His Journalist

Freya's POV

"Sometimes you're the best sister on the planet," I muttered, scrambling to keep up with her fast strides down the sterile corridor. "Other times, you act like the devil's incarnate."

Naomi didn't even look back. Her sneakers squeaked against the polished linoleum floors of the campus medical center, an annoying, repetitive sound that matched the frantic beating of my own heart.

"Freya, not now, please," she said, her voice dropping into that strict, older-sister tone she used when she was entirely out of patience.

"Just two minutes," I begged, trailing behind her like a stray puppy as we approached the heavy double doors of the varsity treatment wing.

“Let me slide through the door with you. I'll be a wallflower. I won't even breathe loudly."

Naomi stopped abruptly, turning to face me. She was already pulling a pair of blue latex gloves onto her hands, the snap of the rubber punctuating her annoyance.

At twenty-four, she was balancing her postgraduate studies with a part-time gig as one of the university's student physiotherapists.

Usually, she was a pushover when it came to my schemes, but tonight her shoulders were tense.

"This is a closed medical bay, Freya. The team just got back from the away game against State, and half the roster is messed up. I have an actual job to do."

"And so do I," I countered, stepping closer and lowering my voice. "Professor Austin told me today that if I don't land a definitive, career-making profile for my senior journalism thesis, I can kiss the post-grad recommendation goodbye. Liam is already working on a piece about the athletic department's funding. If he gets that front-page slot, I'm done."

The mention of Liam made Naomi's expression soften, just a fraction. She knew exactly what was at stake.

Liam wasn't just my classmate; he was my ex-boyfriend, the guy who had systematically copied my research notes last semester to secure his spot at the top of our department.

But it wasn't just about beating Liam. It was about survival.

Ever since Aunt Sybil's health had taken a downturn over the summer, the medical bills had been piling up on our kitchen counter like a mountain of debt we couldn't climb.

Naomi was already working herself to the bone to cover the rent of our shared apartment. I couldn't let her carry the weight of our Aunt’s treatments alone.

I needed the fellowship that came with Austin's recommendation—the one that guaranteed a high-paying staff position at the city network right after graduation.

And the golden ticket to that fellowship was currently sitting in Naomi's treatment room.

Axel Dawson.

He was the university's star center, a lethal offensive weapon on the ice, and a total enigma off it.

Unlike the rest of the hockey team, who actively fed the internet with party updates and public profiles, Axel was an absolute ghost online.

He had accounts, sure, but they were completely locked down and blank. He didn't use his platform to build a brand, he didn't do interviews, and he gave the campus media absolutely nothing to work with.

Yet, he wasn't a total recluse; he was still out there, sitting at the popular diner tables with his teammates and living a normal student life. He just maintained an invisible, impenetrable boundary.

The only time his name ever popped up online was when external sports magazines or independent blogs ran features on him, obsessing over his stats or his looks, desperately trying to piece together a story from the outside. But Axel himself never engaged.

He existed right in front of everyone, but nobody actually knew the core of who he was.

He was a walking contradiction. A rich, legacy kid whose family name was practically engraved on the university stadium, yet he lived like he wanted to disappear.

But the real story, the one Professor Austin had hinted at, was the rumor from our sophomore year.

Axel had been arrested. It happened late one night in October, a flashing-blue-lights event that should have ruined his collegiate career.

Instead, seventy-two hours later, the police report vanished, the school board went silent, and Axel was right back on the ice as if nothing had happened. No one knew why. No one knew what he had done.

"Please, Naomi," I whispered. "You texted me saying you had to treat him for an in-game injury. This is my only shot to get into the same room as him without three layers of athletic PR reps blocking my way."

Naomi sighed, looking down at her gloved hands, then back at me.

"You stay in that corner," Naomi warned, pointing a sharp finger directly at my chest. "You don't take out your notepad, you don't pull out your phone, and you absolutely do not open your mouth. I know you can't keep your thoughts to yourself, Freya, but you cannot be weird today. Just stay back there. The athletic department is already breathing down our necks, and I swear, if you say one wrong thing to him, you'll get both of us kicked out of this facility before I can even begin my session. After I'm done treating him, let me handle the introduction, are we clear?"

"Crystal. I love you. You're the best."

She swiped her keycard against the reader, and the heavy door clicked open.

The air inside the treatment room was thick with the smell of wintergreen ointment, sweat, and ice packs. A long row of gurneys lined the wall, separated by privacy curtains.

Most of them were empty, the minor injuries already sent home, but the curtain at the very end was drawn back.

A low groan cut through the quiet room.

I followed Naomi past the empty stations, my boots making no sound on the rubber floor matting. When we stepped around the final curtain, my breath caught in my throat.

Axel Dawson was sprawled on the examination table.

He wasn't wearing his jersey; it was tossed onto a nearby chair, stained with melted ice and a smudge of blood near the collar.

He was stripped down to his gray compression shorts, his large frame nearly spilling over the edges of the narrow gurney.

I couldn't help but stare. I had seen him from the press box and the student section, hidden behind bulky layers of Kevlar and padding, but up close, he looked entirely different.

His torso was a landscape of lean, hard muscle, his chest rising and falling with heavy, labored breaths.

A massive purple bruise was already blossoming across his left ribs, the skin angry and inflamed where an opposing player's stick had clearly found a gap in his armor.

His dark hair was damp with sweat, clinging to his forehead, and his jaw was clenched so tightly a muscle ticked in his cheek.

"Dawson," Naomi called gently, stepping up to the side of the table and placing her hands on her hips.

"Let's see the damage."

Axel opened his eyes. They were a striking, piercing green, entirely focused despite the obvious pain he was in.

He shifted slightly, winces tightening the corners of his eyes, and his gaze drifted past Naomi, locking directly onto me.

I froze, the kind of frozen where you forget you’re supposed to breathe.

I’d expected him to snap, maybe sneer at me, but he didn’t. He just kept his eyes on mine, looking so entirely exhausted that it didn't even seem like he had the energy to even ask questions.

Right then, the pain seemed to have kicked in with full force. Axel closed his eyes tight, his entire torso tensing as he let out a harsh, guttural groan that filled the small room.

"Does it hurt?" I blurted out.

Axel cracked his eyes open just enough to glare at me, while Naomi's head snapped toward me in utter disbelief.

I shrank back against the wall, instantly realizing how incredibly stupid my question was.