The captain Next door falling for my greatest Enemy

EMERY POV

The smell of burning butter woke me up.

I blinked against the bright morning light hitting my face, confused for a second about where I was. Then the sight of the bare mattress and the single cardboard box brought everything rushing back. Linchester. The breakup. The lost scholarship.

Atlas.

I groaned and pulled my damp jacket over my head, but a sudden, loud cough from the kitchen made me sit up. A thick gray haze was slowly creeping under my bedroom door.

"What is he doing?" I muttered, throwing off my jacket.

I scrambled out of bed, still wearing the wrinkled leggings and t-shirt from yesterday. When I threw open my door, the hallway was a fog zone. I marched straight into the kitchen, coughing as the smoke hit my throat.

Atlas was standing by the stove, waving a blue dish towel frantically at the smoke detector. He had finally put on a shirt...a faded gray Linchester Hockey t-shirt that stretched tight across his shoulders but his hair was even messier than it had been last night.

"Open a window!" he yelled, squinting through the smoke.

I lunged for the small window above the sink, pushing it open with a hard shove. Cool, damp morning air rushed in, slowly clearing the room.

I turned around, crossing my arms as I looked at the disaster on the stove. There was a frying pan filled with what looked like charcoal hockey pucks.

"Are you trying to burn the house down?" I asked, my voice cracking slightly from sleep. "Because rule number two was staying on your side, and I'm pretty sure setting fire to my side violates that."

Atlas stopped waving the towel. He looked at the pan, then at me. Instead of snapping back, he just sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was trying to make pancakes."

I blinked. "Pancakes. Out of charcoal?"

"The heat was too high," he muttered, looking genuinely annoyed with himself. "And I got distracted."

"By what? The concept of cooking?"

A tiny, familiar smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "No. By how loud you sleep, Vale. I could hear you snoring from across the hall."

"I do not snore," I snapped, feeling my cheeks flush hot.

"Best understatement of the year.” he said, dumping the burnt black discs into the trash can. He ran a hand through his messy hair, looking down at the empty pan. "Well, I care about my meals more than anything. I've got sport to play, so… get used to it.”

I froze. My defensive walls, which had been locked into place the second I woke up, cracked just a little. I looked from the trash can back to Atlas. His gray eyes weren't mocking me right now, they were telling me that I was less important than his burnt meals.

"I swear I hate you?" I said softly but painfully.

Atlas stiffened. For a second, he looked like he wanted to say something. His mouth opened, then closed.

He cleared his throat and looked away, grabbing a box of cereal from the pantry instead.

"You don't have to remind me that always. I know you hate me and I hate you more.” he said, his voice dropping back into that easy, careless tone. "And I don't do chores."

Right. Of course. It was just a joke to him.

"Well, keep your charcoal to yourself, Enemy.” I turned toward the fridge to see if there was anything I could grab before heading out. I needed to go to the campus admissions office today. I needed to fight for my life.

There was nothing in the fridge but a carton of eggs, three different types of hot sauce, and a gallon of milk.

"Don't bother," Atlas said, leaning against the counter as he poured a bowl of dry cereal. "I'm going to the store later. You can come with me if you want.”

"I can find my way around, Enemy Vance."

"Did I say you couldn't?" He raised an eyebrow, chewing slowly. "I said come with me. That's a privilege many girls like you would jump for. Unless you like walking a mile in the rain with plastic bags."

I hated that he was right. Linchester didn't have a grocery store near the student houses, and I didn't have a car.

Mason used to drive me everywhere, a tiny voice in my head reminded me. I pushed that thought down instantly, swallowing the bitter taste it left behind.

"Fine," I muttered. "You can have the girls follow you now.”

"Got it. Boring food for a boring girl."

I rolled my eyes and walked back to my room, slamming the door shut.

Two hours later, I was sitting in the waiting room of the Linchester University Admissions Office. The air smelled like paper and stale coffee.

My hands were shaking as I clutched my academic file.

I had spent the last four years maintaining a perfect GPA. I had volunteered. I had done everything right. Losing my scholarship because of a "funding shift" didn't make sense. Scholarships didn't just disappear twenty-four hours before move-in day.

"Emery Vale?" a woman called out.

I stood up quickly, smoothing down my jeans. I walked into a small office where a middle-aged woman with sharp glasses sat behind a massive desk. Her name tag read Director Higgins.

"Sit down, please," she said, not looking up from her computer.

I sat. "Thank you for seeing me, Director. I'm here about the elite academic scholarship. I received an email saying it was canceled, but I wanted to check if there was an error. My files—"

"There is no error, Miss Vale," she interrupted, finally looking at me. Her face was completely blank. "The donor who funds that specific program chose to redirect their capital to another candidate. It happens."

"But the deadline passed weeks ago," I argued, my voice rising in panic. "How can a donor just change their mind the day before classes start? Who is the other candidate?"

Director Higgins sighed, leaning back in her chair. "That information is private. All I can tell you is that the decision is final. If you cannot pay the tuition out of pocket, we will have to formally remove you from the semester roster."

The room felt like it was spinning. Pay out of pocket? My father's business was struggling, though he tried to hide it from me. I couldn't ask him for tens of thousands of dollars.

"Please," I whispered, gripping the edge of her desk. "There has to be something I can do. A loan? Another grant?"

"Everything is locked for the semester," she said, her voice cold. "I'm sorry."

I don't remember walking out of the building.

I just remember the feeling of the cold wind hitting my face as I stood on the concrete steps outside. The campus was alive with students. People were laughing, carrying boxes into dorms, holding hands. They had futures. They had a place here.

Whilr I felt like my whole world was crumbling.

I walked for hours, my mind completely blank. By the time I made it back to the off-campus house, the sun was setting, casting shadows across the porch.

I pushed the front door open, feeling entirely defeated.

I walked into the kitchen to get a glass of water, but stopped when I saw the kitchen table.

There was a large paper grocery bag containing protein, powder, eggs, hot sauce and a bulk pack of chicken. Atlas's haul. A single apple rolled out to the edge, stopped near my feet.

Wrapped around the apple was a a small piece of lined paper. I pulled it out. Written in messy, handwriting were just a few words: “Survival kit for the homeless - A.

I stared at the note, my jaw right. The arrogant hockey captain who hated my guts did not only call me homeless but left me an apple to mock me.

I bite a huge chunk from the apple, the paper munching alongside but I don't care. The only thing I could feel was anger.

Atlas Vance had pushed me to the edge.

Before I could think about it any deeper, the front door clicked open.

I turned around just as Atlas walked in. He was carrying a massive black hockey bag over his shoulder, his stick held in his other hand. He looked exhausted, his hair damp from the post-practice shower, but the moment his eyes landed on me, he stopped.

Atlas dropped his hockey bag to the floor with a loud thud. Looked at my face with no expression. “You're blocking the fridge, Vale.” He stepped around me and grabbed a water bottle.