Taming the obnoxious hockey captain

I take my seat on the swivel chair with both my hands resting on the edges of the table in front of me. The camera man broadcasting the news to every digital media outlet in Easton university stands only a few steps away from the recording area.

There's no smile on my face only anger, resentment and a strong sense of conviction.

"Hitting a girl is never acceptable, manipulating her, gaslighting her, and then walking away like nothing happened is not a mistake, that is a choice, and just because he is an athlete does not give him the right to make that choice without consequences," I make sure my voice is holding their attention as I let the words settle into the air.

Every living soul gathered here today must feel every single syllable before they decided how to twist it later.

"I have seen this pattern too many times," I continue, my voice gaining strength as I looked straight into the cameras like they were the ones I was addressing. "I have watched it happen to other girls, I have seen how quickly people excuse athletes because of talent, because of reputation, because of money, and I am tired of watching institutions protect men instead of protecting the people they hurt."

A small murmur arises from the students who packed themselves into the broadcasting room to watch the news directly. They all have their phones out flashing right in front of me but it didn't bother me.

This has become a norm for me ever since I joined Easton's journalism association. Whenever the no-nonsense Hailey Nirvana goes live, someone was sure to go down.

A student leans forward with that familiar kind of polite hostility that always came right before a trap question.

Ahhh...the typical 'athlete sympathizer.' I've seen their kind way too often to even flinch. I stretch my neck a bit to catch a glimpse of her then scoff.

Of course it's a girl.

They're the ones who are always the victims yet they still support their attackers and then when they finally realize it, they come crying online to gain likes and pretentious sympathy.My mouth tastes bitter just by looking at her and I want to spit on her so bad.

"Are you afraid of going back on your words later or changing your story if pressure comes from the school or the hockey team," she asked but didn't get a reply from me at first instead.

I wait, staring right at her make-up packed face.

Suspense always has them feeling like fools. It's the oldest trick in the book that has never failed.

Blinking slowly, I look at her because the question itself feels like it underestimated how far I have already come just to be standing here.

"No," I answer calmly without even a second of doubt, "this is exactly how it is going to be published, I am not backing down and I am not softening the truth to make anyone more comfortable."

Another 'girl' raises her hand almost instantly after that, her tone sharper, more direct. Clearly she was trying to dig beneath the surface of my certainty.

"Is this personal for you," she asks, "are you targeting the athletes specifically hockey players because of something that happened to you in the past," For a second I felt something in my chest tighten because my past was not a story I ever planned to hand over to strangers to dissect.

"My past taught me to recognize patterns," I say carefully, choosing each than they would ever understand, "but this is not about revenge, this is about making sure no other girl believes she deserves to be treated like she is disposable, I am writing the truth, and if that truth makes people uncomfortable then good, it should."

The room falls quiet after that and I cam feel several camera lens still locked on me as I slowly lift my gaze toward them.

"This will not be the only person I expose if this behavior continues," My voice is lower now but even more certain,

"I am not afraid of losing friends, popularity, or opportunities because none of that matters if girls keep getting hurt while everyone keeps pretending not to see it. This has been Hailey Nirvana, now signing off. Goodnight Easton."

"Then don't f*ck*ng protect us b*tch! No one asked you to." someone in the room screamed as Jade my cameraman shutoff the on Air sign.

But I ignore it. To me, everywhere is perfectly silent. In that silence I step away from the table because I have nothing else to give them, no apology, no correction, no softened version of the truth, only the raw version I have already decided to live with.

I walk out the door admist claps, cheers, jeers, insults hurled at me from every angle. As sadistic as it might sound, the jeers only made me happy; it meant I had torn away their feeble pride, leaving them with nothing but resentful malice.

A smile lits up my face.

"Ahhh..." I hum. "Mama's gonna sleep well tonight."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, I wake earlier than I would on a weekend because my phone won't stop vibrating on the bedside table till it fell over. And even then it still doesn't stop.

Each notification pulls me further out of sleep until I finally sit up and stare at the screen on the floor with sleep still dancing in my eyes.

The phone is overflowing with messages, mentions, and headlines that makes me angry because I've been woken up because of some people's unneeded opinions before I can even fully get myself.

"Ugh! How could I have forgotten to switch off my phone?"

I always switch it off after delivering the news. I know for a certain, my phone will be spammed on all social media networks before the next day.

With glee, I pick up the sorry phone and began scrolling through it. Turns out, my article had gone viral overnight...as expected, I flipped my hair back in pride.

