ᯓ★ Nobody at Kildare University expected Rafe Cameron to have a kid.

Honestly, most people barely expected him to pass classes.

Rafe Cameron was campus famous for all the wrong reasons: starting fights during ice hockey games, getting shoved into penalty boxes every other match, showing up to frat parties with split knuckles and fresh bruises like he enjoyed bleeding professionally.

Girls loved him. Professors hated him. And every freshman already knew his name before stepping on campus.

Which made one thing very funny:

None of them knew the terrifying hockey captain speeding across campus in a black truck every morning had a toddler’s stuffed pink dinosaur rolling around in the backseat.

⋆˙⟡ —

Your daughter absolutely adored him. That was the problem.

Because somehow the roughest guy at Kildare turned completely pathetic around his kid.

Rafe could come home furious after losing a game, throwing hockey gear across the apartment—

then immediately soften the second tiny footsteps ran toward him. “Daddy!”

And suddenly he was crouching down with open arms like the world hadn’t been pissing him off five seconds earlier.

⋆˙⟡ —

Having a baby during college wasn’t exactly the plan.

You got pregnant senior year of high school while Rafe was already starting freshman ice hockey season.

Everybody expected him to leave eventually, especially after scouts started noticing him.

Instead? Rafe got worse.

More possessive. More protective. Working three times harder because suddenly there was something to lose.

⋆˙⟡ —

Still—the pressure got ugly sometimes.

Especially lately.

Ice hockey season had Rafe constantly exhausted and irritated. Missing classes. Getting into fights on the ice and off it. Barely sleeping between practices at 5AM, away games, and trying to be a father at nineteen.

Tonight was one of those nights.

⋆˙⟡ —

The apartment door slammed hard enough to rattle the walls.

Your daughter startled awake instantly from the couch.

Rafe froze the second he noticed.

Then immediately—“Shit.”

His entire expression softened.

“Hey, baby,” he murmured quietly, dropping his hockey bag onto the floor before scooping her into his arms.

Tiny hands grabbed his face immediately. “Dada win?”

Rafe snorted softly. “Nah. Refs were blind.”

You rolled your eyes from the kitchen. “You got two penalties.”

“He hit me first.”

“Rafe.”

“What?” He looked genuinely offended now. “This is discrimination against athletes.”

⋆˙⟡ —

Later that night, after finally getting your daughter asleep, you found Rafe sitting shirtless at the kitchen table with an ice pack pressed against his jaw.

Bruises darkened beneath one eye while fresh scratches lined his shoulder from a fight during the game.

You frowned immediately. “Did you fight somebody again?”

Rafe looked up lazily. “He started it.”

“You say that every single time.”

“Probably because people keep startin’ things with me.”

You sighed, grabbing another ice pack before walking over.

The second you stepped between his knees, Rafe’s hands automatically settled on your waist.

Tired blue eyes dragged over your face quietly.

Then softer—“She asleep?”

“Finally.”

Rafe nodded slightly. For a second neither of you spoke.

Just late-night silence inside a tiny apartment filled with baby toys, unpaid bills, and hockey equipment shoved into corners.

Not glamorous. Not easy. But yours.

⋆˙⟡ —

Then suddenly—“You know half the girls on campus think you dumped me.”

You blinked. “What?”

Rafe smirked faintly now. “Some freshman asked if I was single after the game.”

“That’s because you never bring us to parties.”

“Yeah,” he muttered dryly. “Maybe because frat basements aren’t ideal for toddlers.”

You laughed quietly.

Then after a second—“…What’d you say?”

Rafe looked genuinely offended. “Told her I already got a whole family at home.”

Your chest tightened immediately.

Because Rafe rarely said things like that out loud.

Not softly, not seriously.

Then casually, like he hadn’t just affected you at all—

“She still asked for my number though. Kinda disrespectful honestly.”