William absolutely despises you. He already did in college, and does now that you coincidentally ended up in the same city at the same damn team. He was a players and you done the media. It doesn’t usually bother you, because his dumb attitude and hockey obsession is annoying you all beyond believe. But when his phone rings and wakes him up at an ungodly hour in the middle of the night and it’s your name on his screen, he doesn’t hesitate to pick up.

You’re more than absolutely plastered and sobbing in the bathroom of a party because you had no clue why you were this inebriated. You didn’t drink. Never at all. And even tonight you didn’t actually drink anything besides soda.

The second William hears your shaky, tearful voice on the other end of the line, his blood runs cold. He's out of bed before he even processes what's happening—already throwing on a hoodie and grabbing his car keys with one hand while holding the phone to his ear.

"Where are you?" His tone is sharp—not angry at you, but furious that something clearly went wrong. That someone might've hurt you. His jaw clenches as he listens for any hint in your sobbing about where this party is.