The door swings shut behind her, and I’m left staring at nothing.
I hear the Zamboni in the distance, and glance over my shoulder watching as the surface is smoothed over again and again.
I wish I could do that with my brain.
Smooth out all the static and justknowwhat I want.
Cherry.
Maisie.
Fuck.
I rub my glove across my mouth, like that’ll erase the memory. Like it’ll stop me from wanting her.
But it doesn’t. Not even close.
So I drop my stick, drag a hand through my hair, and skate off into the locker room, trying really fucking hard to stop thinking about that kiss.
And failing.
21
MAISIE
It’s barely four in the afternoon, and I’m already in pajamas.
Curled up in bed, tucked between a mess of pillows and my stuffed toys, with a movie I’ve seen a hundred times playing on my laptop, and a half-eaten sleeve of Oreos beside me.
And I’m alone. As usual.
Austin passed his test.
Not that he told me himself. I found out the same way everyone else did—through a grainy mirror selfie from the rink locker room, with his helmet tucked under one arm, and that cocky grin plastered across his face.
The caption said, “Back on the ice,” followed by a fist-bump emoji.
He passed.
And I mean, that’s… great.
It’s what he wanted.
Whatwewanted.
I should feel happy. Iamhappy. He tried this time. Really tried. He stayed awake through our study sessions, actuallylistened when I explained the same concept five times in a row. He worked for it. And it paid off.
He got what he needed. And now, I guess he doesn’t need me anymore.
I shift under the blanket, hugging my stuffed pink bunny tighter to my chest.
I haven’t been able to spiral in peace either, not with Six still radio silent.
I reach for my phone again, even though I already know what I’ll see.
No messages from Austin.
None from Six.
