Heartbreak On Ice

REYNA

<><><>

"EVANDER! EVANDER!!"

Varna's scream still cuts through my skull like glass. Her voice was hoarse and broken. Not even aimed at me.

I can still see her, wrists strapped to the bed, body thrashing, dark hair sticking to her damp face. The lights of the psychiatric hospital were too bright, making the shadows under her eyes look darker.

Her mother buried her face into her father's chest, shaking. The monitors beeped as the nurses held Varna down while she clawed and screamed out her lungs until they sedated her.

And me? I stood frozen. My heart aching in several places. My best friend looking straight at me... and not recognizing me.

Varna Soni. The girl who once wore gold hoops in her right nostril, laughed loudly and hugged like she couldn't get enough of it. The one who took me in when I ran away from my parents at eighteen and had nowhere else to go. The one who would say my name-Reyna-and the words "my sister" after.

Now her eyes were bloodshot, her skin grayish, lips dry and cracked. Her smile long gone with the coke.

Because of him.

Evander Gabriel. Grentwood College's hockey star and golden playboy. The one who made her fall for him, then shattered her, leaving her to numb the pain with drugs.

Varna's parents pressed her diary into my hands that night. The pages smelled faintly of her favorite coconut shampoo. The ink was smudged in places with tears or spilled coffee; I couldn't tell.

I read every word. Every aching confession. Every line where his name pierced like a dagger through my best friend's heart.

I cried and cried until I couldn't breathe.

And I made a promise. A promise to avenge Varna Soni.

Play the playboy at his own game. Manipulate him into falling for me, then crush him in front of everyone. Make his heart bleed until he feels the pain Varna felt.

~~~

That was three months ago.

Now, I'm halfway across the country, in Minnesota, at Grentwood College, as a transfer student.

I sit at the front row of the metal bleachers, watching a practice game.

The air inside the hockey rink bites at my cheeks. My breath fogs in front of me, hitting the glass.

He's here.

Evander Gabriel.

On the ice, he moves like a man destined to be on the rink. The puck snaps off his stick in a sharp strike, slamming into the net before the goalie even reacts. The crowd on the sidelines, mostly girls, erupts.

He's twenty-four, the team captain, "Ice King" to his rivals. Has third year Sports Science lectures in the morning, hockey practice in the afternoon, and a reputation for being killer at chess.

You'd think the devil has horns. This one wears beauty.

Evander Gabriel is six-foot-two of trouble. Broad shoulders, lean muscle, and black hair that stays perfectly tousled no matter how hard he plays. His ice-blue eyes scan the world like he owns it, softening only when he wants something.

Even the faint scar above his left eyebrow looks intentional, like the universe had decided perfection needed a flaw.

And that lazy, yet confident smile that fits his sharp jawline perfectly is the reason girls keep lining up to get their hearts broken.

As practice ends, Evander glides off the ice to the bench area, helmet under his arm. His teammates slap his shoulder, laughing. The girls rush forward, crowding around with towels, water bottles, and excuses to touch him.

He touches their arms, says their names, dishes out compliments, and eats up the attention like oxygen.

I cross my legs and pull my sketchbook onto my lap. To anyone watching, I'm just a twenty-two year old behavioral science major sketching the rink, with a headphone around her neck. To me, it's a revenge mission.

"Be clever if you want. You're on your own." That's what my father used to say before I stopped letting his words mean anything.

Through the horde of fangirls, his gaze slides over the front row... and lands on me.

He smiles. Slow and confident. Like he's so certain I'll worship him like the others.

But I don't give him the satisfaction.

My face bends into a frown. Then I slip my headphones on, stand up, and walk away.

From the corner of my eye, I catch him still watching me, no longer focused on his girls. His head is tilted slightly, like I've just moved a chess piece he wasn't expecting.

I smile to myself. Target acquired.

Golden boys always want what they can't have.

Evander Gabriel... I'm going to enjoy breaking you.

I swear it!

REYNA

<><><>

EVANDER GABRIEL is kissing me!

Not figuratively. Literally!

And the worst part?

I think he knows exactly who I am.

~~~

A few minutes ago...

The dormitory hallway buzzed with the sound of gossip, hushed yet loud enough to make my blood boil over with anger.

Two girls were huddled in a corner.

The shorter one whispered, "I heard Varna tried to seduce one of the professors to get him to boost her grades... but he rejected her, and that's why she dropped out."

The other girl burst into a ripple of cruel giggles.

I froze mid-step. My grip on my dorm key tightened until the metal edges dug into my palm, creating marks.

