You know, it's funny. I was just thinking about you and Theo the other day. You two used to be partners in crime, always pranking each other. I remember when you put toothpaste in his Oreos, and he got you back by replacing your shampoo with green dye."

Pranking? I don't think Dad understood our relationship back then.

We were at war and I always won.

Well... most times.

"He plays hockey, doesn't he?" Dad asks casually.

And that's when I know I have to wrap up this call. If there's one thing Dad loves more than overanalyzing my life choices, it's hockey. And if I let him get started on that, we'll be here for another hour.

"You know what," I say, pushing myself off the couch, "maybe I should let Theo talk to you about his hockey career instead."

Dad laughs. "Sure, put him on the phone."

I walk over to Theo's door and knock. No answer. I frown, knocking again. Nothing.

Where did he go? And how did I not notice him leaving?

Just as I turn around, the front door swings open, and Theo walks in. He shuts the door behind him as he enters and drops his shoes at the side of the door then flicks up, his eyes locking onto mine, and for a second, he just stares, like he wasn't expecting to see me standing there.

"Where were you?" I start.

He lifts a brow as he walks towards me. "Out?"

Yeah, that's explains absolutely nothing.

Dad's voice crackles through the phone in my hand. "Is that Theo?"

I exhale. "Yeah, he just walked in." Then, turning to Theo, I hold out the phone. "Dad wants to speak to you."

Theo's lips twitch, the ghost of a smirk on his face as soon as I said it was Dad. He takes the phone, heading towards the kitchen. "Good day, Sir, how you doing?"

The moment Dad starts talking, Theo's expression shifts-relaxed, amused. I hear Dad's voice pick up in excitement, probably diving straight into some stat or asking about Theo's team. Figures. Dad can barely remember to take a day off, but he can list the top NHL scorers from the past decade.

I sink back into the couch, pulling my blanket over my legs as I grab my Kindle from the coffee table. The screen lights up to where I left off, but I barely make it through a page before I press play on the show I started earlier.

Because why not? Multitasking is a skill.

With my Kindle propped on my lap and the show playing on low volume, I take another bite of my protein bar. It's not great, but it's the last one I have, and I'm too comfortable to get up for anything else.

I'm fully absorbed-half in my book, half watching a dramatic plot twist unfold on screen-when I feel it. A tap on my shoulder.

I blink, glancing up to find Theo standing there, his eyes flicking between the protein bar in my hand and my face.

He doesn't say anything. Just mouths, You took the last one.

Is he serious?

I stare at him, then at the bar, then back at him.

"Yes, sir, I'm still here," Theo says into the phone, his voice perfectly casual as he continues his conversation with my dad. But his expression? Completely serious.

I almost laugh.

Theo narrows his eyes, still focused on the protein bar like I've just committed a personal betrayal. He shifts his weight, crossing his arms, making it very clear that he's not going anywhere until this injustice is acknowledged.

"Uh-huh," he says into the phone, nodding along to whatever my dad is saying. "Yeah, we had a strong start to the season, but the last few games have been tough. Defense needs some work."

But despite the easy conversation, he's still watching me. Expectant.

Slowly, deliberately, I take another bite of the bar.

Theo's jaw clenches. His gaze sharpens.

I chew. Swallow. Raise an eyebrow.

No. My stare tells him and I expect him to shake his head and walk away like the grown up here but no-he goes full on petty revenge.

With zero warning, he snatches my Kindle right off my lap.

"Hey!" I yelp, scrambling up as he casually steps back, flipping it over in his hands like he's inspecting it.

"Hmm," he hums thoughtfully, completely ignoring my glare. "So what are we reading Sophie?"

What is this? A personality switch?

I groan. "Theo, give it back."

But he just smirks and walks away.

Oh, hell no.

I launch off the couch, chasing after him. "I swear to God, Theo-"

He lifts the Kindle high over his head, strolling toward his room like I'm not right behind him, ready to fight for my life.

