19
Campbell
The locker room buzzed with energy, the chaotic noise that signaled game day. My teammates laughed and shouted over the thrum of music blasting from the speakers, the sharp clatter of skate blades against the rubber flooring blending into the din. Adrenaline and sweat charged the air, a familiar tension that always gripped us before we hit the ice.
I sat alone, elbows on my knees, lost in my own thoughts at the room’s far end. My helmet sat beside me, forgotten, as my gaze focused on the object cradled in my palm: a tiny lighthouse keychain. The item’s fragility contrasted starkly with my calloused hands. A ridiculous little trinket, really, but I hadn’t been able to bring myself to give it back. It had been days now, tucked in the pocket of my jacket, like a secret I wasn’t ready to share. I turned it over slowly, letting the metal catch the fluorescent light above. Hazel’s face flashed in my mind—the way her eyes had widened when she’d asked me about it, her voice so soft and full of worry. She hadn’t begged, not outright, but I could feel how much it meant to her. I sighed, running my thumb over the smooth surface.
I should’ve handed it back the moment she asked. Hell, I’d had so many chances. At the rink when she stopped me, at the coffee shop where I saw her a day later, even during the bonfire when I’d noticed it in my pocket. But every time I’d hesitated, the words lodged in my throat. Why? I didn’t know. Or maybe I didn’t want to admit it.
My brow furrowed as I leaned back, the keychain catching the light again. It reminded me of her. Quiet, but somehow impossible to ignore. Hazel Ellis didn’t command a room the way other people did, but the moment she was there, I couldn’t help but notice her. The way she fidgeted with her hair when she was nervous, the way she’d twist her lips when trying not to laugh, the way she’d looked up at me during the bonfire like I might’ve been someone worth leaning on.
I shook my head, muttering, “Get a grip, Atwood.”
But even as I scolded myself, I couldn’t bring myself to toss the keychain back into my bag. It felt wrong. Like letting go of it would mean letting go of something bigger. Something I wasn’t ready to name.
The sound of someone shouting snapped me back to the present. I glanced around the locker room. My teammates, preoccupied with their pre-game rituals, didn’t notice me sitting there, brooding like a lovesick idiot over a piece of metal. I had a reputation to maintain—cool, confident, unshakable. The guy who didn’t get tied up over a girl who wasn’t even his.
Still, my jaw tightened as I glanced back down at the keychain. I looped it onto the laces of my skate, tucking it into the tongue so it stayed secure but out of sight. No one would know it was there. Just me. I told myself it was a superstition. A lucky charm for the game. Nothing more. That wasn’t true, though.
Coach’s voice cut through the noise, barking for everyone to gather up. I stood, rolling my shoulders and grabbing my helmet. As I stepped forward, the weight of the lighthouse against my skate felt grounding somehow, like a steady reminder of something I couldn’t quite explain. I could almost picture Hazel in the stands, probably sitting next to Nevaeh, bundled in her coat with her cheeks flushed from the cold. A familiar rush of exhilarating, infuriating emotions tightened my chest.
“She’s just a girl,” I muttered under my breath, shoving the thought aside. “Just a girl who doesn’t even like you back.”
But as I stepped onto the ice, the tiny lighthouse pressed against my foot, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Hazel was closer to me than she’d ever realized.
**
The noise of the arena still echoed in my ears, even as I stepped out into the frosty night air. My damp hair clung to the back of my neck beneath my jacket, and my breath curled into clouds in the winter chill. I’d just played one of the best games of my career. Each shot had been precise, every hit purposeful, and every shift electric. It was the game that scouts remembered. But as I’d impressed the crowd, the coaches, and the scouts, it wasn’t their faces that filled my mind. It was Hazel’s.
The tiny lighthouse keychain was now safely zipped in my bag slung over my shoulder. I’d kept it there like a secret, a talisman. Ridiculous, maybe, but every time I’d felt it press against my foot, I’d thought of her. Her quiet intensity. Her sharp wit that always caught me off guard. The way she avoided my gaze just long enough to make me wonder what she was thinking. It had been enough to keep me steady, even as the stakes climbed higher. It had been enough to make me play like my life depended on it. And now, I needed to see her.
When I spotted her, the campus was almost deserted; she sat on a bench beneath a snow-dusted tree near the library. A thick coat bundled her; her knees were tucked up slightly, and her gloved hands cradled a book. The faint glow of a nearby lamp cast her in soft light, her breath visible in the cold air. She looked peaceful, lost in thought, her guard down in a way that made my chest tighten. I didn’t mean to startle her, but my footsteps crunched loudly on the snow-covered path. Her head snapped up, her wide eyes meeting mine.
