My Ex's Brother Is the Hockey Alpha

Catherine’s POV

The music is so loud it shakes my bones.

Bass thumps through the hall, rattling tinsel and glitter, vibrating my legs, my chest, my fragile heart. Colored lights…red, green, gold…flash everywhere, bouncing off the fake snowflakes dangling from the ceiling.

It’s like I accidentally stepped into a Christmas postcard… but I don’t belong here.

A giant banner hangs above the stage:

CHRISTMAS EVE BASH — HOSTED BY THE CLASS OF DANNY WESTLEY, WOODBLOCK CITY HIGH

Everyone looks perfect tonight. Girls in sparkly dresses. Guys in suits they probably borrowed from their dads. Laughter everywhere.

I clutch a small silver gift box like it’s keeping me alive. I wrapped it myself, painfully, cramping my fingers. Inside is a silver bracelet. D + C engraved on the inside. Simple, perfect, mine and Danny’s little secret.

I skipped lunch for a week, worked extra shifts, swore it would be worth it. Tonight is supposed to be our night. Danny promised.

“I’ll tell everyone,” he said.

“You deserve that,” he said.

“I love you,” he said.

And I believed him.

I push through the crowd, murmuring apologies as I weave between people moving to the music.

And then I see him.

Danny Westley. Blond hair catching the warm lights like he was born to glow. Confident grin. Surrounded by his friends and hockey teammates.

They orbit him like planets.

And next to him…my stomach drops…is Natasha McDonald, the most popular girl in school and the leader of the cheerleading squad.

Red dress, curls bouncing, sparkling like she owns the universe. Danny’s hand on her waist. His friends cheering.

My heart stops.

He leans in.

And the world ends.

Danny kisses her. Not a peck. Not a misunderstanding. A real, slow, confident, public kiss.

Natasha laughs softly into the kiss, then looks straight at me, her smile saying he was never yours.

The gift box in my trembling hands feels like stone.

For a moment, everything is silent…then chaos explodes. Screams, flashing phones, music pounding like war drums.

I stare, frozen, at the boy who said he loved me two nights ago, now kissing another girl like I never existed.

Is it… because I’m poor?

Danny pulls back, grinning at the crowd. “Guess the secret’s out. Natasha McDonald…my girlfriend.”

His hockey friends laugh, clapping him on the back.

The box slips from my fingers. Thud. My heart shatters.

Danny’s eyes land on me. A flicker of guilt. Gone. He looks away. Like I’m nothing.

I run. Past stares, past whispers, out into the cold December night. The music fades, replaced by my pounding heart. Christmas lights mock me with their cheer.

We were supposed to spend Christmas together. He promised.

Tears blur my vision. Mascara ruins my cheeks. I don’t even know where I’m going. I just run.

BAM!

Strong hands grip my shoulders before I hit the ground.

“Careful.”

I look up through tears. My breath catches.

Clinton Blunt.

Blond hair falling in that perfectly messy way. Gray eyes that miss nothing. A dark suit, tie hanging loose. Captain of Woodblock City High’s hockey team…the star forward everyone watches, everyone envies. Calm under pressure. Ruthless on the ice. And off it… a dangerously irresistible playboy.

For a moment, my blue eyes…hidden behind tears, framed by blonde hair…meet his. I freeze.

He steadies me. “Didn’t know my charm could make someone cry this fast.”

I try to pull away, legs shaking. “Let me go.”

His teasing expression softens. “Catherine Hopkins, right? What happened?”

“Nothing,” I lie weakly. “I’m fine.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You’re crying on Christmas Eve in Woodblock City.”

“…Okay. Maybe not nothing.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

His voice drops. Steady. Gentle. Enough to break me.

The words spill out before I can stop them.

“He was supposed to tell everyone tonight,” I choke. “He said tonight was the night. He said he loved me. He promised. But he kissed her. Natasha. In front of everyone.”

Clinton whistles low. “Danny Westley?”

I nod.

He laughs. “Forward or not, the guy’s got zero class.”

My lips tremble. “Everyone saw. I can’t go back in there.”

“Then don’t.”

I stare at him.

“Let him have his moment. He’ll regret it soon enough.”

“No, he won’t. He has her now. She’s perfect. I’m just…”

“Real,” Clinton cuts in.

I blink. “Real?”

He shrugs. “You’re real. Better than perfect.”

I want to laugh, but it hurts too much. “Why do you even care?” I whisper.

“Because I hate seeing good girls get crushed by idiots.”

The cold night air pricks my skin. My mascara is probably a disaster. But Clinton doesn’t look away. He leans closer.

“What if I told you I have an idea?”

I wipe my cheeks. “What kind of idea?”

“Let’s give Danny Westley something to actually regret.”

I frown. “What are you talking about?”

“Fake dating,” he says, like it’s obvious. “You and me. We pretend we’re together. People will talk. People will stare. Danny will lose his mind.”

“You’re insane.”

“Probably.” He smirks. “But tell me you don’t want to see his face.”

I imagine Danny seeing me on Clinton’s arm. Danny realizing what he lost. Danny hurting like I hurt right now.

“Why help me?” I whisper.

His voice drops low. “You deserve better…someone who sees your worth and appreciates you for who you are. And we both know that guy isn’t Danny Westley.”

I swallow hard.

“If you say yes,” he adds, low and dangerous, “you’ll have to sell it. Smile. Hold hands. Laugh. Act like you’re completely over him.”

I take a shaky breath. “…I can try.”

He holds out his hand. Steady. Certain.

I slide my hand into his. His fingers curl around mine. Somehow both comforting and electrifying.

“Deal,” he says.

We walk back toward the party lights, pulsing music now sounding like a distant storm. My heart races.

Clinton leans in, voice teasing, just close enough for my ears to tingle.

“Smile, Catherine. The show’s about to start.”

I do.

Because tonight… tonight, the war begins.

Catherine’s POV

I stop in front of the door.

My fingers squeeze Clinton’s hand like I’m trying to borrow his courage through skin contact. The music inside rattles the walls. Laughter explodes, like nothing bad ever happened.

Like I wasn’t just emotionally assassinated.

“I can’t do it,” I whisper.

Clinton turns slowly, one eyebrow raised, mildly entertained by the train wreck that is my life.

“Can’t do what?”

“Go back in there,” I blurt. “If I see him tonight, I’ll cry. Or scream. Or...accidentally commit a felony with a chair. I’m not stable enough to figure out which.”

He stares at me, measuring exactly how much drama he’s willing to tolerate.

“Okay.”

I blink. “Okay?”

He shrugs. “You don’t have to. We’ll start tomorrow.”

“…Tomorrow?” I whine. “Do you even know what tomorrow is?”

“Christmas,” he says, smirking.