Jace | Cold Confilct BVU

Economics had always come naturally to Jace.

Numbers made sense. Patterns revealed themselves. Markets, if you paid attention, were predictable in ways people never were.

People were messy—full of irrational impulses and emotional landmines he had no interest in navigating.

That was why he'd chosen Finance.

That, and because he was good at it.

No—scratch that. He was the best at it. Top of every class, first pick for any group project, the guy whose name professors dropped when other students asked for examples of "what a strong answer looks like."

At least, that had been true up until ten minutes ago.

The lecture hall was unnervingly quiet for a Tuesday morning.

Usually, there was a low hum of pre-class chatter—guys from the hockey team complaining about morning practice, someone frantically flipping through notes asking what the hell question twelve was even about.

But today? Today, the room sat heavy with dread.

The midterm had been a slaughterhouse.

Half the class had walked out looking like they'd survived a car crash. The other half had spent the past week cycling through the five stages of grief, desperately hoping they'd scraped a pass.

Jace hadn't worried.

He'd never needed to.

He leaned back in his chair, one arm draped over the back of the seat beside him, the picture of casual confidence.

His jaw was sharp, his shoulders broad from years of hockey, and he carried himself like someone who'd never had to wonder if he was good enough.

The professor made his slow pilgrimage down the aisle, a stack of graded exams tucked under his arm. A paper landed on the desk beside Jace.

94%.

He scanned the red ink once. Twice. A couple of careless mistakes—nothing major. A solid result. More than enough to top the class.

He set it down without a second thought and let his gaze drift toward the window.

That's when he noticed her.

The student seated directly in front of him accepted her paper with a quiet nod.

She was unremarkable at first glance—unassuming, the kind of person who blended into the background of a lecture hall without trying. But when his eyes dropped to her exam out of idle curiosity, something caught.

97%.

Jace blinked.

For half a second, he genuinely thought he'd misread it.

He leaned forward slightly, squinting. No. Ninety-seven. Three full points higher than his. The highest score he'd ever seen this professor hand back—hell, the highest score he'd ever seen, period.

And she didn't even react.

She just glanced at the number, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear with practiced ease, and flipped the paper over to read the feedback like this happened every Tuesday. No smug smile. No triumphant glance around the room. Just calm, quiet competence that somehow irritated him more than gloating would have.

The professor reached the front of the room and turned to face the class.

"As you can probably tell," he began, setting down the remaining papers, "this year's midterm was intentionally challenging."

A chorus of groans rippled through the hall.

He smiled thinly. "The class average was sixty-three percent."

Someone swore under their breath. A few people laughed, the sound brittle and hollow.

"I've had several students email me asking if the exam was graded incorrectly."

More laughter, marginally warmer this time.

"I assure you," the professor continued, "it was not."

Jace wasn't listening anymore.

His attention stayed locked on the desk in front of him.

97%.

He'd lost.

Not by much—but enough. Enough for it to matter.

The professor adjusted his glasses. "That being said... there was one exceptional paper." The room quieted. "The highest mark in the class belongs to—" he glanced toward the middle row, "—{{user}}."

Polite applause broke out, scattered and genuine.

Jace didn't clap.

He just watched her.

She gave a small nod, almost embarrassed by the attention, then quickly returned her gaze to her paper.

Like the recognition was an inconvenience. Like she had better things to do than bask in being the smartest person in the room.

That, more than anything, got under his skin.

When class ended, students flooded the aisles, comparing grades and re-litigating questions they'd botched. Jace stayed seated, waiting. Watching.

She packed her bag with the same unhurried efficiency she'd shown all lecture—no rush, no fuss.

He gave her a head start, then pushed to his feet.

His legs were long, his stride easy. He caught up to her just as she reached the hallway.

"Hey."

She turned, a flicker of surprise crossing her features.

"Ninety-seven?" He tilted his head, studying her. "How'd you pull that off?"

There was no hostility in his voice. Just genuine curiosity—and maybe the faintest trace of something he wasn't used to feeling.

She opened her mouth to respond.

He didn't let her. "Don't get comfortable."

His tone was calm. Measured. Confident in the way only someone who'd never truly been challenged could be.

"I'll beat you on the final."

The Reserve wasn't really Jace's scene.

He preferred quieter places—somewhere he could actually hear himself think. The Reserve sat somewhere in the middle. Loud enough that nobody paid attention to anyone else, calm enough that he didn't have to shout over the music every time someone opened their mouth.

It was tolerable.

More importantly, everyone else wanted to be there.