“Campbell?” Her voice was soft, uncertain, her breath curling in a fog around her lips. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be celebrating?”
“I was,” I admitted, stopping a few feet away. I tried to keep my voice steady, but it wavered with something I couldn’t hide. “But I needed to see you.”
Her brows knitted together, and she tilted her head slightly, confused.
“Why?”
Because I can’t stop thinking about you. Because even when I’m on the ice, playing the best game of my life, you’re still the only thing on my mind. The words lodged in my throat, too raw to say out loud. Instead, I shifted my bag higher on my shoulder and tried to summon some of the confidence I’d had on the ice.
“I wanted to thank you. For the keychain.”
She blinked, clearly taken aback.
“The keychain? You had it this entire time?”
“Yeah.” I smiled faintly, my hands shoved deep into my jacket pockets to keep from fidgeting. “I was going to give it back. I just didn’t.”
Her lips parted, but no sound came out at first. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet, uncertain.
“Why not?”
I hesitated, the weight of the moment settling heavily between us. My chest rose and fell with a deep breath, and when I finally met her gaze again, I felt a rush of vulnerability and determination.
“Because it reminded me of you,” I said, my voice low. “And I didn’t want to let it go.”
The silence that followed was almost unbearable. Hazel’s cheeks flushed, her gloved hands tightening on the edges of her coat. She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again, clearly searching for the right words.
“You could’ve just told me,” she said, her voice barely audible. “I thought I’d lost it.”
“I know.” I took a step closer, the snow crunching beneath my boots. “But I couldn’t. I didn’t know how to explain it without sounding…” I trailed off, shaking my head. “I don’t know. Like an idiot.”
“You don’t sound like an idiot.” She whispered, her breath catching in the cold air.
The faint smile that tugged at my lips was replaced by something heavier, more serious.
“I don’t know what it is about you, Hazel, but you’re in my head. All the time. I can’t focus. I can’t stop thinking about you, and it’s driving me crazy.”
Her breath hitched, and she looked away, her gaze falling to the snow at her feet.
“Campbell, I don’t—”
I closed the distance between us in two quick strides, brushing my hand against her arm, stopping her from pulling back. She froze, her wide eyes locked with mine. For a moment, neither of us moved. The air between us felt charged, every unspoken word hanging in the stillness.
And then I kissed her.
It wasn’t planned or careful. It was raw, instinctive. My hands cradled her face as my lips met hers. She gasped softly against me, her hands hovering uncertainly before curling into the front of my jacket. Her lips were cold at first, but they softened quickly, warming against mine as the kiss deepened. For a moment, everything else fell away. The world narrowed to just the two of us, the heat of our breath mingling in the icy night air. My thumbs brushed her cheeks, and I felt the faint tremble beneath my touch. When I finally pulled back, my forehead rested against hers, my breath uneven.
“Hazel.” I murmured her name like a plea.
But the spell broke as quickly as it was cast. She stepped back, her hands falling from my jacket as if burned. Her cheeks flushed; her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths.
“We can’t do this.” She said, her voice trembling.
My brows furrowed, confusion and hurt washing over me.
“Why not?”
“Because of Nevaeh,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t hurt her like that.”
I stared at her, my chest tightening painfully.
“Why are you so worried about Nevaeh right now?”
Her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she shook her head.
“It doesn’t matter. I can’t do this.”
She turned before I could say anything else, her boots crunching softly on the snow as she walked away.
“Hazel!” I called after her, my voice raw, but she didn’t stop.
I stood there, my heart hammering in my chest, the warmth of her kiss still lingering on my lips. And as I watched her disappear into the night, it was like the lighthouse keychain was whispering to me, a bittersweet reminder of everything I lost.
**
My tires crunched against the gravel, the rhythmic sound filling the silence as I entered the driveway. The house loomed ahead, quiet and still under the heavy gray sky of the early evening. The lights in the windows cast a soft, faint glow, but it wasn’t enough to warm the chill creeping in around the edges of my heart. I could barely bring myself to look at the house —my house—but that sinking feeling in my stomach wouldn’t let me avoid it any longer. Home. Or what was supposed to be home.
My fingers tightened around the steering wheel, the cold leather creaking slightly under pressure. I wasn’t sure what to expect when I stepped inside. The house had always felt like a place I was supposed to be, not somewhere I truly belonged. A house full of empty rooms, half-hearted conversations, and the lingering presence of someone missing. I exhaled sharply, forcing myself to open the car door and step out into the bitter cold. My boots scraped over the gravel as I grabbed my duffel bag, tossing it over my shoulder. The familiar weight of it—heavy with the remnants of road trips, late-night practices, and the promise of home—felt different this time. Not like a relief, but more like a burden. Before I could even process the heaviness in my chest, the front door flew open.