Meanwhile, he's still on the phone with my dad.

"Yes Sir, I also think our offense is solid, but we've gotta tighten up our defense before playoffs," he says, completely unbothered, as I jump to try and grab my Kindle from his stupidly tall reach.

He moves it just out of my grasp, smirking as I huff in frustration.

"You're such a child," I hiss, attempting another grab.

I make another grab for my Kindle, but he lifts it higher, smirking. "What's so special about this book, huh?"

Nothing really... well aside from right now, my book is in the middle of a very hot scene. Like, this-should-not-be-read-in-public hot. If he even skims the words-

Pure panic fuels my next move.

Theo takes a step toward his room, and I don't think. I throw myself at him, grabbing his shirt, at anything, just to stop him from locking me out with my Kindle in his possession.

But I don't anticipate his strength. Or the fact that he wasn't expecting me to go this hard.

Before either of us can react, we stumble backward, the momentum sending us both crashing onto his bed.

And suddenly, I'm on top of him.

The air stills.

I freeze.

He freezes.

The room goes dead silent.

I'm sprawled across his chest, my hands fisted in shirt, my legs tangled with his. His phone is still pressed to his ear, my Kindle still clutched in his other hand, but neither of us moves. I feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath me, the heat radiating between us but he's not saying a word-just staring up at me with wide eyes.

I don't even know how it came to this but I don't care-I want my stuff back.

My heart is pounding, but I force myself to scowl. "Give me my Kindle." I mouth.

Theo blinks once, then tilts his head. "You ate my last bar." He mouths.

I scoff, lowering my voice. "Stop being a baby. You're fucking rich, you can buy a dozen more."

He doesn't say anything.

Just stares.

And then, very slowly, he mouths, Get off.

I narrow my eyes. My Kindle. I mouth in return.

He smirks. And then, still mouthing-You asked for this.

Before I can process what that means, I suddenly yelp-because in one swift motion, Theo flips us over, pressing me into the mattress, now on top of me.

Oh.

Shit.

We go completely still.

His face is way too close. His phone is gone, tossed somewhere, and all I can see is him. His weight presses me down, his shirt brushing against my skin. I can feel his breath against my lips, and for a second, neither of us moves.

I can't breathe.

I'm feeling too much of him right now and my heart won't stop going crazy making my mind blank.

"Is everything alright there?" Dad's voice crackles through the phone, yanking my mind back to reality. My eyes widen.

Theo's entire body goes rigid above me, and within a second, he shifts away, rolling off like he just touched fire. I don't waste a second either-I scramble back, practically crawling off the bed, grabbing my phone and my Kindle from where he left it. My hands shake, but I force my feet to move.

I rush toward the door, keeping my gaze firmly off Theo, because if I look at him now, I might actually combust.

"Soph—"

I slam the door behind me before he can say another word.

Bringing the phone back to my ear, I clear my throat, trying to steady my voice. "Hey, Dad." I gulp. "Uh, maybe you can talk to Theo later."

I dart into my room, locking the door behind me, as if that'll somehow block out whatever that was.

Dad pauses. "Oh. Alright..." He sounds confused. Believe me, so am I.

"Is everything alright though? I hope you two aren't at each other's necks."

Oh, you have no idea, Dad.

"No, I'm fine. We're fine," I say quickly, maybe too quickly.

A beat of silence. Then, "Okay, love. Talk to you later then."

We exchange goodbyes, and the moment the call ends, I toss my phone onto my bed, collapsing beside it with a heavy breath.

My hands rest above my head as I stare at the ceiling.

What the hell just happened?

◇◇◇

"Sophie, Sophie!"

I feel someone shaking me, their touch pulling me from the haze of my thoughts. My eyes flutter open, and I'm met with Alex's concerned face.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes."

No. Maybe. I don't know.

I've spent the past two days telling my brain to stop thinking about Saturday. Too many things happened that day-starting from the elevator, then the protein bar, then the bed.

