DISTRACTION.

I need a fucking distraction.

My jaw clenches as I line up another shot, my hands gripping the stick tighter than necessary. The puck sails into the net, but the fire inside me isn't cooling down. If anything, it's getting worse. I skate back, grab another puck, and send it flying. Another goal. Another wave of anger rippling through me. It's like no matter how many times I sink the shot, it's not enough. My brain just won't shut off.

I didn't want today to come, but here we are on a fucking Monday.

I hate Mondays.

Sam is skating toward me, part of the opposing team in practice today. I push forward, trying to cut through him, trying to get away from the raging storm inside me. I speed up, planning to dodge past him and score again, but he swings his stick out just as I make my move. The next thing I know, I'm hitting the ice, hard. It's cold, unforgiving, mocking me as I groan in frustration.

"Hey, Theo," a voice says, close by. My eyes narrow, locking onto their skate blade before dragging up to their face. "You okay?"

I don't answer. I can't. Words don't mean anything right now. Instead, I push myself up, glaring over at Sam. He looks confused, maybe even a little scared. I need to control this. Control. Theo. Control.

"I'm fine," I say, forcing a smile that feels more like a grimace. The muscles in my face ache from the effort, but it works. He backs off, probably thinking I'll snap if he says one more thing.

"Gray! Get over here!" Coach's voice cuts through the rink, filled with that familiar anger and disappointment. I turn to face him, already feeling my stomach twist. He's standing on the other side of the rink, face tight, arms crossed.

Fuck. As much as I hate him calling me by my last name, I hate the look on his face even more.

I can feel the eyes of my teammates on me, everyone knowing exactly why Coach is calling me out. I wasn't thinking, wasn't focused, and now I'm paying for it. I wasn't even focused enough to eat this morning. If it wasn't for Sophie's pasta, I might've thrown my stick at Sam when he knocked me down.

What the hell's wrong with me today?

"What's wrong with you, son?!" Coach's voice booms as I skate over to him, my eyes glued to the worn-out shoes he's wearing. I stare at them like they have all the answers. Maybe I should buy him a new pair if we win this round. Not that he'd accept it. He'd probably just lecture me like he's about to do now.

"Nothing, sir," I reply, the words coming out flat. I can almost hear the disappointment in his sigh before it even happens. It's the same every time I say that.

"Son, I hope you're good," Coach says, his tone lowering like he's trying to figure me out. Fear creeps in, wondering if Logan told him anything.

"I'm fine, Coach," I lie, forcing myself to look up at him. His face is softer now, concerned in a way that makes me wish my dad ever gave me that look.

"You sure? It looks like you're trying to break the net out there," Coach says, trying to lighten the mood. I don't bite. "Is something going on that's making you this angry?"

Yes. My father. He wants to see me, and I'm not in the mood for that. But what choice do I have? He'll come here if I don't, and I'm not ready for that. I'm never ready for him.

I shake my head, blinking through the haze of frustration clouding my mind. "No, sir. Just trying a new method."

Coach gives me a look, one that says he's not buying it, but he lets it slide. "Well, that method's gonna cost money if you tear up the net. Remember, just because we won the first round doesn't mean we're made of cash. We've got a long way to go."

And I'm ready for it. I'll go as long as it takes. As long as my name's up there on those buildings, as long as I can get out from under my dad's shadow, I'll give it everything I've got.

"Of course, Coach. Sorry about earlier." He shakes his head, exasperated, but he tells me to get back on the ice.

Fine by me. Maybe if I shoot enough, I'll finally drown out the sound of my father's voice in my head.

"Why bother doing hockey? Just join my company."

"Why can't you be more like your cousins? You're wasting my money skating around out there."

My dad's voice echoes in my head, every word sharpening the blade I've been grinding against myself for years. He's been saying that shit for as long as I can remember. Nothing I do is ever enough. He never cared about hockey, never cared about the wins, the blood, the sweat. He only cared about the empire he built and how much of a "disappointment" I am for not wanting to be part of it.

The puck flies off my stick with more force than necessary, clanging against the metal frame of the net. I don't even care that I missed. I just need to hit something.

"Hey, Theo!" Logan calls out, skating over to me with that concerned look that makes my skin crawl. He glances at Coach before turning his attention back to me. "Is everything alright?"

Again with that fucked-up question.