Every platform I open has my words repeated, quoted, dissected, and argued over.

Meh. They'll get over it.

I am just about to shut down my phone and continue my sleep when I saw it; the official announcement from the athletic department stating that there would be an immediate investigation into the allegations.

Turns out, Ezra Donatello has been suspended from the hockey team indefinitely, pending review.

Comments flood beneath every post, some students thanking me for finally saying what they were too afraid to say, some calling me brave, others calling me a liar, an attention seeker, someone trying to destroy an athlete's future for personal gain.

I sit there reading all of it until my fingers go numb around the phone.

When I finally get out of bed I walk to the mirror without really thinking about it, staring at my reflection. I arch my head, legs and arms but I still look like the same girl who hated herself two years ago only now everything around me had changed.

I should feel victorious like I had achieved something powerful, but instead I just stand there blankly, staring at the girl in the mirror.

This is me...at the same time not me. Ezra Donatello is no longer just a name in my article but a problem I'm going to have to face in person.

And boy am I f*ck*ng ready to take him down.

"What the f*ck am I seeing all over the internet about you, Don?!"

Coach Hamburg barges into the locker room right as I pull my shirt off to change. The news of me mauling the rival team captain has spread like wildfire ever since that article dropped a few days ago. And I f*ck*ng hate it.

It's hard enough juggling psychology classes with being captain of the hockey team. Now this on top of everything?

"Coach, calm down. I'm sure it's not that bad-"

"Have you seen how many people are bashing you online?" Coach grabs me by my shirt, gritting his teeth inches from my face.

"You better get your head in the game, Don. You know I don't allow foul play on my ice."

He shoves his phone into my chest. I start scrolling. There are a lot of horrible things, too terrible to read twice. Even the ones trying to defend me are getting torn apart. I stare at the screen longer than I should.

D*mn. Is it really this bad?

"What the hell happened out there? Did you really do it?"

"I was dead drunk that night with the guys," I mutter, throwing on my red varsity jacket. I stuff my jersey into the duffel bag on the bench. "All I remember is leaving the rink after practice."

I try hard to pull up anything else from that night. But nothing comes. I hand Coach his phone back. "Is this gonna get me in trouble, C?"

Coach gives me an annoyed look and flings a brown envelope at my face. "See for yourself, genius."

I catch it just before it hits the ground and tear open the seal.

Sh*t.

"You can't be serious. The NCAA is involved?"

"You put a player on the floor bad enough that he's still not cleared for practice. What the hell were you expecting?"

I stare at the letter. The words blur slightly. An official investigation. Timeline. Hearing date. My name printed at the top like a case number. This isn't going away quietly.

Before I can respond, the door flies open. My dad walks in.

Coach tries to talk to him first. "Mr. Donatello, if you would please-"

Dad shoves him aside. A sharp slap lands on my left cheek. Then the right. Then the left again. A kick follows to my gut. I hit the floor, clutching my side. Dad has always used brute force when correcting me. That's how it works.

"You had one job, son!" he yells. "One f*ck*ng job, and you couldn't even do that right?!"

Coach tries to step in again, but Dad turns and looks at him with the kind of stillness that clears a room. Coach holds his stare for a moment, then glances at me with something that might be guilt. He mouths be strong, then slips out and shuts the door behind him.

I stay on the ground. Dad's kicks always hurt. I've never gotten used to them. "Dad, I can explain-"

"You better start talking fast. If it's not worth my time, you might as well order a casket."

He takes off his cufflinks, rolls up his sleeves, and squats down in front of me.

I open my bleeding mouth to speak, then close it. It stings too much. "I was drunk, Dad. I don't remember anything. But I know I didn't do it."

Elijah Donatello only believes what he chooses to believe, whether it's the truth or not. Looking at him now, I can already tell he has decided I'm lying.

"Where's the proof, Ezra?" His voice drops low.

"I just told you. I was drunk."

"Don't-" He grabs my shirt and slams his fist against the locker beside my head. "You want to ruin everything we've worked for? Is that what you want?!"

His eyes are wide, but it doesn't move me. I've seen this show too many times. There's no point reasoning with him when he gets like this. He's already made up his mind. So I say nothing.

Dad releases my shirt and stands up slowly. He smooths out the front of his jacket like we're in a boardroom. "You always go on and on about not wanting me to meddle. But how can I not when you keep f*ck*ng up?" His voice is completely calm now.

That's Elijah Donatello. NHL defenseman. One minute he's on the floor with you. The next, he's straightening his cufflinks like nothing happened. It took me seventeen years to understand this pattern. Now that I do, it will never work on me again.

