The captain Next door falling for my greatest Enemy

EMERY.

I stood on the porch of the small off-campus house, holding the last cardboard box of my things. My clothes inside were damp. My shoes were soaked. But the worst part was the heavy feeling in my chest.

Twenty-four hours ago, I had a plan.

I was supposed to be packing for my dream university, moving into a nice dorm with a full scholarship. I was supposed to be celebrating with Mason, my boyfriend since we were sixteen. I had my whole life mapped out on a little grid.

Then, the grid broke.

First came the email. A cold, polite message saying my scholarship was gone due to a "last-minute funding shift." Just like that, the school I worked four years to get into closed its doors to me.

When I went to Mason’s apartment looking for comfort, I found something else instead. I found his hockey jersey on the living room floor. Then I found my own roommate’s shoes outside his bedroom. The sounds coming from behind his door told me the rest.

I didn't scream. I just packed my bags, broke up with him via a sticky note on his mirror, and left.

Now, I was here.

I looked down at the crumpled lease agreement in my hand. The rent was dirt cheap, which was the only reason I could afford it on my own saving squished from part-time jobs. The landlord had said there was already one student living here. A hockey player from Linchester University. I hadn't cared about the details. I just needed a roof over my head where Mason couldn't find me.

I dropped my key into the lock, it turned with a loud click.

I pushed the door open, stepping into a small, warm living room. The smell of clean laundry hit me. It was nice. Cozy, even. For a second, I felt a tiny spark of hope. Maybe I could start over here. Maybe I could fix my life.

"You're late," a deep voice said.

The spark of hope died instantly.

I froze, my hands tightening around the cardboard box. I knew that voice.

I hated that voice.

It was a voice that had teased me at parties, mocked my boyfriend, and made my blood boil for the last two years.

I looked up.

Standing in the doorway of the kitchen was Atlas Vance.

He was wearing nothing but grey sweatpants. His chest was broad, covered in faint lines of muscle and a few bruises from the ice. His dark hair was messy, sticking up in every direction, and his jaw was shadowed with stubble. In his hand, he held a glass of water.

He stopped tracking the glass to his mouth when he saw me. His grey eyes went wide. For a fraction of a second, he looked completely shocked. Then, his face smoothed out into that familiar, arrogant smirk.

"Well, well," Atlas murmured, leaning his shoulder against the door frame. "Look what the storm dragged in."

"No," I whispered. My voice cracked. "No, this is a mistake."

"I don't think so, Vale," Atlas said. He took a slow sip of his water, his eyes never leaving my face. "Your name is on the lease. I checked this morning. I just didn't think it was you."

"I'm leaving," I said, spinning around toward the door.

"Go ahead," Atlas called out, his voice smooth and teasing. "But it's pouring out there. And correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't you just dump Carter yesterday? Where are you going to go? Back to him?"

I stopped with my hand on the brass doorknob. The metal felt ice-cold against my palm. How did he know? How did he already know about Mason?

But of course he knew.

Atlas was the captain of the Linchester University hockey team and Mason was the star player for their biggest rival. They hated each other so bad that if Mason sneezed, Atlas probably heard about it. A breakup was front-page news to guys like him.

I turned back to face him, my chin lifted. I refused to let him see me break. "How I live my life is none of your business, Vance."

Atlas walked forward. He was tall over six feet of pure athlete and he seemed to take up the whole room. As he got closer, I could feel the heat radiating off his skin.

He stopped just a few feet away, looking down at me.

"Everything in this house is my business now," he said softly. He looked at the wet cardboard box in my arms, then up at my dripping hair. His smirk faded, replaced by something unreadable. "You look like a drowned rat."

"Thank you. You look like a jerk who needs to put a shirt on."

A small laugh left his lips. "Still got a bite, I see. Even when you're homeless."

"I am not homeless," I snapped, though my eyes burned with unshed tears. "I am your new roommate. Unfortunately."

Atlas looked at me for a long moment. His eyes traveled over my face, lingering on the dark circles under my eyes. For a second, just a second, his expression softened. It almost looked like... concern. But I knew better. Atlas Vance didn't care about anyone but himself.

He reached out and took the heavy box from my hands.

"Hey! Give that back," I demanded, reaching for it.

"Don't be too proud." he said, turning around and walking toward the short hallway. "Helping you reduces my rent. You can ask the landlord.”

I followed him, my wet shoes squeaking on the hardwood floor. "You're heartless."

"Clearly, I don't," he said over his shoulder. He kicked the bedroom door open with his foot and set the box down on a bare mattress. He turned around, crossing his arms over his chest. "Listen to me. We don't like each other. That’s a fact. I don't have a heart, but I'm alive, right?”

I stood in the doorway of my new room. It was small. Just a bed, a desk, and a window looking out at the rain. It felt real now. My old life was gone. This tiny room and the cruel man in front of me was all I had left.

A tear finally escaped my eye, rolling down my cheek. I quickly wiped it away with the back of my hand, hoping he didn't notice.

Atlas went completely still. His grey eyes locked onto my face. The playful, arrogant look vanished from his features.

He looked almost angry, his jaw clenching tight.

We stood there in silence. The only sound was the rain hitting the glass window. It was awkward and tight, the air between us thick with years of arguments and bad blood. He was my ex-boyfriend's enemy. He was the guy who always tried to ruin Mason's life on the ice. And now, he was the guy sharing my kitchen.

"There are rules," I said, breaking the silence. I needed to set boundaries. I needed to feel like I had some control over my life.

Atlas raised an eyebrow. "Rules?"

"Yes. Rule number one: we don't talk to each other unless we have to. Rule number two: you stay on your side of the house, I stay on mine. And rule number three: no hockey stuff in the living room."

Atlas let out a dry chuckle. He walked past me, stopping in the doorway. He was so close I could smell his sweat obviously from practice, and the mint masculine cologne.

"Alright, Vale," he whispered, leaning down slightly so his lips were near my ear. "We can play by your rules. For now."

I stepped back, my shoulder hitting the doorframe. The word “now” hung in the air, it almost sounded like a threat.

"Get some sleep," Atlas said, pulling back. "You look like you're about to pass out."

Before I could say anything else, he turned and walked down the hall, entering his own room and shutting the door.

I was left alone in the room.

I walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge of the mattress.

My body felt heavy with exhaustion.

I looked at my single box of clothes then at the gray sky outside.

I was twenty years old and I had no scholarship, no boyfriend, and no idea what tomorrow would bring. All I knew was that I was trapped in a tiny house with a dangerous, arrogant hockey captain.

And for some reason, my heart wouldn't stop racing not from anything he did, but from anticipation and fear of what's going to come next.