"Yeah, everything's fine," I mutter, sighing as my head throbs. I yank my mask off, rubbing my forehead, trying to ease the pressure building up. It doesn't help.

Logan frowns, not convinced. "Have you eaten?"

The question makes me freeze. Logan notices, of course. He always does.

"I've got a turkey sandwich in my sports bag, in the dressing room," he offers, his voice calm but firm.

I look at him now, trying to figure out if he knows something. Maybe he does, maybe he doesn't. Either way, I don't have the energy to get into it. I just want to play hockey and forget everything else.

"Stop staring. I know I'm hot," Logan jokes, breaking the tension with a grin.

"You wish," I snort, a small grin tugging at my lips despite myself.

Logan laughs, the sound light, cutting through the heavy weight in my chest. "Fine, but seriously, go eat something."

He skates off, rejoining the practice, leaving me standing there, contemplating his words. I hate that he's right. My stomach grumbles as if on cue, reminding me of how reckless I've been. I sigh and skate over to Coach, asking if I can take a break. He agrees, probably realizing I've been pushing myself for hours now without any real direction.

Inside the locker room, I find Logan's sports bag easily-his is the only white one among all the black ones. I rummage through it and pull out the sandwich, unwrapping it slowly. It smells decent, so I take a bite, letting the taste settle as I check my phone.

Five hours. I've been here for five hours. Shit.

I wonder if Sophie's done with her class. I didn't even tell her where I was. It sounds shitty, but I honestly forgot. I pull up her contact, staring at her name, guilt creeping in. Did she even make it to her class? Did she wonder where I disappeared to?

I scroll through our last messages. The conversation stopped last night. I didn't even thank her for the food she made me.

Shit.

She's going to think I'm a total asshole. I can already picture her getting pissed, crossing her arms with that sharp glare she gives when she's about to verbally tear me apart. Sophie's always been a fighter. Even when we were kids, when I used to steal her dolls, she'd get back at me by putting bees in my shoes. I shudder at the memory.

What if she does something worse?

I mean, sure, I'm older, but it's only a four-year difference, and from the things Ryan's told me about Sophie and her paybacks even now, I should be seriously worried.

It's not that I'm scared of her-well, maybe a little-but that's not the point. I just want to be on her good side. But with everything else weighing me down right now, the last thing I need is more drama. Trying to figure her out, to make things right, feels like too much. Like one more thing I can't handle.

God, I've got enough baggage already, I don't need another problem right now.

So why did you tell Ryan you wanted her to stay with you if you knew you couldn't handle it?"

My thoughts question and honestly I have no answer.

I debate sending her a text. Something simple like, "Hey, sorry I forgot to thank you for the food." But that feels like a cop-out. She's not the type to let that slide. She'll probably tell me to fuck off, maybe even block me. And honestly, I wouldn't blame her.

I sigh again, staring at her name on my phone screen, my finger hovering over the call button. Did she even make it to school on time?

Why can't I be good at this?

"I fucked up," I whisper to myself, feeling the weight of the realization sink in.

She'll never forgive me at this point, and I'm sure I'll get the silent treatment. Or maybe she'll argue with me. Honestly, I'd prefer the argument-it means I can at least say something back.

I should've texted her. That would've been the normal, human thing to do. Now I'm just standing here like an idiot, trying to fix this mess in my head.

Ripping off my jersey, I started thinking about where the photography department might be. I needed to find Sophie. Apologize. Fix it. But my thoughts were interrupted as the guys piled into the locker room.

"Yo, Theo!" Jaxon's voice cut through my focus. "Where you headed?"

"Maybe to see Becky?" one of the guys chimed in, and I groaned. I swear, I'm never hooking up at a party again. Next time, it'll be at a bar far away from these idiots.

Logan stepped in front of me, confusion in his expression. "Where are you going, man?"

"Do you know where the photography department is?" I asked, ignoring the stares.

He shrugged. "Yeah, it's not far. Why?"

"I messed up with Sophie."

"Sophia?" he asked, chuckling.

"Sophie, Sophia-same thing," I muttered, rolling my eyes.

Before Logan could respond, Jaxon butted in, his curiosity palpable. "Who's Sophie?"

"None of your business," I shot back quickly, but that only made them laugh harder.

"Oh, now it's my business," Jaxon said, stepping closer with a smirk. "Who's this mystery chick?"

