Chapter 37 Sophie
SOPHIE
Ava’s playlist thumps softly from the corner of the room, all bass and upbeat confidence.
My costume’s laid out across my bed—the borrowed jersey, perfectly fitted shorts, and the accessories that make it more than just “girl in a jersey.” Ava’s already halfway through curling her hair, humming like this is just another Saturday night.
Meanwhile, I’ve been staring at myself in the mirror for a solid thirty seconds, adjusting my ponytail for the fourth time.
“You’re fidgeting,” Ava says without looking up.
“I’m not fidgeting.”
“You’re absolutely fidgeting.” She spins around on her stool, curling iron still in hand, eyes narrowing like a cat that’s spotted something fun. “What’s up with you? You look like someone who’s about to meet her crush for the first time. Which would be adorable if it wasn’t, you know, Beck.”
I roll my eyes, but heat creeps up my neck anyway. “I’m fine.”
She arches a brow. “Sophie Prescott. You are many things. A convincing liar is not one of them.”
I grab my mascara wand like it’s a shield. “It’s just…tonight’s the first time I’ll be seeing him since last night, and—”
Ava’s eyes widen. She drops her curling iron onto the counter with a dramatic gasp. “Oh my God. What happened last night?”
“Nothing happened,” I say quickly, which of course only makes her grin widen.
“Nothing?” She folds her arms, tilting her head. “Prescott. You’ve been practically glowing since this morning. And the second I said Beck’s name, you turned the color of a stop sign. So try again.”
I groan, pressing my palms against my face for a second before peeking out at her between my fingers. “We just…got to know each other a little better. That’s all.”
A beat of silence. Then Ava’s jaw drops. “Oh.”
My blush deepens. “Not like that. I mean, okay, kind of like that, but not…” I wave my hands uselessly. “We were texting, and things got…flirty. Way more than flirty.”
Ava blinks. Once. Twice. Then she throws her head back and laughs.
“Girlfriend,” she says between cackles, “the only thing you need to be worried about tonight is him leaving that jersey on you long enough to get you back to his place so he can take it off in private.”
“Ava!”
“What?” She’s laughing so hard she has to lean against the desk. “You should’ve seen your face just now. You are gone for this boy. It’s kind of my new favorite thing.”
I bite my lip, trying not to smile but failing. “I just don’t want it to be weird, you know? Things were…intense last night. What if it changes how we act around each other?”
She softens, stepping closer and giving my arm a squeeze. “Soph. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from watching you two dance around each other these last few weeks, it’s that he doesn’t do weird with you. He does smitten. Big difference.”
I exhale slowly, tension easing just a little. Ava grins again, mischief back in her eyes.
“Now,” she says, pointing toward the jersey draped over my chair, “put that on and let’s make some hockey boys jealous.”
The second Ava and I step through the door, the noise hits like a wall—music thumping through the old wood floors, bodies packed shoulder to shoulder, string lights zigzagging across the ceiling. Someone’s dressed as a giant banana dancing on the counter. Classic hockey house.
Ava leans into me, eyes sparkling. “Okay. This is perfect.”
The team’s gathered in their usual spot near the back patio, a cluster of jerseys mixed with costumes—some elaborate, some clearly thrown together five minutes before the party. The familiar smell of cheap beer and sweat hits as we make our way through the crowd.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Beck: Logan is taking forever. pretty sure he’s doing his hair again. I’ll be there soon.
I can’t help but laugh, thumbing out a quick reply.
Tell him it’s a party, not a press conference.
Beck: you don’t understand. the man has a routine.
I shake my head, sliding my phone back into my pocket. Just knowing he’s on his way makes my stomach do that nervous, fluttery thing again. The jersey I’m wearing suddenly feels heavier, like every step is a countdown to him seeing it.
Ava spots someone ahead and immediately perks up. “Coleson’s here,” she says, smoothing her hair with one hand.
Coleson Richards. Senior defenseman. Co-captain of the hockey team. Tall, built, handsome, and perpetually noncommittal.
They’ve been in this…thing since the start of the semester. Late-night hookups. Flirty texts. Some weekends together, some weekends radio silence. It’s the kind of situation that could either crash spectacularly or surprise everyone.
I glance at her as she tugs me forward. She’s glowing and confident, knowing exactly what she’s walking into.
Still, a small part of me worries about what happens when the season ends and Coleson’s off chasing his pro dreams. Ava doesn’t let people in easily, and he’s the kind of guy who can make someone believe they’re the exception—until they’re not.
But she’s also my best friend. She knows what she’s doing. And if she’s choosing to have fun with him tonight, I trust her to handle it.
“Hey,” Coleson says, voice low and easy as Ava slides up to him. He’s in a black T-shirt and ripped jeans, no costume, but somehow it works for him. His grin softens when he looks at her, and I can practically see Ava melt a little.
I hang back a step, giving them space, scanning the crowded house as I lean against the wall. There’s a hum of energy under my skin, partly from the music, partly from the jersey, but mostly from the knowledge that Beck’s on his way.
“I’m gonna go find a bathroom before Beck gets here,” I tell Ava, leaning close so she can hear me over the music.
She nods distractedly, Coleson’s arm slung casually over her shoulders as he chats with a couple of teammates.
Coleson looks over when he hears me. “Try the one at the end of the hall upstairs,” he says. “It’s usually less crowded this early.”
“Thanks,” I say, slipping away before the line can grow any longer.
The upstairs hallway is quieter, the thump of the music muffled through the floorboards.
