Chapter 8: Akil

Akil

⛸️

I parked my car in the driveway, staring up at Ronan's massive house. It always looked the same—big, flashy, and way too perfect.

It had been like a second home to me since we were freshmen, so I wasn't even fazed by its size anymore. The palm flag—our team logo—flapped in the wind, marking the place as ours on game days.

I made my way inside, passing by the living room with its giant TV and all the hockey memorabilia hanging on the walls. Everything here screamed hockey, which made sense since Ronan's dad used to play in the NHL. Their house was practically our team's base during the season.

I didn't need to look for anyone right away. I was early, like usual. I liked the quiet before everyone else showed up. Dropping my bag onto the couch in the hockey den, I plopped down and grabbed the remote. A rerun of an old game flickered on, and I leaned back, letting the sounds of the game zone me out.

But of course, nature called. I groaned, stretching out before getting up and heading toward the bathroom. It was a quick detour—just needed to use the restroom.

I wasn't expecting anything out of the ordinary. I walked down the hall, reached for the door, and twisted the knob.

Then, boom.

"Nesta?!"

I blinked, completely thrown off. There she was—half-naked, standing in the shower, curtain drawn, while clutching a towel around her body like it was the only thing keeping her from falling apart. Her wet hair clung to her face, and the second she saw me, her face went from normal to fire-engine red.

"Akil, what the hell?!" she shrieked, yanking the shower curtain back as a shield like it was some sort of safety net.

I froze, caught in the awkwardness of it all. My brain took a second to reboot, and then I said the first thing that popped into my head. "Dang, what's up with us and seeing each other half-naked in towels lately?"

I could hear her sharp intake of breath behind the curtain. "You're insufferable!"

I couldn't help but smirk. "Well, technically, this is Ronan's house, and technically, you didn't lock the door," I pointed out, not even trying to hide my grin.

"Oh, so now it's my fault?" she snapped, her voice muffled but still sharp.

"Didn't say that," I shot back, raising my hands in mock surrender. "Just... maybe lock the door next time?"

A long silence followed, and for a second, I thought she might just hurl something at me over the curtain. "Why are you here so early anyway?" she asked finally, her tone still heated but tinged with embarrassment.

"I could ask you the same thing," I said casually, leaning against the doorframe. "Why are you showering at Ronan's place?"

"None of your business!" she fired back, sounding defensive.

Fair enough. I wasn't about to push it further, even though the curiosity was eating me up. This whole situation felt... off.

"Okay, okay," I said, holding up both hands. "I'll leave you to... whatever this is."

"Finally," she muttered, sounding relieved.

I backed out of the bathroom, shutting the door behind me and pinching the bridge of my nose. Nesta was seriously going to be the death of me. And as much as I wanted to hate that, there was a part of me that didn't.

I walked back into the hockey den, trying to focus on the game, but my mind kept going back to what I'd just seen.

Her. The way she looked—so different from the usual, prickly Nesta. Half-naked, her hazel eyes wide, her skin glowing in the light. The freckles on her cheeks stood out more, and I couldn't help but notice how smooth her skin looked. Her lips, though... they were a little puffy from yelling at me, but they were still... distracting.

What the hell, Akil? I slammed my brain into park mode. No. No, no, no. This was Nesta. The same girl who hated my guts and loved to throw insults my way.

But damn, her hair, her skin, the way she'd acted all flustered... it was messing with my head.

I scrubbed a hand over my face, trying to shake the image of her out of my mind. But it wasn't working.

Her soft skin, those bright hazel eyes... the way she had looked at me from behind that shower curtain—vulnerable, yet fiery.

Damn it.

I tried to calm myself down. Nesta wasn't some random girl. She was Ronan's best friend, and she made it pretty clear she hated me. So why was I suddenly thinking about her like this? Like, really thinking about her?

"This is bad," I muttered to myself, shaking my head as I flopped back on the couch.

Because no matter how much I tried to convince myself that Nesta was just an annoying, bossy know-it-all who would never give me the time of day, there was no denying the truth. Somehow, somehow, she'd gotten under my skin. And I wasn't sure what to do with that.

The rumble of car engines in the driveway snapped me out of my thoughts. One after another, the guys started pulling up, the familiar sounds of car doors slamming and loud, boisterous voices filtering in through the windows.

I sighed in relief. Distraction. That was what I needed—a break from the chaos brewing in my head. I shoved my thoughts about Nesta to the back of my mind and made my way to the front door.

"Akil! My guy!" Colby was the first one through the door, his trademark grin plastered across his face. He was carrying a six-pack of soda in one hand and a bag of chips in the other. Typical Colby. "Ronan down in the den?"

"Not yet," I said, nodding toward the basement. "But you know the drill. Make yourself at home."

The rest of the team started trickling in, their energy filling the house as they dumped their stuff on the couches, flipped the TV to a live game, and debated stats like they always did.

It was loud, chaotic, and exactly what I needed to drown out the lingering image of Nesta in that towel.

But of course, the universe wasn't going to let me off that easy.

I was halfway through a conversation with Eli about the Palms' defensive line when the soft creak of the basement stairs made me glance up.

There she was—Nesta. She was fully dressed now, thank God, in jeans and a hoodie, her damp hair pulled into a messy bun. But even like this, there was something about her that made my pulse pick up.

She paused at the bottom of the stairs, her eyes scanning the room until they landed on me. For a second, our gazes locked. It was just a moment—a fleeting flash of eye contact—but it felt like it lasted an eternity.

