Chapter 24
I step out of class, eyes glued to the ground, head pounding. Another day, another series of awkward looks and unanswered texts. I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve fucked something up with Zane. But did I? What did I do?
The halls are crowded, people rushing between classes, but I barely in my own body. I’m lost in my own stupid head. Then I bump into someone.
“Remy!” Maya says, grinning. She’s like a ray of fucking sunshine, the exact opposite of how I’m feeling right now. She looks at me, waiting for me to say something.
I force a smile. “Hey, Maya.”
“What’s gotten into you?” she asks, clearly noticing my mood. Her gaze sharpens, like she knows that’s bullshit. “You weren’t at the game last night. Why’d you skip?”
I wince. I knew this was coming. I should’ve gone. But I didn’t want to be a distraction. I didn’t want to be there if Zane didn’t want me there. He didn’t text me. He didn’t respond. He ignored me, so what else was I supposed to do?
“I felt like Zane didn’t want me there,” I mutter, the words tasting sour coming out of my mouth.
Maya looks at me, something flickering in her eyes. “Remy, you know he’s been a mess. It’s not about you.” She pauses, softens. “This next game, though? probably the biggest game of the season.”
I shrug, trying to pretend like it doesn’t matter. “I don’t think he needs distractions right now.” My voice comes out flat, unsure. It’s easier to pretend I don’t care, even if I do.
Maya tilts her head, studying me. “Come support Caleb, then,” she suggests, nudging my arm. “He’ll definitely want you there.”
“Yeah... right,” I reply, though I’m not sure. I want to go, but I also don’t want to face that crushing disappointment again. I don’t want to show up, only for him to pretend like I don’t exist. It’s the worst feeling.
Maya gives me a sympathetic smile. “Just think about it,” she says. “It’ll be good.”
I nod, but inside, I’m still tangled up in confusion. Maya waves me off, heading toward the cafeteria, and I’m left standing there, feeling even worse.
I get to my dorm, throw my bag on my bed, and head straight for the bathroom. I need to clear my head, but it’s like the more I try to shake off my thoughts, the worse they get. I look at myself in the mirror, and all I see is someone who’s been crying, someone who’s been trying to hold it together.
Zane. God, I miss him.
I didn’t realize just how much he’d become a part of my life. He made school bearable. Talking to him, hanging out with him— it was everything. But now none of it matters.
My hand reaches for my phone, like some stupid instinct. Maybe... maybe he texted me. Maybe I missed something.
I open his contact, my heart sinking as I see all the blue bubbles, no replies. He hasn’t responded to a single text, but there’s a part of me, the dumb, hopeful part, that thinks maybe he’ll answer now.
I tap out a quick message.
Remy: Good luck in the game tonight.
It’s simple. It’s safe. Nothing too much. Just... support.
I hit send. The little bubble shows up. He’s typing. My stomach flutters, but I don’t get my hopes up. He doesn’t reply. The bubble stops, then starts again. Then it stops. And nothing.
Fucking nothing.
I don’t even know why I’m surprised. He hasn’t given me any reason to think he cares.
I shake my head. My heart’s in my stomach, twisted up in knots.
I walk back to my room and stand there, staring at my phone on the bed, thinking about everything that’s gone wrong.
I take a long, hot shower, trying to wash away the headache creeping up on me, the frustration, the loneliness. The hot water does nothing to ease the ache in my chest.
I hate this. I hate all of it.
When I step out of the shower, I stand in front of the mirror again, wrapped in a towel. The girl staring back at me looks broken, tired. Miserable. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.
But something inside of me snaps. No. Fuck this. I’m not going to sit around and let this destroy me.
I walk to my closet, pulling out the sexiest outfit I own— a tight black dress with a deep plunge, showing just enough skin to make a statement. I throw on a pair of heels, let my hair dry naturally, then add a little more makeup. I don’t know what I’m hoping for, but maybe this will make me feel better.
I grab my phone and check the time. The game starts soon. I can still make it.
I take an Uber to the rink, my heart racing— not for the game, but for what’s about to happen when I show up. I’m not sure if it’s the right thing to do, but I can’t stay home. I need to be there. I need to see him.
I can’t be the one sitting in the shadows anymore. If he won’t notice me, I’ll make him.
When I get to the rink, the buzz of the crowd, the sharp smells of the ice, and the noise of the fans hit me all at once. I walk into the stands, searching for a seat.
Then I spot him. He’s skating, intense as hell, his focus on the game. His shoulders tense, his jaw clenched. But when he looks up, it’s like he doesn’t even see me. It’s like I’m invisible.
Fuck, I’m an idiot.
But I stay, watching. And for the first time in a long while, I think maybe I’ll just keep watching. Maybe, after this game, I’ll get the chance to talk to him again.