I've tried to forget, but every time I remember, my body goes hot.

Am I sick or something?

"If you're sure," Alex says, giving me a skeptical look.

Before I can respond, Blair stretches her arms above her head, standing up from her chair. "We better head out and get something to eat. I'm starving."

That's when it hits me. We're in the auditorium.

I blink, glancing around. When did the lecture even end?

I shake off the daze clouding my mind and push myself up from my seat, grabbing my bag. Alex and Blair are already making their way toward the exit, chatting about where to eat, and I hurry to catch up.

The air outside is warm, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows on the pavement. Students are scattered across the courtyard-some lounging on benches, others deep in conversation, a few rushing past us, probably late for their next class.

Blair sighs dramatically, stretching her arms. "I swear that lecture drained my soul. I need carbs. Immediately."

Alex laughs. "You say that after every lecture."

"And I mean it every time," Blair says, flipping her hair before glancing at me. "What about you, Soph? You coming?"

I nod, adjusting my bag on my shoulder. "Yeah, sure."

We're almost at the parking lot when the noise hits us-high-pitched squeals, excited chatter, and the unmistakable sound of a crowd forming.

"What the hell is going on?" Alex mutters, slowing her pace.

Then I see it.

A massive bus, sleek and black, parked right in front of the lot. The doors hiss open, and one by one, guys start stepping out-tall, athletic, dressed in green hockey jerseys, their sticks in hand.

The crowd of girls surrounding them goes wild.

"Hold the phone," Blair's eyes widen as she clutches my arm. "What day is today?"

I blink. "Uh... the 17th? Why?"

Alex, who had also looked surprised for a second, suddenly sighs and rolls her eyes. "Oh no."

"What?" I glance between them, confused.

Before Alex can answer, my phone buzzes loudly in my hand. Tory's name flashes on the screen.

I pick up. "Hey, Tory-"

"Where are you guys?" she snaps, her voice tight with frustration. "I need you at the classroom next to the hockey rink. Right now."

"Okay, but-"

The line clicks dead.

I stare at my phone, then at the guys in jerseys. "She wants us at the classroom near the rink."

Alex shrugs like this is completely expected. "Not surprised. She needs all the help she can get today."

Blair, meanwhile, looks on the verge of a meltdown. She practically bounces on her feet, gripping my arm again. "Did you see those guys?!"

I stare at Blair, getting worried now. "What's wrong with her?"

Alex just nods ahead at the group of screaming girls. "She's got the same problem they do." Alex sighs, glancing at Blair like she's mildly concerned for her sanity. "Today's the day our team-" she pauses for dramatic effect "-the Ridgeview Titans are having a joint practice with the Glacier Bay Hounds before Saturday's game."

So that's the name of our hockey team.

Ridgeview titans, love the name.

I frown. "And that's why everyone's losing their minds?"

Alex gestures toward the crowd. "The Glacier Bay Hounds aren't just any team. They're basically the best in the league. Some of their players are future pros."

Blair practically vibrates with excitement. "And they're hot!"

Alex rolls her eyes. "Of course that's your takeaway."

I let out a breath, finally piecing everything together. So that's why Tory is freaking out. With a practice this big, she's probably scrambling to make sure everything runs smoothly.

"Well, we better get to her before she explodes," I say, already walking toward the classroom.

Blair huffs. "Fine. But if I see a single one of them shirtless, I'm stopping."

Alex and I exchange a look before I shake my head. "Let's just go before she causes an incident."

We push through the crowd, dodging clusters of excited girls who are practically running toward the rink. The energy around us is buzzing, and I spot a few familiar faces from the school newspaper and media club, cameras in hand, also heading in the same direction.

Great. This is going to be chaos.

By the time we reach the classroom, we barely have a second to breathe before Tory appears-marching straight toward us with a clipboard in hand, her face set in a deep scowl.

"Oh, we are so dead," Blair mutters under her breath.