Her hazel eyes were still sharp and guarded, but there was something else there, too. Something softer. Something I couldn't quite name but knew I probably shouldn't be looking for.

Nesta quickly broke the stare, her cheeks flushing as she focused on Ronan's hockey memorabilia like it was the most interesting thing in the world. I shifted uncomfortably, my stomach doing a weird flip.

Eli elbowed me. "Yo, you good? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Huh? Yeah. I'm fine," I said, forcing a laugh. "Just tired."

"Right," Eli said, giving me a look, saying he didn't believe me for a second.

Meanwhile, Nesta made her way to the other side of the room, keeping as much distance between us as possible. She grabbed a water bottle from the mini-fridge, her movements stiff and calculated. The tension was palpable, and I wasn't the only one who noticed.

"Yo, Nesta!" Colby called out, grinning at her. "What's up? Didn't know you were coming by today."

She gave him a tight smile. "Just helping Ronan with some stuff. Thought I'd hang out for a bit."

"Well, good luck dealing with these clowns," Colby added, gesturing to the group as she headed toward the couch farthest from me.

As she sat down, her eyes flickered to mine briefly. That same tension crackled between us, but it wasn't just awkward this time. There was something else this time—something unspoken but undeniable.

It was in the way her gaze softened for a split second before she quickly looked away. It was in the way my chest felt too tight like I couldn't quite breathe right.

I tried to focus on the guys, on the game, on anything that wasn't her. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted between us.

And for the life of me, I couldn't decide if that was a good thing or a very, very bad thing.

Ronan finally showed up about ten minutes later, his usual swagger on full display as he strode into the den.

His dark hair was still damp from what I assumed was a quick post-practice shower, and he was wearing one of his Palms hoodies, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows.

"Alright, boys," he said, clapping his hands together. "Hope you're ready to talk business because we've got a lot to cover before Saturday's game."

"Business?" Colby groaned, flopping onto one of the couches. "I thought we were here to chill, not listen to you play CEO."

Ronan smirked, unfazed. "Relax, Colby. It's not that serious. We've got a shot at breaking our fundraiser record this year, but it's gonna take all of us pulling our weight. I don't know about you guys, but I'd rather not be playing with busted helmets and duct-taped sticks."

The room quieted a little as Ronan's words sank in. He wasn't wrong. Our equipment was starting to look like something out of a bad thrift shop ad, and the school wasn't exactly throwing cash our way to fix it. If we wanted to keep our season alive, we needed this fundraiser to be a success.

"So what's the plan?" I asked, leaning back against the couch.

"Glad you asked." Ronan shot me a grin before nodding toward Nesta, who was still sitting on the other side of the room, sipping her water like she was trying to pretend we didn't exist. "Nesta's the one running point on this. She's been working on the fundraiser and promo stuff for weeks."

Oh.

Of course. That explained why she was here, why she'd been at Ronan's house in the first place. It also explained the tension in her shoulders and the way she was trying not to look at me.

She wasn't just here to hang out. She was here because, for some reason, Ronan had roped her into helping us.

Nesta set her water bottle down and stood, smoothing out her hoodie. Despite her usual confidence, she seemed a little hesitant. Or maybe that was just me projecting. Either way, when she started talking, her voice was steady and direct.

"Okay, so here's the deal," she began, addressing the room like she was a teacher in front of a class. "The fundraiser is a raffle-slash-promo event tied to your game on Saturday. We've already got some sponsors donating prizes—restaurant gift cards, hockey merch, stuff like that—but we need to sell as many tickets as possible. The more people who show up, the more money we make. Simple math."

She glanced around the room, her hazel eyes briefly landing on me before skittering away. "Ronan's dad is pulling some strings to get local media coverage, and we've got flyers and social media posts ready to go. But the big draw is going to be you guys. People want to meet the team, so you'll be at the promo booth before the game, signing stuff, taking pictures, whatever it takes to get those raffle tickets sold."

The guys exchanged looks, murmuring their approval. Even Colby, who hated anything resembling work, seemed on board.

"Sounds solid," Eli said, nodding. "But who's handling the money and logistics during the game? We'll be on the ice."

"I've got that covered," Nesta replied. "I'll be running the booth with a few volunteers. All you have to do is show up, smile, and try not to scare anyone off."

Her comment earned a few laughs, and I caught the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at her lips. But when her gaze flicked back to me, the smirk disappeared, replaced by something unreadable.

Ronan clapped his hands again, cutting through the chatter. "Alright, you heard the lady. This fundraiser is our ticket to better gear, so let's make it count. Nesta's in charge, so don't screw it up."

"Got it, coach," Colby joked, saluting Ronan before turning to Nesta. "Hey, if you need someone to, like, model the merch or something, I'm your guy."

Nesta rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of amusement in her expression. "Thanks, Colby. I'll keep that in mind."

As the conversation shifted back to game strategies and practice schedules, I couldn't help but steal a glance at Nesta.

She was sitting quietly now, her attention focused on the notebook in her lap as she jotted down notes. It was weird, seeing her like this—so composed and in control.

For the first time, I realized just how much work she'd put into this. It wasn't just a casual favor for Ronan.

She'd been organizing this whole thing, making sure we had a chance to keep playing the game we loved. And she didn't even like me—or us, for that matter. At least, that's what I'd always assumed.

Maybe I'd underestimated her. Or maybe I was just starting to see her in a way I hadn't before.

Either way, one thing was clear: Nesta wasn't just some annoying know-it-all who got under my skin. She was more than that. And the thought of her being around more—at practices, games, team events—should've annoyed me.

But it didn't.

And that? That was probably going to be a problem.