My hands shook. My heart squeezed into my ribs.

They didn't know her. Not the real her.

Not the girl who stayed up all night watching Gilmore Girls, the girl who loved paal cake to death.

And now they had reduced her to a filthy rumor?

By the time I reached my door, my chest burned with fury. I just wanted to get inside, slam it shut, and scream into my pillow.

But the key just wouldn't fit.

I shoved it again. And again. But each time, it scraped uselessly against the lock.

Then, out of nowhere, a deep, gravelly voice came from behind me:

"Funny..." he said, "...I've heard things about you."

I spun around.

Evander Gabriel stood there, hands in his hoodie pockets, hood shadowing that stupidly magnetic face.

My pulse jumped.

Did he know?

"Th... things?" My voice cracked. "What things?"

He gave me a lopsided smile, the kind that said he was holding cards I couldn't see.

"I won't tell," he murmured as he shook his hood off. "But on top of that, you're trying to break in now, sweetie."

The word "sweetie" landed in my stomach. Badly.

"What do you want?" I asked in a voice so steely, it could have ripped his charming face right off.

He grinned. "Aside from trying to get into my room..." His eyes skimmed over me, shameless. "...maybe your number."

My stomach twisted with disgust.

If he knew my real reason for being here and was still flirting, then he was trying to play me.

And if he didn't... then he was still the same snake who thrived on power games and using women.

For a flicker of a second, I saw Varna again, brown eyes sparkling, feet propped on the cafeteria chair, laughing so hard she snorted.

I blinked, and the image went away.

Evander's words registered fully in my head.

"Wait, you said your room?"

"Yes love."

"Don't call me that." I hissed, turned around, and tried to open the door, but it still wouldn't budge.

Suddenly, I felt warmth and big hands on mine. Evander's.

"Baby," he said, "...if you want us to move to the bedroom, I have the keys."

I snatched my hands away like his touch was a match that had burned to the tip.

A chuckle left his lips. Throaty and attractive, but for the monster he is.

He slipped a key into the lock and opened it in one clean turn.

"This is 32, my room. That," he said, pointing across the hall, "is 23, your room."

My eyes widened, realizing my mistake and worse, my fate.

A groan rose in my chest, eventually coming out as a mutter. "Great. They gave me the room directly across from you, of all people."

His smile dropped and his eyes narrowed. "You knew me before."

It wasn't a question. It was a statement that made my eyes go wide and my heart double over in my chest.

Shit. Slip up.

As quickly as I could, I cleared my throat, calmed my breathing, and looked him in the eye.

"Your reputation precedes you, Evander Gabriel," I said calmly.

His mouth curved into an amused smile. "And so does your beauty, Reyna Davidson."

I narrowed my eyes, filing away his tone, his posture, and the way his gaze lingered like he was mapping me.

Fine. If he wanted to play, I'd make him think he was winning.

I stepped closer, tilted my head, and lowered my voice like a twenty-first-century Marilyn Monroe.

"Don't you think it's too early in the season to be asking around about a girl, Captain?"

His eyes sharpened, studying me the way a wolf sizes up whether the prey will run or bite back.

I let my wavy ginger hair fall over my shoulders, close enough for him to smell the faint trace of my perfume.

My looks are the one good thing I got from my parents. My mother's amber eyes that shine almost golden in the sun. My father's ginger hair with a blonde streak in the front. And both their freckles, dusting my nose and cheeks.

I'll be damned if I don't use all these to milk Evander Gabriel in.

Inch by inch, I leaned in to him, our breaths mingling, our noses almost touching.

Letting him think something sweet was coming. Letting him relax, let down his guard, and lean in, his ice-blue eyes dilating in anticipation.

Just when he tilted his head, about to go in for the kill, I pulled back with a calm sigh. "Not every girl wants to kiss you, Evander."

He smirked, like I'd set him up for his own punchline. "Oh, but deep down, you know you do."

"Don't flatter yourself. You're not my type."

Immediately those words left my lips, I knew I'd hit him in the guts.

For a split second, something dark flickered in his eyes. My words were a bruise to his ego.

I smiled internally.

But just as fast, he masked it under a smug grin.

"I am everybody's type."

As I was about to reply, a singsong, female voice called from around the corner: "Evander...?"

A girl my age appeared wearing very revealing clothes.

Immediately he saw her, Evander's hand grabbed my waist and his body closed the space between us.