“Campbell!” Morgan’s high-pitched voice cut through the winter chill, full of excitement.
She stood on the porch, her little feet nearly slipping on the stairs as she barreled toward me. Before I could even brace myself, she’s launching herself at me, her arms wrapping around my waist in a tight hug, nearly knocking the bag off my shoulder. I laughed, catching her and steadying her.
“Whoa, easy! You trying to break me before I even get inside?”
“I missed you!” Morgan giggled, squeezing me harder, her face buried in my chest.
She’s so small, and her blonde hair tickled my chin as she pressed into me. Despite the cold, her enthusiasm was like a warmth I can’t escape, and for the briefest moment, the weight that’s always on my shoulders lifted.
“I told you I’d be here,” I said, ruffling her hair. “Didn’t think you’d be waiting on the porch, though. Aren’t you freezing?”
“I’m fine!” Morgan insisted, beaming up at me. “I wanted to be the first one to see you. Dad’s not even here yet, so you’re stuck with me.”
The mention of our father pulled me back to reality, and the weight settled again, heavier this time. My dad’s absence was nothing new, but it was still the same knot in my stomach every time it came up.
“Where’s Dad?” I asked, the question slipping out before I could stop myself.
Morgan shrugged, stepping back as I started toward the door.
“Still at work. Mommy said he won’t be back until tomorrow.”
Of course. It’s always tomorrow. The door swung open with a quiet creak, the warmth of the house hitting me immediately. It was a stark contrast to the biting cold outside, but somehow, the heat felt suffocating—like it was too much of everything at once. The house was too quiet, too clean. It never felt like a home. The sounds of my steps echoed as I walked into the kitchen, where Fiona, my stepmom, was wiping her hands on a dish towel. She looked up when I entered, mustering a smile that’s more formal than warm.
“Campbell,” she said, her voice too controlled. “You’re late.”
I raised an eyebrow, resisting the urge to roll my eyes.
“Nice to see you too, Fiona.”
She didn’t respond, just nodded toward the kitchen counter.
“There’s food if you’re hungry. Your father’s running late, but you knew that already.”
“Yeah, Morgan mentioned it.”
My voice was dry as I dropped my duffel bag by the stairs, running a hand through my hair. It was the same routine, trying to keep things polite; me maintaining the distance between us. Our relationship was a careful dance, all surface- level pleasantries and too many awkward silences. I could feel the strain in the air every time I stepped foot in this house.
“Well, I’ll leave you to settle in,” Fiona said, her gaze flicking to the living room before she glanced away, clearly uncomfortable with the silence. “Morgan’s been waiting all day, so I’m sure she’ll keep you occupied.”
I didn’t answer. Instead, I turned to head upstairs, my mind already occupied with the weight of being back here. The only familiar thing was how this place didn’t quite fit. But before I reached the stairs, I felt a tug on my sleeve.
“You’re not going upstairs, are you?” Morgan’s voice rang out, full of mischief and innocence.
Her wide eyes were sparkling as she stood at the bottom of the stairs, a wide grin plastered on her face. I looked down at her, my brow raised.
“I was thinking about it.” I teased, even though part of me just wanted to collapse into my bed and forget about the last few hours.
“No! You can’t. Not yet.” Morgan grabbed my arm, her small fingers wrapping around my sleeve with surprising strength. “Take me to the rink first.”
I blinked, unsure if I heard her right.
“The rink? Morgan, it’s freezing outside.”
She looked up at me, her bottom lip jutting out in an exaggerated pout.
“Please? It’s our thing!” She said, bouncing up and down, her little feet skidding across the hardwood floor.
“Our thing?”
“Yes!” she said, her enthusiasm spilling over. “Every time you come home; we go to the rink. You promised you’d teach me how to do a hockey stop!”
I chuckled, shaking my head. It’s hard to resist her when she’d get like this, and deep down, I was grateful for the distraction. For all the ways this house felt like a cage, Morgan’s excitement was pure and untainted, and it was enough to keep everything else at bay.
“You’re lucky I love you, kid.”
Morgan’s face lit up, and she bounced on her toes, her excitement contagious.
“Is that a yes?”
I couldn’t help but smile back.
“Yeah, it’s a yes.”
“Yay!” Morgan yelled, dashing toward the stairs. “Let me grab my skates!”
I watched her disappear up the stairs, a small, involuntary smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. Despite everything, Morgan was the one bright spot in this house, the only thing that made it feel like home.