CHAPTER 1
The living room of the Hayes household was anything but quiet.
“PASS IT—NOW! YES, GO!” her younger brother shouted, half off the couch as the TV blared the final match of the Hockey League.
“Come on, Rese Club!” her dad yelled, pumping a fist, eyes locked on the screen like it owed him money. “Zane’s going to take this!”
From the kitchen, her mother placed a bowl of freshly cut fruit on the coffee table and sighed with affectionate exasperation.
“Not so loud,” she chided, wiping her hands on her apron. “Alana’s studying upstairs. Her DAC University exam is tomorrow morning.”
Upstairs, behind a half-closed bedroom door, Alana Hayes was definitely not studying.
Her desk was covered in open books, scattered notes, and highlighters—an entire scene crafted with the precision of someone trying to look productive in case of a surprise parental check-in.
But Alana wasn’t focused on any of it.
Leaning back in her chair, she groaned—not because she couldn’t solve the stats problem on page 42, but because FIR Club had just scored a shot on goal.
She wasn’t watching the match on the big screen downstairs.
She was watching it on her phone, in secret, volume low and screen angled perfectly beneath the desk lamp. Her fingers gripped the edge of her seat. The tension in her chest had nothing to do with exams.
It had everything to do with Zane Stone.
Number 9. Captain of Rese Club. Eight-time MVP. And the reason she had developed an irreversible obsession with field hockey.
Just as the commentators’ voices rose in a crescendo, he broke away from the defenders—black hair flying, dark eyes locked on the goal, every step poetry in motion.
He struck.
Goal.
Alana gasped aloud and slapped her phone onto the desk like it was on fire. “YES!”
The door swung open behind her.
Her mother stood in the doorway; arms crossed.
Alana froze. “...Hi.”
“You were watching the match.” It wasn’t a question.
Alana dropped her eyes, cheeks warming. “...Maybe.”
Her mother chuckled, stepping into the room. “Then come watch it with us. At least enjoy it properly.”
Alana blinked, surprised.
“I know you want to get into DAC,” her mother added, smoothing her hair gently. “But don’t forget what makes you light up like this.”
Alana smiled, heart full, and threw her arms around her mother.
Within minutes, she was back downstairs, legs folded on the rug, eyes glued to the TV, completely immersed.
Every time Zane passed, scored, or even breathed in slow motion, Alana was a mess.
“There! Did you see that footwork?” she whispered, grinning.
“You act like he’s your boyfriend,” her brother teased.
She just smirked. If only.
The Rese Club took the championship, and Zane Stone delivered his post-match press speech with his usual cool calm, sweat glistening on his neck, shirt clinging to him in the best ways. Everyone else in the house eventually drifted off to bed, one by one.
But not Alana.
She sat alone in the living room, watching the interview replay. Her eyes didn’t blink.
Her heart didn’t slow.
And her phone, hours later, would still be playing the same game on repeat beside her pillow.
The sun rose. And with it, exam day.
Alana stepped off the school shuttle and onto the crowded campus courtyard, still yawning as she clutched her backpack tighter. She spotted her best friend, Tia, waving from across the lawn.
“You look like you didn’t sleep a second,” Tia teased, falling in beside her.
“I didn’t,” Alana admitted, brushing wind-blown hair out of her face.
“Let me guess. Late-night cramming?”
Alana sighed. “I was watching hockey.”
Tia blinked. “You’re impossible.”
“But Zane’s goal in the second half was insane—”
“We’ll discuss this after the exam,” Tia said, laughing. “Go in, write your heart out. I know you’ve got this.”
Inside, the hall was buzzing. Students filled every seat, papers rustled, pens clicked.
Alana exhaled, sat down, and began her test.
Across the city, in a high-rise office overlooking the skyline of Sydney, Zane Stone stood at the head of a glass-walled conference room.
The Rese Club board was discussing upcoming league partnerships and off-season media appearances.
Zane stood tall in his training tee and joggers, arms crossed, a towel slung over his shoulder from morning drills.
His jaw was sharp, his black hair damp from sweat, and his dark eyes fixed on nothing in particular as the marketing head spoke.
“We’ve got interviews lined up, brand interest from two international sponsors,” the woman was saying. “And we’re interviewing new PR interns for the season campaign.”
Zane only half-listened.
He hated the business part. The cameras, the scripts, the endless rehearsals of who they expected him to be. All he wanted was to play.
The meeting ended. Zane left without a word.
His driver waited in the lobby, and they climbed into a sleek black SUV that rose through the humming streets of Sydney. His apartment was on the 16th floor of a 24-story glass skyscraper—minimalist, modern, cold.
Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the entire skyline. The kitchen was spotless. His bedroom nearly empty but for black bedsheets and medals tossed on the dresser.
He dropped his bag at the door, ran a hand through his damp hair, and finally let out a breath.
In another part of the city, Alana was finishing her last essay question.
And in another town altogether, her world was small, bright, and soft.
Theirs weren’t meant to cross. But they would.
And when they did, neither would be the same again.