His lips were on mine, before I could react.

~~~

Now.

I gasp, stumbling back into the wall as his lips press firmly into mine.

His scent-clean, expensive, masculine-crashes into me. His mouth moves, slowly but with deliberacy, not romance. Like this too, is a move on his chessboard.

No. I can't let this happen.

But then his arms slip fully around my waist, pulling me in, deepening the kiss. Heat licks at my skin.

Reyna! What are you doing?!

He pauses, just enough for his lips to brush mine as he murmurs huskily, "You're a good liar, Reyna. But not better than me."

My eyes go wide. The words hit harder than the kiss.

Then, without giving me space to breathe, he claims my mouth again.

My brain screams at me to shove him away.

But my body betrays me, cataloguing the warmth, the press, the rhythm-

And I have no idea if I have already botched my plans before they even began.

REYNA

<><><>

SLAP!

I regain my senses, and my hand flies before I can stop it.

The sharp slap echoes in the hallway, ringing louder than the blood rushing to my cheeks.

Evander freezes, his head snapping to the side, a red mark blooming across his perfect cheekbone.

I feel my heart hammering, my breath panting.

He holds his cheek.

My own hand stings. But my chest stings worse. Because damn it-I kissed him back.

For half a second, I had wanted it.

That second was betrayal enough.

And that made me hate him-and myself-even more.

"You... You think this is a game?" My voice cracks.

Evander straightens slowly. His hand falls down to his side, his eyes glinting like winter glass. For once, the smug smile is gone.

He exhales. "That wasn't-" His jaw tightens. "That wasn't about you."

I scoff. "Excuse me?"

"She was watching." He jerks his chin toward the corner where the girl with the sing-song voice and revealing clothes had stormed off angrily in the middle of our kiss.

"She's been following me around like a ghost all week. I wanted her to back off."

"You used me."

He flinches, like I burned him, then steadies. "I didn't think it would hurt you... not like that."

A rumble stirs in my chest. "You don't know me."

He gulps, glancing down, then up at me again.

In a quiet voice, he says, "I'm sorry, Reyna."

He apologizes, yet the air between us is tight, tense, like a hell that has frozen over all of a sudden. I know I should walk away.

But instead, I blurt, "What have you heard about me?"

Evander's gaze sharpens. His fingers drum against his thighs once, then go still. Like he's studying me, like he's reading moves on a chessboard.

He finally speaks, in a serious tone. "That the new girl with the ginger hair and blonde streak doesn't blend in. People notice you whether you try or not, Reyna. Your features stand out."

His eyes are locked on mine. There's no tilted head, no smirk, no lowered voice.

He's not flirting. He's been honest. And for some reason, it feels... unsettling.

"And during the kiss," I press, "when you said I'm a good liar but not better than you?"

He shrugs, a ghost of a smirk curling his lip. "I meant the kiss. You pretended not to want it. I called your bluff."

I feel heat crawl up my neck. My fists clench as relief and humiliation settle inside me.

He doesn't know my real motive. Phew!

I turn to leave, when out of the blue, he catches a few strands of my hair between his fingers.

My eyes bulge. My feet freeze in place.

His voice dips low.

"Reyna," he says, "I'm sorry."

I clamp my teeth on my lower lip. The way he says my name... it shouldn't matter.

But it rattles me more than the kiss.

I yank my hair free and bolt.

~~~

The next morning, golden sunlight stabs my eyes, instantly jolting me awake.

I reach for my phone. The screen mocks me: 8:32 AM

Cac!

That's "shit" in Irish Gaelic and exactly what I'm in right now.

I tumble out of bed, my hair a wild mess of ginger and blonde, legs tangling in my blanket, and somehow remembering my Irish roots at this dire time.

My stomach churns with panic.

I dive for the bathroom. Turn on the faucet. Nothing.

A dhiabhail! There's no water.

I slam the tap shut, my chest heaving, my heart threatening to spill forth. "You've got to be kidding me."

Quickly, I yank on jeans and a crumpled shirt, drench myself in perfume, and shove random notebooks into my tote bag.

My phone buzzes.

Professor Willard's group chat: "Paper due 9 AM."

The air leaves my lungs. The room tilts. I bite my lips to stop another curse from escaping.

I never finished the paper.

My heartbeat drums like thunder in my ears. This isn't just undone assignment.

This is Professor Willard's. The human equivalent of an angry pot of boiling oil.

Basically academic suicide for a second-year transfer student.

If I mess this up, I risk probation.

Images flash through my head: Varna. Her strapped wrist. Her screams. The way she smelled of disinfectant and drugs.

I have to stay to make that bastard pay. I can't lose this chance. I can't fail her.

