Micah’s POV
"Can you please explain to me why exactly I got assigned to both Damon and Noah?" I demanded, cornering Raven the exact moment the meeting dissolved and the rest of the staff shuffled out to start their duties.
Raven just sat back in her rolling chair, casually finishing off the box of powdered donuts from earlier. "You’re the only person on this campus who is actually close to both of them, Micah. Who else could I have possibly given the assignment to?"
"I am not close to Damon," I muttered, my hands clenching into fists as a heavy frown pulled at my face. "It’s just Noah. I only care about Noah."
"And yet, you wrote an entire viral article explicitly detailing Damon Silver’s anatomy," Raven pointed out, licking a stray bit of sugar from her thumb.
"Speaking of that article, the news about the rink fight didn’t even blow up half as much as it should have because the entire student body was too busy waiting around for Volume Two of your column."
"Raven!" I yelled, my face flushing with a mixture of intense heat and pure frustration.
"Fine, fine!" She held up her hands in mock surrender, letting the half-eaten donut drop back into the cardboard box. "I’m sorry, okay? But you’re honestly the only writer I can trust with this. I could have handled the hockey team coverage myself, but I am completely drowned in work." She spread her arms wide, gesturing dramatically to the massive, chaotic piles of folders and administrative documents covering every single inch of her desk.
I let out a long, defeated sigh. "How long do I have before the tournament games officially start?"
"Uh... less than three weeks," she said, tapping her chin.
"Fine. Then I’m only going to do this until the tournament kicks off," I negotiated.
Raven immediately clapped her hands together in pure triumph, a massive grin splitting her face. "I knew you were going to say yes! That is so sweet of you, Micah. I swear, I definitely would have married you by now if you had a pussy."
"Then I am incredibly glad I don’t," I muttered dryly, turning on my heel and walking straight out of the office.
The moment I hit the hallway, I covered my face with one hand, a wave of pure dread washing over my chest. I had absolutely no idea what to do. How on earth was I supposed to look Noah in the eye and tell him that he had to work closely with me and his worst enemy for the next three weeks?
I was already entirely certain that Damon would have zero issues with the arrangement. The chaotic bastard would just use it as another excuse to back me into a corner and demand something shameless in return, just like that sudden, bruising kiss from last night.
The vivid memory of his lips crashing against mine flashed through my mind, making my pulse spike. I violently shook my head to clear the thought. "Focus, Micah," I whispered fiercely to myself. "Just focus."
I dragged my feet all the way to the campus hockey arena. The moment I pushed through the heavy double doors, a wave of sub-zero, freezing air hit my skin, making me shiver instantly.
From across the massive room, the head coach’s loud, booming voice echoed off the rafters as he gave a fierce lecture to the players. Several other media team members who had been assigned to the key athletic players were already scattered along the benches, snapping high-quality photos and furiously writing down notes.
I wanted to blend in and do the exact same thing, but the moment I stepped near the barrier, the coach suddenly paused his speech and signaled directly in our direction.
In an instant, the entire group of hockey players turned their heads toward the stands. My breath caught in my throat as both Damon’s dark eyes and Noah’s piercing blue gaze landed squarely on me at the exact same time. The sheer intensity of their combined attention felt like a physical weight. I looked back and forth between them for a split second before quickly dropping my head, completely unsure of which one I should be looking at.
The coach finally cleared his throat and continued talking, allowing me to find a quiet spot on the wooden benches to sit down and desperately try to take coherent notes.
He went on and on about the upcoming practice arrangements, grueling exercise schedules, and strict nutritional plans. But then his voice dropped into a deadly serious, low warning, explicitly telling the team not to ingest any illegal substances, hard drugs, or anything else that could completely implicate the university program.
I quickly scribbled the warning down in my notebook and raised my head.
The team huddle quickly broke apart as some of the players began skating off toward the locker rooms. One by one, the other media team members stepped carefully onto the ice to introduce themselves formally to the specific athletes they were tracking and to greet the coach.
The coach shook their hands firmly, barking out strict instructions and guidelines for the upcoming press releases.
When it was finally my turn to approach, I stepped onto the sleek, treacherous sheet of ice. I moved with agonizing slowness, my sneakers sliding dangerously as I tried with everything in me not to completely lose my balance. I had never actually stepped onto a live ice rink before. I forced my chin up, only to realize that the remaining players were still standing around, completely focused on watching my pathetic struggle.
