SCORED HER HEART NOT THE PUCK

YOUNG MADISON'S POV:

The bus arrived like a burst of sunlight against the dull, gray orphanage walls. Children poured out, laughing, talking, filling the air with an energy I wasn't used to. They wore bright clothes, their sneakers neat, their faces glowing with a kind of ease I didn't know. I sat in my usual corner, half-hidden in the shadows, watching as my peers welcomed them with wide grins and eager hands.

No one looked my way. They never did. I wasn't the best-looking child-too small, too quiet, too forgettable. While the other kids got pulled into games and laughter, I simply existed, slipping between their moments like a ghost. And I was fine with that.

Or at least, I thought I was.

Then, I saw him.

He wasn't like the others. While they basked in attention, he gave it. Every child mattered to him, every voice was heard. He had an easy laugh, one that made people lean in, wanting to hear more. His chestnut hair was neatly buzzed, his skin smooth, glowing beneath the afternoon sun. But what struck me most was his eyes-warm, curious, alive.

And then, somehow, his gaze found me.

I stiffened, gripping the hem of my worn dress as he made his way toward me. He didn't tower over me, didn't let his shadow swallow mine. Instead, he crouched down to my level, elbows resting on his knees, a playful smile tugging at his lips.

"Why are you sitting here alone?" he asked.

I shrugged. "Just watching."

"Well, that's no fun." He tilted his head toward the others. "Come on, we're about to hit the water slide. You should join us."

I hesitated, but there was something about the way he said it-not as a request, but an invitation. Like I belonged.

So I went.

For the first time in forever, I played. I laughed. I let myself be a kid.

***

The day faded into evening, and we gathered in the dining hall, wiping down tables, stacking chairs. I reached for a stray glass plate, but it slipped from my fingers, shattering at my feet. A sharp sting shot up my palm. I gasped, clutching my hand as a thin line of red bloomed across my skin.

He was there in an instant. "Let me see," he said, voice laced with concern.

I flinched, but he gently pried my fingers open, inspecting the wound. His brows furrowed. "Stay here," he ordered before disappearing through the doorway.

I exhaled. He was gone. Just like they all go.

But then-he came back.

Not just with a first aid kit, but with three roses.

"Hold onto these," he said, pressing them into my free hand. "Focus on them, not the pain."

I did as he said, eyes tracing the delicate petals, the deep red color, the way they felt between my fingers. But soon, my gaze drifted back to him-his concentrated expression, the way his hands worked, careful and sure.

A quiet chuckle slipped from my lips.

His head lifted. "What's funny?"

"Nothing," I whispered, shaking my head.