The crowd is roaring, the energy in the rink like a live wire. I can’t help but let it buzz through me, the excitement seeping into my skin. The players are skating like they’ve got fire in their veins, and I’m on the edge of my seat, eyes glued to the ice.
I spot Maya waving from the other side of the rink, her hand flailing around like she’s signaling a plane. I wave back, trying to show I see her, but it’s not like I’m anywhere near her. She’s so far away, sitting with some other girls. I don’t even know who.
Zane’s on the ice, of course. God, he looks incredible out there. His form is perfect, the way his skates cut into the ice, his body moving fluidly, like he was born to do this. Every time the puck comes near him, my stomach flips, and I hate myself for it. I hate how badly I miss him.
The game’s heating up. The tension is palpable, the clock ticking down, and with every second that passes, it’s like the air gets thicker. My hands are clammy, but I’m not leaving this spot. No way.
It’s tied. Last-minute play. Everyone’s on their toes. Then the puck’s in. The crowd goes wild, and the noise is deafening. My throat’s raw from screaming. My eyes are glued to the ice as the team floods the rink, all of them pumped, their faces lit up with pure exhilaration. They won.
We fucking won.
“Yes!” I scream, my hands thrown in the air. People around me are shouting and cheering, jumping up and down. But I’m not thinking about anyone else. My focus? It’s all on him. Zane.
The players are skating around, doing victory laps, and that’s when I see him pulling off his mask. The moment his face is exposed, I can feel my stomach lurch, like my heart’s just done a flip. He looks tired, his jaw clenched, a grimace crossing his face for a second before he schools it away, hiding whatever’s going on underneath.
For a brief moment, our eyes meet, and I wave. I don’t know why I do it. Maybe it’s because I miss him so much that I need to feel something. But he sees me. I know he does because he fucking smiles.
It’s not like the smile I remember. It’s sharp as he talks with Caleb, almost like it’s not for me, and I can’t stop the little surge of hope that crashes through me, like maybe something deeper is going on, and none of this has been about us.
He skates toward the edge of the rink, his movements smooth, confident. I stand, ready to go to him. But then my chest tightens as I watch a man walk over to him, tall, in a sharp black suit, his features sharp enough to cut glass. He’s got dark, slicked-back hair, and the way he walks towards Zane— like he owns the place— sends an icy wave down my spine.
Zane looks up at him, that expression on his face shifting for just a moment— like something inside of him snaps into place.
“Dad,” I hear him say, and it hits me. This man? This is his father.
“Nice game,” the man says, his voice deep and smooth, like it’s got money in it.
I don’t know why, but I feel sick.
Zane nods, his face all business now, like the moment of connection we shared didn’t just happen. “Thanks.” His tone’s clipped, stiff.
The older man looks around, and I swear, it’s like he doesn’t even see me standing here. “There’s someone I want you to meet,” he says, a smile curling up at the edges of his lips, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
And then, like it’s some sick joke, Zane looks away. He turns his back to me, to where I’m standing, and walks toward his dad.
It hits me like a punch to the gut.
I stand frozen, my heart sinking, like all the air just left the room. I can’t even breathe. He walks away from me, right in front of me, like I’m not even here, like I’m nobody.
I want to scream, to shout at him. But I can’t. My legs won’t move. My brain’s a mess of confusion and anger, and all I can do is watch him go.
They walk toward the exit, his father’s arm around his shoulders, and Zane’s back is stiff, his focus on whatever the hell his dad’s saying. I don’t know what’s worse— the fact that he’s walking away from me or the fact that he doesn’t even look back.
I let out a shaky, anxious breath. It’s like everything I’ve been trying to ignore hits me all at once. The doubt. The fear. The loneliness. I have proof now that it’s not all in my head. I’m being ghosted, treated like a nobody, and I have the audacity to show up to his game dressed like this, believing he would see me and something would change.
What the fuck is wrong with me? Why did I think for one second that Zane and I could be anything serious? This is literally what Maya was talking about when I first told her about Zane. The guy’s like a ghost. If he’s seeking you out, then it means something. So much for that. Too bad I know exactly what she means now.
And then it hits me— harder this time.
I am just some girl to him. Another fucking face in the crowd.
I swallow hard, forcing myself to sit down. The cheering is louder now. People are celebrating like it’s the best thing in the world that they won, but all I can hear is the sound of my own breath, ragged and painful.
The rest of the evening is a blur. I don’t even really care. The team won, yeah, but I can’t shake the image of Zane turning his back on me.
I should’ve known better, took a fucking hint, and listened to the signs.
I really should’ve stayed home.
But there’s something inside me that can’t let go. Something that’s not willing to just walk away, no matter how much it hurts. Maybe I’m fucking stupid, but I can’t help it. I miss him. I want him to care.
But it’s clear as day, so painfully obvious, that he gives zero fucks.