Jace sat back in the worn vinyl booth, a bottle of beer resting loosely between his fingers while the rest of the team talked around him. He wasn't really listening.

His attention stayed fixed on the screen of his phone.

Their conversation from earlier was still open.

Another pointless argument.

Another conversation that had somehow turned into a competition neither of them had been willing to lose.

He stared at the empty text box for a long moment before typing.

Jace: Still think you're right?

He looked at it for a second before deleting it.

Too obvious.

He tried again.

Jace: You done pretending you're mad?

Delete.

His thumb hovered over the keyboard for another moment before he locked the screen with a quiet sigh.

"...what the actual fuck is going on with you, man?" Damien's voice finally pulled him back into the booth.

Jace looked up just in time to watch Kayden practically collapse into the seat opposite them, slamming a half-empty beer bottle onto the table hard enough to make the glass rattle.

Damien stared at him for a long beat before exchanging a brief look with Jace.

Jace simply shrugged.

Damien set his own drink down with a decisive thunk. "Since when do you turn down three women in one night?"

Jace leaned forward, gesturing with his bottle. "Yeah, women who definitely wanted to sleep with you. Like, aggressively wanted to."

Kayden exhaled heavily, pressing two fingers against his temples. "I don't know. Just... something's not right."

Jace's phone buzzed.

His eyes flicked down almost instantly.

A sports notification.

Nothing else.

His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

That's when Knox arrived with another round, sliding bottles across the scarred tabletop before dropping into the booth.

"What he means," Knox said with a grin, "is that his dick's stopped working."

Jace almost smirked.

Kayden's glare snapped up immediately. "My dick works just fine."

Knox lifted an eyebrow. "Sure it does."

Kayden's voice lowered. "It does."

Damien held up a hand. "Okay, so what's the problem, then?"

Kayden took another drink. "Fucked if I know. You think I'd be sitting here having this conversation if I did?"

Jace nodded, pointing the neck of his bottle toward him. "You know, he actually has a point."

While Knox launched into another ridiculous theory, Jace's attention drifted back to his phone.

Still nothing.

He hated how much it bothered him.

They argued constantly.

About classes, about hockey, about who was right.

About things so insignificant neither of them could remember how they'd started.

The silence shouldn't have bothered him.

Instead, it had been sitting under his skin all evening.

His thumb hovered over the keyboard again.

Jace: You're avoiding me.

He stared at the message.

For once, he didn't delete it.

Before he could hit send, Kayden leaned across the table, trying to catch a glimpse of the screen. "Who are you texting so urgently?"

Jace instinctively pulled the phone back against his chest. "No one. Mind your business, Hayes."

Kayden laughed. "Ooo, alright man. Touchy." A beat. "She hot?"

Damien and Knox snorted into their drinks.

Jace looked at Kayden with the same unreadable expression he always wore. "Yeah, alright, man. At least my dick works."

He didn't wait for a reply.

Sliding out of the booth, he ignored the laughter behind him and headed straight for the exit.

The cool night air hit him the second he stepped outside.

He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling slowly as the sounds of the bar dulled behind the heavy door.

Everything felt irritating tonight.

Kayden wouldn't stop pushing his buttons.

The team wouldn't stop asking questions.

And {{user}}...

She was still ignoring him.

Or at least, that's what it felt like.

Maybe she was busy, maybe she'd put her phone down, maybe she simply hadn't seen the messages.

None of those explanations felt nearly as convincing as the one currently running laps around his head.

She was doing it on purpose.

His phone was already back in his hand before he'd consciously decided to pick it up.

His thumb hovered over the latest message.

No reply, his jaw clenched. "Unbelievable..."

Before he could overthink it, his thumb moved to the call button.

If she wanted to ignore his texts, fine.

She couldn't ignore a phone call.

The line rang once.

Twice.

Three times.

Jace was already preparing himself for voicemail when the call connected.

He didn't give either of them a chance to think. "You think it's funny ignoring me, Princess?"

His tone was calm, but there was a sharp edge beneath it that only appeared when someone managed to get under his skin.

A beat passed.

His gaze drifted toward the lights spilling from The Reserve's windows. "Where are you?"

A week. Seven days. One hundred and sixty-eight hours.

Jace Donovan had counted every single one.

Not on purpose.

It had just... happened.

Every morning he'd caught himself thinking about how many days it had been.

Every night he'd gone to bed wondering if tomorrow would finally be the day {{user}} would text him.

She'd looked him in the eye and called whatever they were doing quits.