A heavy wave of humiliation washed over me. The other student journalists had walked onto the ice like it was perfectly normal solid ground, but the moment it was my turn, I looked completely incompetent.
"Do you want me to come over there and help you out, Micah?" Damon called out mockingly from across the rink, a sharp edge to his voice.
The sudden shock of hearing his voice break the silence caught me completely off guard. My foot slipped, and I crashed hard onto the frozen ice, my notebook flying out of my hand.
"Oh," a few of the nearby players winced in unison, looking at me with pity.
I squeezed my eyes shut, my face burning with such an intense heat that I genuinely wished the solid ice beneath me would just shatter and swallow me whole.
Suddenly, the sound of blades scraping against the ice stopped right in front of me. I opened my eyes to see Noah squatting down to my level, his broad shoulders blocking out the harsh overhead stadium lights.
"Come here," Noah murmured gently, holding out a large, gloved hand toward me.
"Thank you, Noah," I whispered, a rush of relief flooding my chest as I reached out and took his hand. He pulled me up to my feet effortlessly. The moment I was stable, my eyes involuntarily cut past his shoulder to find Damon. The vice captain was leaning casually on his hockey stick, a wide, deeply irritating grin plastered across his face.
I scowled, instantly tearing my gaze away from him.
Noah kept a steadying hand on my arm until we walked over to where the head coach was standing. I took a deep breath and held out my hand to introduce myself. "Good afternoon, sir. I’m Micah Miller from the media department."
The coach’s eyebrows shot up the exact second he heard my last name. He immediately cut his eyes over to Noah, who was standing like a stone statue right beside me. "Miller? Ah, you must be his younger brother," the man asked, his voice dripping with sudden curiosity.
I nodded tightly. "Yes, sir."
The coach let out a loud, booming laugh, reaching out to wrap his heavy hand around mine for a handshake. I gave a polite squeeze and tried to pull my hand back, but the coach’s grip suddenly tightened significantly, locking my fingers in place.
I froze, looking up at the older man’s face. A strange, deeply uncomfortable look flashed across his eyes as he leaned forward, entirely invading my personal space.
"You may have to conclude your official media registration a bit later today... privately, at my office," the coach whispered, his breath hot against my ear.
"What?" I asked, my heart doing a sudden, uncomfortable thud as the man leaned even closer.
"Don’t be late, Micah," he murmured smoothly. He finally let go of my hand, giving me a patronizing pat on the shoulder before turning around and walking away toward the exit.
A heavy, suffocating silence settled over the ice. I turned around to look at Damon and Noah standing right behind me, and a sudden shiver ran down my spine. It felt like I had suddenly stepped straight into a horror movie.
Both of them were completely frozen in place, their expressions dark as they stared dead holes directly into the back of their head coach’s retreating form. The raw, violent malice radiating off both of them was completely palpable.
"Ah... looks like someone desperately needs to die," Damon whispered, his voice dangerously low and completely stripped of his usual playful mockery.
I gasped, my eyes widening in alarm as I looked between them. "Who... who is dying?"
Noah stepped forward, completely ignoring the question. He reached out, pressing his large palm firmly against my cold cheek, forcing me to look up into his icy blue eyes.
"Don’t worry about a single thing, Micah. It seems like both that brat and I are officially assigned to you now," Noah said, his voice dropping into a flat, chilling tone that sent a wave of goosebumps down my arms. "We will meet up very soon to discuss our schedule with you. But for now..." His grip on my cheek tightened just a fraction. "Go straight home. And lock the doors."
I wanted to open my mouth to tell him that I actually had to go to the coach’s private office first to finish the paperwork, but looking at the terrifying, united darkness in both Noah and Damon’s faces, I completely changed my mind. I gave a small, trembling nod, turned around, and began slowly making my way off the ice rink.
My mind was spinning in pure, chaotic circles as I pushed through the arena doors. I didn’t understand what was happening, but it almost felt like Damon and Noah were mutually planning something dark.
I quickly shook my head, trying to dismiss the thought. There was absolutely no way. Those two absolutely hated each other’s guts—there was no world in which they would ever do anything together.