"How do you plan to fix this, Ezra?" He reaches down and pulls me to my feet.

I stand tall. My face burns. My lip is split. I can taste blood at the corner of my mouth. "I'll handle it my way, sir. So back off."

I match his glare with mine.

He lets out a short laugh. Not amusement. Something colder than that. "Handle it your way. Right." He picks up the NCAA letter from the floor where I dropped it and holds it up between two fingers. "You've got a hearing date, a suspended season, and your name on every platform from here to Vancouver. That's what your way looks like so far."

"Then let it look like that." I take the letter from his hand. "It's still mine to deal with."

The calm act cracks. Just slightly. His jaw tightens. "You're one hell of a kid."

He bumps his shoulder hard into mine as he storms past and out the door.

The second he's gone, I press my back against a locker and let the silence settle around me. My fists hang loose at my sides. Exhaustion crashes over me all at once.

"Why do you let him treat you like that, man?"

I look up. Quido Rivers is leaning against the entrance, arms folded, watching me. Our defenseman. I don't know how long he's been standing there.

A tired laugh escapes my lips. The situation probably looks pretty pathetic from where he's standing. I'm twenty-two years old and I still get beat up by my dad.

Quido pushes off the wall and walks over, his eyes doing that quiet worried thing he never admits to. "You look like sh*t, man."

"I feel like sh*t."

He slings an arm over my shoulder and pats my back once. "You gotta put a stop to this. You're already banged up from the game, and he still came in here and-"

"Don't." I shrug his arm off. "Save the speech."

He steps back, hands raised. Knows better than to push.

We stand there for a moment. I fold the NCAA letter once and slide it into my jacket pocket. The hearing date sits in the back of my mind like a slow leak I can't ignore.

Quido walks toward the door, then pauses and turns back to face me. "So what are you gonna do?"

I grab my duffel off the bench and sling it over my shoulder.

"Figure it out."

The ride home is dead quiet by the time we hit the road. The bleak, dreary evening sky doesn't make it any better. Guess I have to be the big pants here and speak up. I am the captain after all but they don't seem to care about anything but their dumb games.

"Hey guys about the NCAA I've totally got it covered aight? Everything will be sorted out soon so please don't make this awkward by keeping quiet."

No one says anything for a while and it's grating as hell. Devon sneaks a peak at me slightly when he notices that I was talking. His split second of distraction costs him apparently, the game he's playing. These guys are actually playing Assassin's Creed when I am delivering a heartfelt apology?

"Hell yeah!" Devon crows as his assassin stabs Isaac's and the game ends. "For f*ck's sake!" Isaac pauses the game and shoots a dark glare at me. "What the fuvk cap? I just got deked out because of you."

Kilian who's driving the car throws his laptop on the dashboard and I caught it just in time before it smashed my toe. For some reason, Kilian likes to multitask in whatever it is he's doing. Just now he was watching a tutorial on how to kiss better while driving on the freaking highway.

Really, I have a crazy pack.

"Heard about your little uh... dilemma." he said sarcastically chewing gum. "That's the girl who started this whole thing. Seen her before?"

Devon snatches the laptop from my hand before I can even take a look. "Isn't she the girl at the broadcasting station always exposing messy stuffs about messed up peeps?"

I'm about to snatch the laptop back but Isaac reaches it first and passes it to Quido. Seriously?

He tsks when he sees the write-up with the girl's picture up front. "Yeah I know someone who works there. The girl's trouble man too bad you fell under her radar." They finally let me have the damned laptop and I see her face for the first time.

Well d*mn me she's one hell of a beauty. Full chest, nice *ss, and meat in all the right places. The only thing too 'meh' about her is that scowl she has on her face. "What the hell did I do to this girl I don't even know?" I sighed exhausted, pinching the bridge of my nose.

"Seriously? You don't know Hailey the Hailstorm?" I can't help but burst out laughing. "Hailey the what?"

"Bruh...she's the most popular journalist and news caster in all of Easton. I hear she runs this super tight anonymous channel where she posts exposés about athletes but no one's been able to confirm that yet." Quido explained.

"She's literally taking the same class as you cap how could you possibly not have noticed her?" "Uh, because I have a million things on my mind probably?" I reply sarcastically.

"Anyway, how do I convince hurricane Bella to help me?" "It's Hailey." Kilian corrected. "Whatever dude. Just tell me."

"Well I mean she is a girl and you are a guy so just do your stuff and charm her. Potato-potahto bruh."