Swiftly, I get on my knees and dig through old folders, my hands shaking as I scatter my sketches and notes across the floor.

My fingers brush a stapled pile. An old paper. The same topic as the assignment. But not mine.

I freeze as guilt tears at my chest. What I'm thinking of doing is wrong. Plagiarism is wrong.

But Varna's screams flood my head, and I give in.

Survival doesn't wait for morals.

I rip the front page with the original name and shove the rest into my bag.

My eyes fall on the tattoo inked on the inside of my left wrist.

A small tat in cursive. Survive.

"Yes," I whisper. "Survive."

I sprint out the door.

And on impulse, I pound on Evander's. "Hey, do you have running water-"

The door swings open.

A girl leans against the frame, holding a handbag in one hand and a pair of heels in the other.

Her hair is a tangled mess, lips swollen, lipstick smudged, and she's wearing nothing but Evander's hoodie.

My stomach drops. My chest feels tight. Why does my chest feel tight?

Behind her, Evander appears. Bare-chested, jeans unzipped, and belt unbuckled and hanging loose.

Oblivious to my presence, he holds up a big, white, lacy bra, smirking. "You forgot this."

The girl and I look at the bra, then down at her small boobs.

Her voice is flat. "That's not mine."

A beat passes.

Evander freezes.

The bra dangles in his hand, absurdly oversized.

He scratches the back of his neck. "Oh, uh... laundry?"

Then he spots me. And freezes again.

He hurriedly shoves the bra behind his back.

The girl struts out.

Disgust twists on my face before I can hide it. After ruining my best friend's life, here he is, half naked with a woman, like she doesn't exist.

He notices my expression. And of course, he grins.

"Good morning to you too, my sweet neighbor."

I mutter under my breath. "Amadán!"

That's Gaelic for "idiot."

"What was that?" His grin widens as he steps closer.

Then he sniffs. Actually sniffs me.

My jaw drops. Rude!

"Wait. Did you shower?" He says.

"I... what... no!" My hands fly up defensively. "The water isn't running, and I'm late, so-"

His laughter cuts me off, deep and obnoxiously rude. "So you went with hide-and-scent."

I feel my cheeks burn. I want to strangle him.

"At least I'm not sleeping with a different girl every night," I snap.

His grin sharpens. "Jealous much?"

"Ha! You wish. The day I'm jealous of your bench rotation is the day pigs ice-skate."

With that, I turn around, holding back the exasperated groan bubbling in my chest, and storm down the hall.

"Use more perfume next time!" he calls after me, guffawing in laughter.

Amadán!

~~~

One Week Later.

Every eye in the room zeroes in on me, and I regret ever being born on Earth.

Mars sounds way better than this conference room filled with disciplinary officials who want to bite my head off and, worse, revoke my admission.

The paper I turned in for Professor Willard's assignment sits on the long table, damning me.

Words like "plagiarism" and "academic dishonesty" fall out of their lips and slice through the air.

I want to disappear. Turn into an ant, crawl into a hole, and hide.

My palms are moist with sweat. My ears ring like highschool bells.

If they revoke my admission, it's over. My revenge. My promise to Varna. All of it.

Survive, I remind myself, as my fingers tremble against my inner wrist.

The door creaks open, and my eyes snap to it.

Evander strides in confidently. Composed. Ice-blue eyes scanning the room like he's the puppet master.

What is he doing here?

He shakes the dean's hand, that golden-boy, pearly-white smile dazzling.

The officials shower him with praises. Words ripple around me. Words like Grentwood's pride. Captain of the Icewolves. Exceptional character.

I almost scoff out loud. Exceptional character, my left foot.

But then the next group of words is absolute betrayal.

They say I should be grateful to Evander. It was his idea.

Instead of expulsion, I'll work on a probationary project.

Of course. The golden boy saves the troubled girl. Story of his life.

Professor Willard's stern, deep voice booms through the room, as he strokes his long, white beards.

"Reyna Mae Davidson, in order to keep your admission, you must conduct a field research project on group behavior and team dynamics. Case study assigned to... the hockey team."

Assigned to him?!

"But Sir-"

Professor Willard raises a hand, immediately shutting me down. "No buts."

My stomach twists into a pit of fire.

Evander's done this. He's trapped me.

My gaze finds his. His is calm, calculated and... smug.

Mine is livid, burning, and murderous.

My teeth clench so hard my jaw aches.

A slow smirk curves his lips.

The boardroom dissolves into buzzing voices. But all I see are his eyes and the cold war that has just begun.

Fine, Evander Gabriel. You want a game? Then I'll play.

On my own terms.