Tory doesn't even need to look for us-she just knows we're here, her gaze locking onto us like a heat-seeking missile.

She stops right in front of us, barely giving us time to react before launching straight into business.

"Finally! You guys took forever," she huffs, adjusting the clipboard in her hand. "We have a lot to cover, and I do not have time for distractions." Her eyes flick to Blair, who still looks like she's two seconds away from sprinting to the rink to stalk the hockey players.

Blair crosses her arms. "I feel like that was directed at me."

"It was," Tory deadpans. "Now, listen up. Since today is the joint practice between the Ridgeview Titans and the Glacier Bay Hounds, the media department is going all out. That means we-" she gestures at the three of us "-are in charge of capturing everything. Action shots, behind-the-scenes moments, interviews if we get the chance. This isn't just for the school paper; the sports department wants official coverage for the website, and a few local journalists might even feature it. This is big."

Alex nods, already in work mode. "Okay, so where do you need us?"

"I need everyone set up at different points," Tory says. "Alex, you handle rink-side shots. Blair, you're on crowd reactions-get some good energy from the fans, especially if any fights break out."

Blair smirks. "Love that assignment."

Tory sighs but moves on. "Sophia, you're with me. We're covering player close-ups, bench shots, and pre-practice interviews."

I blink. "Wait, interviews?"

Tory gives me a look. "Yes. It's part of the job. You'll be fine."

I won't be fine.

Before I can even process my impending doom, the classroom door swings open, and in walks Scott-one of the guys from the photography club-carrying a huge box. A group of girls trail behind him, practically bouncing on their toes as they try to grab at whatever he's carrying.

"Scott, what is that?" I ask, watching as the girls start reaching into the box, pulling out-jerseys?

"Thank goodness you're here," Tory says, exhaling in relief as she rushes over. "These are the supporter jerseys for today. The athletics department had them printed last-minute so the student media team and the superfans could match."

Scott sets the box down with a grunt. "Yeah, except I barely made it here with all these hockey-obsessed girls chasing me down."

As if on cue, the girls around him squeal, already pulling on the jerseys over their outfits.

I exchange a look with Alex and Blair.

"What is happening right now?" I ask.

Tory rolls her eyes. "The school wants a unified look for the media team covering today's event. It helps with visibility and shows we're supporting our school. So-" she shoves a jersey into my hands "-put this on."

I stare at the jersey, then back at her. "Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously."

Blair holds hers up and grins. "I mean, free merch. Not complaining."

Alex sighs but pulls hers on without protest.

I grab one of the jerseys from the box, not paying much attention to the number, and am about to leave when Alex suddenly stops me, her gaze narrowing like she's assessing a crime scene.

"Wait," she says slowly, staring at me like I've just made a terrible decision. "Are you sure you want to wear that one?"

I frown, looking down at the jersey. "Why? Is it bad? Does it make me look fat?"

Blair gasps dramatically. "No! You look insanely hot." She elbows Alex, shooting her a pointed look before looping her arm through mine and pulling me toward the door. "Ignore her. She's being a killjoy as usual."

I glance back just in time to see Alex roll her eyes but say nothing.

Blair stops just before we reach the rink doors, turning to face me with a mischievous grin. "Besides," she teases, her voice lilting as she tugs at the fabric of my jersey, "have fun out there, #19."

Something about the way she says it-like it means something-makes my stomach tighten.

I glance down at the number printed on my chest, my mind racing.

"Uh..." I swallow, suddenly uneasy. "Whose number is that?"

Blair's smirk deepens, her eyes flicking past me toward the rink.

"Oh, you'll see."

And with that, she pushes open the doors, the cold air rushing in as the sound of skates cutting across the ice and voices calling out fills the space around me.

Just as I step inside, my eyes land on a familiar figure-broad shoulders, blue jersey stretched across his back, hockey stick in hand.

And right there, stitched in bold white letters beneath the number 19-

Two words. "Fuck. No."