Quido laughs from behind. "Yeah well good luck with that bro. That girl probably has an allergy attack when ten feet away from an athlete."

"I wonder what her deal is. Anyway, if you want to clear your name and not get benched by the NCAA, you gotta jazz her hard."

I use my hands to rub my face. These kind of girls were the hardest to reason with. Just by looking at her picture alone, I can tell she holds a strong prejudice against anyone who does any kind of sport.

Kilian must have sensed my distress because he suddenly pulls out his phone and types briskly.

"Jean and Joanne says they're free. How about they help you get your mind off things huh cap?" Kilian flashes his killer smile at me then winks. "Oh yeah! Tell them to bring their friends too." Devon pipes up from behind already brimming with excitement. "I have too much milk piled up and I really need to dispose it."

"Already did brosky." Kilian replied smugly and the two fist-bumped.

I let out a deep breath. I'm gonna need all the 'getting my mind away from things' I can get because tomorrow, I face Satan's spawn.

Tomorrow came quicker than it's supposed to. I'm sitting in the middle row beside the aisle so I'd have a better view of the person who's dead set in ruining my life. Sylvester, our psychology lecturer or Prof Sly, isn't in the lecture hall yet so there's still a bit more time for hurricane bella to get here before she does.

Or was it Malla? Miley? Fuvk it's something with a R I'm sure. Sylvester walks in soon enough at the same time Bella, Malla, whatever did. The classroom is packed as per my arrangement so the only seat open is the one beside me. I can literally feel her unease wafting all over the place as she makes her way to empty space beside me.

My eyes scan her thoroughly: she's cute I must admit though. A whole lot cuter than I realized from her picture. She has long black hair, a dripping curvy body.

F*ck, how have I never noticed that smooth body before?

But I'm noticing now. Her jean skirt clings to her curvy waist that just looks too perfect for a guy's arm to snake around and her cross-neck pink tank top hugs seriously impressive cherries. I don't have time to admire either of those appealing visuals because she catches me staring and frowns.

My mistake. She scowls at me.

"Hi there." I greet her warmly nevertheless, flashing a small smile that makes the small mole under my eye scrunch up a little. That right there is my beauty mark.

This girl just look at me, hum a reply, then sits down quietly. She begins to unpack her notes from her bag, leaving me speechless.

"Alright everyone class' starting right now. You know the rules: no side talks, no backtalk, no middle talk, no kind of talk at all got it?"

"Yeah~~"

"Ok! Let's continue from where we left off last class. So we concluded that..." Prof Sly's voice trails off in my ears as I sneak glances at the angry scowling granny beside me. She just looks so...d*mn up-tight with her waist length hair and sharp nose.

"Uhm...can we talk?" I arch my head to the side to catch a better look of her face but she doesn't even look back let alone reply. I try to poke her once to get her attention and this girl practically flung her hand in the air before I could even touch her.

She knocks over the tin sport's can I place on my table to help support my notes. "...and the revival of the mind-"

Prof Sly is sharply cutoff by the banging sound made by the can as it rolled down the steps, each bang being louder than the last. "And who may I grant the honor for disturbing my class?" Sly said with a tight grin on her face. Uh-oh. That's not good.

I'm about to raise my hand so I can take the blame and probably be sent out but little miss frowny face beat me to it. Geez, now she hates my guts. "You know what to do Miss Hailey. See yourself out till the end of the class."

Hailey! D*mn I was way off on the R.

Hailey gets up to leave but I raise my hand too. "The can's mine, Prof. I'm also at fault." I can feel the whole class stare at me. I guess no one ever expected me to stand up for someone or whatever. "In that case, no special treatment Ezra. The two of you, see me after class."

I let Hailey pass before I step into the aisle. I suppose you can say it's the chivalry in me, but that would be a great lie.

Really, I want to check out her *ss again because it's a d*mn s*xy one and now that I've gotten a glimpse of it I wouldn't mind another look.

I follow her up to the exit, suddenly realizing how freaking short she is compared to me. Just as we reach the exit and I shut the door behind me, hurricane Bella corners me to the wall, her hand resting on the space near my arm.

Wait, wasn't this supposed to be the other way round?

"What's your deal buster? Don't think I don't see you."

Who the hell still says 'buster' in the 21st century anyway? "So you actually can see?" I grumbled, avoiding her pinching gaze.

At least she isn't ignoring me now.

It takes a second before the details click together and my eyes widen in shock .

No. Fucking. Way.