"Don't tell him," I warned Logan, my jaw tightening.

"Come on, dude. You know I'm not going to let it go until you spill," Jaxon prodded, his shoulder nudging mine, the mock friendliness pushing my patience to its limit. I could feel my temper rising, my fists curling unconsciously.

"She's my friend's younger sister. Now fuck off." I tried to brush past him, but he stepped in front of me, blocking my path.

"You're lying." Jaxon's eyes narrowed, challenging me.

"I'm not," I snapped, gritting my teeth.

"You don't have friends aside from us," Jaxon said smugly. "And Logan only has older sisters."

"Stalker much," Logan muttered under his breath.

"Guilty," Jaxon grinned before turning his full attention back to me. "So who's Sophie, really?"

I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to keep control. "She's my childhood friend's sister, and she's not from around here. So drop it."

Jaxon's eyes lit up with that signature smugness. "Do you have a pic of her?" His voice was laced with innuendo, and I knew exactly where this was going. "Is she hot?"

That was it. My jaw clenched so tight I thought my teeth might crack. I stepped toward him, eyes locking with his in a dead-serious glare. "Don't you dare go near her."

Jaxon blinked in surprise, then clapped his hands, clearly enjoying himself. "Oh-ho, now I'm getting somewhere. She must be hot if you're getting this worked up."

I could feel my control slipping as my anger flared. "Don't even think about it," I growled, stepping closer. "I don't want her ending up like the rest of your situationships."

"Hey, situationships are still relationships," he quipped, raising his hands in mock surrender.

"I don't give a fuck. Just stay away from her."

"How? I have no clue how she looks like." He says and I stop listening after I made my statement.

I could feel the tension thick in the air, the other guys quieting down, watching our exchange. I turned to Logan, my voice gruff. "Give me ten minutes. I'll meet you outside."

Logan nodded silently, and I stalked off toward the showers, the frustration boiling in my veins.

As the hot water poured over me, I leaned my head against the cold tiles, closing my eyes. I needed to cool off-literally and mentally-before I completely lost it.

Did I go too far with Jaxon? I certainly hope not. I didn't usually let my temper slip, at least not off the ice. On the rink, sure, everyone chalked it up to the game-just trying to win, pushing through. But this... this was different. I wasn't even sure why I got so riled up. Maybe it was the way Jaxon kept talking about Sophie, like she was some conquest.

That's what bothered me. It didn't sit right. I knew how Jaxon treated women, and I couldn't see Sophie settling for someone like him.

But who am I to decide who she dates? I sighed, the thought hitting me hard. I was thinking too much about it. Way too much.

Shutting off the water, I dressed quickly in the spare clothes I always kept for after practice. When I left the rink, I spotted Logan and Jaxon talking upfront. They saw me approach, and the moment they did, Jaxon went quiet.

"Okay, apologize," Logan said, arms folded, clearly waiting for Jaxon to make amends.

Jaxon rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, trying to suppress a grin. "Umm, sorry, man. I know I can be hot-headed sometimes."

Logan snorted at that. "All the time."

Jaxon rolled his eyes. "Okay, yeah, all the time. But it was just jokes. I didn't know it'd piss you off."

That's the problem-I hadn't known I'd get so pissed either. Maybe it was because, deep down, I knew if Jaxon ever showed up at my place unannounced, Sophie would be there, and the idea of him around her... Just didn't sit right with me.

"It's cool," I said, keeping my voice even. No point in dragging this out. "Sorry for reacting like that."

Jaxon grinned again. "I get it. Your friend probably told you to keep assholes like me away from her."

Logan burst out laughing. "Yeah, glad you know you're an asshole."

Jaxon just smirked, but Logan turned to me, his expression more serious. "Umm, I don't think she's still in class."

"Why not?" I frowned, already feeling like I was running out of time.

"You've been in the rink for almost five hours, man. And she's a freshman-they don't have that many classes this week."

"How do you know that?" Jaxon chimed in, his teasing tone back. "You stalking now too?"

Logan smacked him on the back of the neck, hard enough to make him wince. "My cousin's a freshman studying Photography, genius. He said classes were over earlier. Does that answer your question, Mr. Curious?"

Jaxon nodded, pressing his lips together, clearly holding back another snide remark.

So, she's probably not in class anymore. Maybe I could catch up with her back at the apartment, I thought. The idea made my stomach twist with nerves. I just had to fix things.

