Chapter 93: The Phantom Captain

Aveline’s POV

The crutches were resting against the outside wall of the music room. My heart had jumped into my throat when I saw them. I thought Kieran had fallen again. I was thinking his shattered ankle had given out and he was lying on the floor in agony.

I pushed the door open slightly. The words died in my throat.

Inside the quiet room, there was no sound of pain, There was no limping. Kieran was walking across the floor perfectly on two legs. He took three steps toward the old piano. His body was completely stable. His left ankle was heavily bandaged under his uniform, but he did not flinch. He did not even look uncomfortable.

I pushed the door open fully and my face went completely pale. The colour drained from my cheeks. I stared down at his feet, then looked up into his eyes.

"Kieran..." My voice shook violently. "How did this happen?"

Kieran jumped slightly. He turned around fast. For a second, a flash of pure panic crossed his face. Then, his features smoothed out. He gave me a calm, casual smile that did not reach his eyes.

"Oh, hey," he said. His voice was too light.

"The doctors gave me a special brace at the hospital yesterday. It aligns the bone perfectly. I guess my body just heals faster than normal people."

"Do not lie to my face, Kieran," I snapped, closing the door hard behind me. I stepped closer to him, my chest heaving under my oversized school uniform.

"You had a catastrophic ankle fracture. The doctor said your season might be done. You cannot just walk off a shattered bone because of a brace. What is going on?"

"I am not lying," he insisted. He took another step toward me, completely steady. "I was eager to get back. I wanted to see how much weight I could put on it. It honestly doesn't even hurt that much. The human body does amazing things when adrenaline is pumping."

"Adrenaline doesn't fix a broken leg," I said. My voice rose in the empty room. I looked at him, and suddenly I felt a deep chill. He was too calm. He was acting like a person who had won the lottery, not a boy who had almost lost his career. "Why are you doing this? Is it because of Coach Donovan?"

Kieran’s jaw tightened. The casual smile vanished. "Hale replaced me, Aveline. He called the press networks the day after the match. He didn't even call my phone to check up on me. He didn't ask if I was breathing. He just named a new forward for the championship finals."

"He was tensed up, Kieran!" I argued, trying to make him see reason. "The entire school is watching. Crestwood needs to win the coming championship. The pressure on the athletic department is massive right now. The coach has a job to lose. It wasn't personal."

"It felt personal," Kieran whispered. His eyes looked dark and hollow. "I gave everything to that team. I took hits that should have killed me. And the moment my bones crack, I am garbage to them. I am not sitting on that bench. I am not letting them write me out of my own legacy."

"Kieran, look at yourself!" I stepped right into his space, grabbing his arms. "You need to focus on your health, not on a stupid game! Stop this madness before you ruin your body permanently. If you skate on a broken ankle, you might never walk normally again. Please. Just sit out. Let your mother handle your father. Let the team play."

"You don't understand," he said, pulling away from my grip. His face went cold. "I am playing in that final. No matter what."

He didn't wait for me to speak again. He grabbed his crutches from the wall, slung them under his arms to keep up his cover, and marched out of the music room.

I followed him through the hallways, keeping my distance. He didn't go to the main exit where the driver was waiting. He headed straight for the athletic wing practice.

By the time I reached the locker room door, the rest of the varsity hockey team was already gathered outside. They were getting ready for afternoon practice.

Coach Hale Donovan stood in the centre of the room, holding a clipboard, his face tight with stress.

Kieran pushed through the double doors, leaning on his crutches.

"Coach," Kieran called out. His voice cut through the chatter of the locker room.

The entire team went silent. Coach Donovan looked up from his clipboard. His eyes widened in surprise when he saw Kieran standing there in his school uniform.

"Kieran," the coach said, stepping forward. "What are you doing here? You should be at home resting. The hospital report looked severe."

"The report was wrong," Kieran delivered firmly. He took a deep breath, dropped his crutches to the floor with a loud clatter, and stood completely flat on both feet in front of the entire team. "My recovery is ahead of schedule. I am ready to play in the championship match. I am still the captain of this team."

The players gasped. Milo and Landon exchanged shocked looks. Coach Donovan stared down at Kieran’s feet, then back up at his face. The coach’s expression was a strange mix of disbelief and intense anxiety. The pressure to bring a trophy to Crestwood was clearly breaking him.

The coach stepped closer to Kieran, looking him straight in the eye in front of everyone.

"I don't care how you walk, but healing comes first, Captain," Coach Donovan said, his voice loud enough for the whole room to hear. But then his eyes turned cold, stripped of any real empathy. "I just care that Crestwood lifts that trophy. If you can skate, you wear the 'C'. If you can't, you stay on the bench."

A sickening realisation hit me as I stood by the door. The coach didn't care about the medical miracle. He didn't care if Kieran ruined his life. The entire school system was against him. They just wanted a weapon to win a high school game. And Kieran was willingly giving himself up to them.

An hour later, the team was dismissed for study hall. Kieran went back to his locker to grab his coat. I knew something was physically impossible about his recovery. A brace couldn't do this. I waited until he was distracted talking to Landon down the hall, and I quickly unzipped his gym bag.

I searched through the extra jerseys and tape. My fingers hit something small and hard.

I pulled it out. It was a clear glass medical vial. Inside, there were a few strange, unmarked pills. I didn't know what they were, but I knew they were the reason he was standing.

This was his father's doing. Richard Hampton had put these in his hands.

"Give that back to me," a voice hissed.

I turned around fast. Kieran was standing right behind me. His face was twisted into a terrifying expression I had never seen before. His eyes were wide, bloodshot, and full of a wild, desperate panic. He looked like an addict caught with his supply.

"Kieran, these are killing you," I said, holding the vial tight against my chest. "I am taking these. I am going to save your life."

"I said give them to me!" Kieran screamed.

He lunged at me violently. He grabbed my wrists, twisting them with immense force. I gasped from the sudden pain. He yanked the vial out of my hands with a wild, desperate strength. He shoved me back against the metal lockers. The heavy clang echoed through the empty hallway.

He clutched the medicine bottle close to his chest, his breathing heavy and ragged. He was trembling all over. The drug, or the fear of losing it, had completely broken his mind.

I stood there, my wrists burning, staring at him in absolute horror. The sweet, protective boy who had taken a hockey hit to save me on the ice was completely gone. His father had successfully infected his mind. Richard Hampton had turned his son into a monster just like him.

Kieran looked at me one last time. There was no love in his eyes. There was only a cold, dark obsession. He slipped the vial deep into his pocket, turned his back on me, and walked away.

He was choosing the game over the only person trying to save him.