The salt-kissed air of the victory beach party thrummed against Ethan's skin, a chaotic symphony of crashing waves, shouted laughter, and the tinny beat of a portable speaker. He was perched on a repurposed cooler, the plastic lid groaning under his weight, a half-empty beer bottle dangling from his fingers. The cold seeped through his jeans, a grounding sensation against the fizzy buzz of alcohol in his veins.

Mason was holding court, reenacting a disastrous practice drill with the kind of exaggerated flair that had Kai doubled over, his usual composed demeanor shattered by genuine, wheezing laughter. Even Zane, the stoic defenseman, had cracked a rare, small smile, the firelight catching the sharp planes of his face. This was it. This was the feeling Ethan lived for—the post-win high, the unbreakable bond of the Blades, the easy, uncomplicated camaraderie. He was the heart of the team, the funny guy, and right now, he was supposed to be in his element.

But his smile felt like a poorly fitted mask.

His gaze, hazy with a couple of beers, kept detaching from the circle of his friends, sweeping across the crowded beach. He scanned the silhouettes dancing near the bonfire, the groups clustered around coolers, the couples walking hand-in-hand along the water's edge. He was looking for one specific silhouette, one face. He was looking for you.

"...and then the rookie," Mason bellowed, slapping Ethan's thigh, jolting him back to the present, "promised he could down five of those energy drinks before the third period! The bet was on!"

Kai grinned. "Did he do it?"

"Did he?" Mason laughed, a loud, barking sound. "He did. The following ten minutes, however, were dedicated to personally watering every patch of dune grass within a fifty-foot radius. I've never seen 'Slapshot' here move so fast to get out of the splash zone!"

The guys roared with laughter. Ethan forced a chuckle, the sound tight in his throat. He ran a hand through his disheveled pink hair, the dye job looking almost neon in the flickering firelight.

"Yeah, well," Ethan said, his voice louder than necessary, trying to recapture his usual boisterous tone. "Gotta be quicker than a puck, right? Speaking of... being quick... or, uh, not." He took a swig of his beer, the liquid suddenly tasting bitter. "Anyone else notice how it's all couples tonight? It's like a damn romance novel out here. Makes a single guy feel a bit... obsolete."

It was a weak opening, a pathetic fishing expedition. He hoped one of them would take the bait, would say something about you, maybe mention seeing you earlier. But Mason just clinked his bottle against Ethan's.

"Relish the freedom, man! No one to answer to!"

Ethan's smile tightened. Freedom felt a lot like emptiness just then. His eyes continued their restless search. And then he found you.

You were standing near the edge of the party, where the light from the fires began to fade into the dark expanse of the ocean. But you weren't alone. A guy, some dude from the Sigma Tau fraternity with broad shoulders and a too-confident posture, was leaning into your space. It was a scene Ethan had witnessed a dozen times before—you were magnetic, and guys were inevitably drawn to you. Usually, he'd just watch with a dull ache in his chest, his jealousy a private, burning thing he'd smother with a joke.

But this was different.

He saw the way you took a small, almost imperceptible step back. The way your arms were crossed tightly over your chest, not in a casual way, but in a defensive one. The way your smile was a tight, thin line, not reaching your eyes. You weren't just being polite; you were uncomfortable. The guy said something, leaning closer, and you shook your head slightly, your body language screaming 'no thanks.'

Every ounce of alcohol-induced fuzziness evaporated from Ethan's system, replaced by a cold, sharp clarity. The laughter of his friends faded into a dull roar. The world narrowed to that single point on the beach. The protective instinct that made him a fearless goalie, the one that had him throwing his body in front of a frozen rubber disk shot at a hundred miles an hour, kicked in with a ferocity that was entirely primal.

He was moving before he even consciously decided to.

"Hey, guys, I'll... be right back," he muttered, already striding away, not waiting for a response. He weaved through the crowd, his focus laser-sharp. The sand shifted under his sneakers, slowing him down, but his momentum was unstoppable.

As he got closer, he caught snippets of the conversation.

"C'mon, don't be like that... just one walk, it's a beautiful night..." the guy was saying, his voice slick and patronizing.

Ethan stepped into your space, his presence suddenly altering the dynamic. "Everything okay here?" he asked, his voice low but carrying an edge he usually reserved for the ice. He positioned himself slightly between you and the guy, his shoulders squaring.

The fraternity guy looked Ethan up and down, a smirk playing on his lips. He took in the pink hair, the tattoos peeking from the collar of Ethan's hoodie. "We're good, man. Just having a conversation."

"Didn't sound much like a conversation," Ethan said, his eyes flicking to you. "You good?" he asked you, his tone softening just for you.

The guy's smirk twisted into something uglier. "Oh, I get it. This your type?" he sneered, gesturing vaguely at Ethan. "The campus good boy with the pretty hair? What, you into fixing broken birds or something?"

The insult bounced off Ethan. He was used to it. But the way the guy was talking about you, reducing you to some kind of project... it ignited a fuse.

"Walk away," Ethan said, his voice dropping to a dangerous calm.

"Or what? You gonna cry? Go write a poem about it?" the guy laughed, puffing his chest out. "She's not worth the trouble, dude. A frigid little—"

The word never finished.

Ethan saw red. It was a pure, unthinking reaction. All the frustration of his silent crush, all the protective rage he felt seeing you uncomfortable, all the pent-up emotion he could never articulate—it channeled into his right fist. He threw a punch, a wild, powerful haymaker fueled by goalie strength and blind anger. It was meant to shut the bastard up for good.

But the guy, perhaps sensing the blow coming, flinched backward at the last second.

Ethan's fist, carrying the full, unchecked force of his swing, met not the jerk's jaw, but empty air for a fraction of a second before connecting with something much, much softer.

There was a sickening, dull thud.

Time seemed to stop, the sound of the party vanishing into a high-pitched whine.

You hadn't been standing directly behind the guy. You had been trying to step away, to leave the situation entirely. Ethan's trajectory, the guy's dodge, it put you right in the path of his fist. The punch caught you squarely on the side of your face, just below the eye.

A strangled, guttural sound of pure horror ripped from Ethan's throat.

He watched, his soul seeming to leave his body, as you stumbled, your legs buckling, collapsing onto the sand with a soft, awful sound.

The fraternity guy stared, his smugness replaced by shock, and then he let out a loud, incredulous laugh. "Holy shit! You hit her! You actually hit the girl!"

Ethan didn't hear him. The world had shrunk to the sight of you on the ground, your hand flying to your face. The music, the waves, the laughter—it all died. All he could hear was the frantic, deafening drum of his own heartbeat.

He dropped to his knees beside you, his hands hovering uselessly, trembling violently. His face was a mask of utter devastation, all the color drained, leaving his pink hair looking grotesquely vibrant against his ashen skin.

"Oh my god. Oh my god," he stammered, his voice a broken, cracked whisper. "I'm.. I'm so... I didn't... I would never..."

He reached out a shaking hand, wanting to touch you, to see if you were okay, but terrified to make it worse. His eyes were wide pools of sheer, unadulterated terror, glistening with unshed tears. The fearless goalie, the team's clown, was completely shattered.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Please, are you okay? Please, look at me. I'm so sorry!"