Then my phone buzzed. One glance at the message, and I felt like chucking the damn thing across the room.

Dad: I'm at the usual spot. Get here now.

I sighed, tension knotting in my shoulders. I silently hoped he would forget about us meeting like he always does so this must be important.

"Umm, I have to go," I told the guys as I shoved my phone back into my pocket. Logan shot me a look, lingering like he was trying to read my expression, but like always, I kept my face neutral. He sighed, knowing better than to push, and Jaxon just nodded. We all went our separate ways as I made my way to the man who, unfortunately, shared my DNA.

It took me about ten minutes to get to the café. The same damn café we always met at when he decided to make an appearance. He never came to my apartment-probably because I didn't want him to. But knowing him, with all his connections and control over my bills, I wouldn't be surprised if he showed up one day just to make a point.

I stepped inside, scanning the room for that familiar look of disappointment. Most people were smiling, engrossed in their own lives. A couple of girls glanced my way, which wasn't unusual. At 6'3, I stood out, and Jaxon always said I had some resemblance to an actor-Tom Hiddleston or something. No idea who that was, but I just nodded along when he said it.

"Son."

The word practically made my skin crawl. I froze, then turned to see him-my father-sitting there with his usual blank expression. The black suit screamed "corporate big shot," as if he needed to remind me of his success.

Yeah, I get it, Dad. You're rich.

I walked over and sat across from him, both of us steeped in silence. I broke the tension first.

"You wanted to see me."

He set his coffee down and looked at me with that practiced disappointment. "No 'Good afternoon, Father'? I thought I raised you better."

You didn't raise me at all. I swallowed the retort. "Good afternoon, Father. You wanted to see me?"

There. I said it. Now, get to the damn point already.

"I'm getting married."

I blinked. Again? Isn't this like, the third time? "Congrats?" It came out more like a question than anything.

"Just that?"

I shrugged. "What do you want me to do? Jump on the table and dance because my father still hasn't figured out how to keep it in his pants?"

His eyes widened slightly as the tension between us thickened, and a few people in the café turned to look. But I didn't care. Let them watch. This was the truth, and he knew it as well as I did.

He cleared his throat, adjusting his suit like he always did when he felt rattled. "Still no manners, I see. But I shouldn't be surprised, given your choice to attend a public university."

"It's a good one." And it's as far away from you as I could get.

"I don't care about that," he snapped, pushing back his chair. "I've sent your monthly allowance. I even added extra, since I'm feeling generous today."

Of course he did. Feeling generous after probably screwing some woman half his age and deciding to tie the knot with her. I'd bet anything it wasn't his assistant this time, but some new fling.

"Thanks," I muttered, standing up as he patted my back like we'd just had a heartfelt conversation. He nodded, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, and walked out.

I stood there for a moment, staring after him, reminding myself to throw away whatever clothes his hand had touched.

I sat there for a couple of seconds, letting my father's news sink in. My head was still spinning from the conversation. The man barely knew me, yet here he was dropping life-altering announcements like it was no big deal. As if I needed more crap to deal with today.

I finally stood up and headed for the exit, but I was so distracted that I walked straight into someone. Hard. Before I could even apologize, I found myself staring into familiar green eyes.

Great. Just great.

My chest tightened as I took in her shocked expression. She hadn't even noticed it was me yet, probably too busy reacting to the sudden collision. But before I could open my mouth, some guy in a cap-seriously, who still wears a cap indoors?-stepped up beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder like he was her damn bodyguard.

"Sophie, you alright?" The guy's voice grated on my nerves instantly, not just because he was speaking to her but because he beat me to it.

"Sophie, is everything good?" He asked again, like she was some fragile creature who needed saving. And he gets to call her that but I can't.

I couldn't help it; I scoffed. Loud enough for them to hear. The entire scene was absurd-this guy acting all concerned, Sophie putting on her polite mask. And what was worse? She didn't even acknowledge me. She knew it was me, but she just played it off like it was nothing.

"Oh, I'm fine," she replied sweetly, smiling at him. "Just this guy here didn't know where he was going."

My jaw clenched. This guy? Really, Sophie?

I couldn't believe her right now. Acting all innocent and dismissive while this idiot with a cap hovered over her like he was her savior. She wasn't even looking at me. It's like I didn't exist.

Oh, give me a break, Universe.