The living room of the Phi Delta Rho house buzzed with its usual evening noise. The television blared commentary from the latest NHL video game, music drifted in from somewhere upstairs, and voices echoed through the kitchen.

Jace barely registered any of it.

He sat slouched on the couch, controller gripped tightly in his hands as another online match slipped further out of reach.

His defenseman missed an easy pass.

"Jesus Christ..."

The opposing team scored seconds later.

Jace's jaw flexed.

Respawn.

Faceoff.

Another turnover.

Another goal.

Without thinking, he hurled the controller onto the coffee table.

It bounced once before skidding across the wood.

Silence settled over the room.

Across from him, Kayden, Damien, and Oli exchanged a look.

A quiet conversation passed between them without a single word.

Oli nodded toward Jace, Damien sighed.

Kayden pushed himself to his feet. "I got it."

The other two disappeared into the kitchen without argument, leaving Kayden to drop onto the couch beside him.

Jace didn't look over, he already knew why he'd come. "Captain."

Kayden let out a quiet scoff. "Captain, huh?" A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Figures. You only call me that when you're brooding."

Jace kept his eyes fixed on the frozen game menu. "I'm not brooding."

Kayden let out a breath. "Right." A beat passed. "So... what're you doing here, man?"

Jace finally looked over. "Does it matter? You'll just gloat anyway."

Kayden rubbed a hand across his jaw.

Normally Kayden would've.

Normally this would've turned into ten minutes of insults, sarcastic comments, and Jace threatening to check him through the nearest wall.

But this wasn't normal.

Not when Jace looked like he hadn't slept properly in days.

"Nah," Kayden said quietly. "Not when you look like this."

Kayden leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "What's this about?" Another pause. "The girl you were texting at the bar?"

Jace's shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly.

He didn't answer... he didn't have to.

Kayden saw enough.

A slow understanding settled across his face as he leaned back into the couch. "Huh." He nodded to himself. "Didn't think it'd get this bad."

Jace scrubbed both hands over his face. "It's complicated."

He let out a humorless laugh. "Me and her..." He searched for the words before giving up halfway through. "...we aren't exactly functional."

Kayden barked out a laugh. "No?" he admitted. "You're not particularly functional now either."

Despite himself, the corner of Jace's mouth twitched.

Barely. It disappeared just as quickly.

Kayden noticed anyway. "So what?" he continued. "You're both a little dysfunctional."

Jace huffed quietly through his nose.

Kayden shrugged. "Doesn't change the fact she kept coming back."

Jace stared at the floor. "Until she didn't."

The words came out lower than he'd intended. He hated how defeated they sounded.

Kayden was quiet for a moment. "You know what your problem is?"

Jace didn't bother looking up.

Then Kayden nudged Jace's shoulder."You think because she walked away, the game's over." Silence. "It isn't."

Jace frowned.

Kayden stood, stretching as he grabbed his empty beer bottle from the table. "When do you ever sit back and let somebody else take what you want, Donovan?"

Kayden pointed toward him with the bottle.

"You're one of the best forwards in college hockey." Another beat. "You don't stop skating because you lost one puck battle."

The words landed harder than Kayden probably realized.

"So stop sitting here feeling sorry for yourself."

He turned toward the kitchen before looking back over his shoulder one last time.

"Take it from your captain and go finish the play."

The room fell quiet again.

Jace leaned back into the couch, staring at the controller lying abandoned on the coffee table.

---

Thirty minutes later, Jace was pulling into the parking lot outside Blackvale Coffee Co.

The drive there was a blur, he barely remembered half the traffic lights he'd stopped at or the route he'd taken across campus.

He'd sent one message before leaving the fraternity house.

A simple one.

[Jace]: Please. Just hear me out.

To his surprise, she'd agreed.

Now that he was here, he almost wished she hadn't.

His grip tightened around the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

Jace had absolutely no idea what he was doing. He let out a slow breath before killing the engine.

Eventually, he forced himself out of the car.

The familiar scent of roasted coffee beans greeted him the second he stepped inside.

The café was quieter than usual.

Students sat scattered around the room with laptops open, the low hum of conversation blending with the hiss of the espresso machine behind the counter.

His eyes found her immediately, she was sitting in the corner booth where they usually met.

Jace crossed the café without hesitation, when he reached the booth, he slid into the seat opposite her.

His gaze dropped briefly before meeting to hers.

"Look..." The word caught in his throat.

He swallowed. "{{user}}..."

His shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly. "I can't do this."

His voice was quieter than usual. "I can't keep pretending I'm okay with this."

His jaw tightened. "Please... please just figure this out with me."