A string of orange lights casts everything in a warm, dim glow.
I duck into the bathroom, lock the door, and take a second to breathe.
My pulse is quick from the crowd downstairs, from the way Beck’s texts have been sitting warm in my pocket all night.
I fix my ponytail in the mirror, smooth the jersey over my shorts, and give myself a quick once-over before unlocking the door.
When I step into the hallway, I nearly collide with someone leaning against the wall.
Zach.
For a split second, I think I can just slip past him. But he steps forward, cutting off my path.
“Sophie.” His voice is low, sharp. “You think you can disrespect me and just walk by me like that?”
My stomach drops. “I don’t want to do this, Zach.”
He gives a humorless laugh, closing the distance until my back hits the wall. The hallway suddenly feels too narrow, air thick with the smell of his cologne. “You think you can just move on? Pretend like you’re not mine?”
“I was never yours,” I manage, keeping my voice as even as I can.
His expression twists. “That’s not what you used to say.” His eyes flick down, ugly and possessive. “You always acted like your pussy was too good for me. And now you’re spreading your legs for someone like Harrison?” He spits the name like it’s dirt. “Pathetic. Then again, you always were.”
My throat tightens, heart slamming against my ribs. I angle my body, trying to push past him, but his arm shoots out, bracing against the wall beside me. He brings his body close to mine, using his weight to hold me there.
“Move,” I say, louder this time.
He smirks. “You can play innocent all you want, Sophie, but you and I both know how this goes.”
My heart slams against my ribs. Panic spikes, sharp and cold. I push at his arm, but he plants it against the wall beside my head, trapping me in.
“Move,” I say, louder.
He leans closer, his voice dropping into something darker. “You can pretend all you want, Soph. I know what you liked. I remember exactly what I used to—”
“Stop,” I snap, panic and anger tangling in my throat. I shift my weight, ready to shove past him or yell for Ava if I have to. The hallway feels too narrow, too warm. My hands are shaking, but I set my jaw. I will not let him see me break.
Before I can act, a voice cuts through the hallway like a whip.
“Get the fuck away from her.”
Zach barely has time to turn before Beck’s on him. He grabs Zach by the collar and yanks him backward, slamming him against the opposite wall hard enough to make the pictures rattle.
Logan’s right behind him, face pissed, already stepping between me and Zach like a wall.
“What the fuck is your problem?” Logan snaps, his voice booming down the hall. “You think this is okay?”
Beck’s jaw is clenched tight, eyes cold. “You so much as look at her again, and I’ll fucking end you,” he says, low enough to make it sound dangerous.
Zach stumbles, trying to straighten his shirt, but Beck doesn’t move. He’s not yelling, he doesn’t need to. His presence alone fills the hallway, and the tone of his voice sends shivers down even my spine, and I’m not the target of the wrath behind them.
I press a trembling hand to my chest, forcing in a shaky breath. Everything inside me feels scrambled, fear still buzzing under my skin, adrenaline flooding every nerve. My vision tunnels a little, the world narrowed down to Beck standing between me and Zach like he’d always been there.
Logan shoots Zach a glare that could level a building. “You should leave before this gets worse. Beck won’t be the only one beating your ass.”
Zach glares at Beck one last time but backs down, muttering something under his breath as he disappears down the stairs, drunkenly swaying but sadly not falling down them.
The second he’s gone, the hallway seems to breathe again. I lean back against the wall, legs shaky. Beck turns toward me immediately, the fury on his face melting into concern.
“You okay?” he asks, voice softer now.
I nod, though my throat is tight. “Yeah,” I manage, but it’s barely a whisper.
Logan huffs, still tense. “That guy’s a fucking creep. Want me to get security or—?”
I shake my head quickly. “No. I just…I just want to get out of here for a minute.”
Beck steps closer, his hand brushing mine. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”
Logan lingers for a moment, scanning the hallway like he’s ready to chase Zach down again. Then he looks at Beck and me, reading the situation fast.
“I’ll make sure he actually leaves,” Logan says, jaw tight. “And I’ll let the guys at the door know not to let him back in.”
“Thanks,” Beck says, voice low.
Logan gives me a nod—equal parts you okay? and I’ve got this—then jogs down the stairs, disappearing into the noise below.
The moment he’s gone, the hallway feels quiet in a different way. My hands are still trembling, and I cross my arms over my chest, like maybe that will keep the adrenaline from leaking out. Beck steps closer, careful not to crowd me, but close enough that I can feel his presence steadying me.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asks softly.
I swallow hard, nodding once. “Yeah. I just—” My voice cracks. I suck in a shaky breath, blinking fast so my mascara doesn’t betray me. “I didn’t see him. I should’ve—”
“Hey.” His voice is firmer now, cutting through my spiral. “This isn’t on you. You hear me? Not one bit of it.”
I nod again, but my throat tightens. Beck reaches out slowly, giving me the chance to move away if I want. I don’t. His fingers find mine, a quiet, grounding touch.
He hesitates for a beat. “Soph…I think it might be time to talk to your parents about him. About how he really was toward you and the things he did.”
I flinch a little, looking away. The thought alone makes my stomach knot. “It wouldn’t matter. They love him. And it’s not like they’d believe he’d—”
“They’d believe you,” he says, gently but firmly. “Or they should. And if they don’t? That’s on them. Not you.”
I let out a shaky breath. “I’ll…think about it,” I say quietly.
Beck nods. He doesn’t push. He just squeezes my hand once.
I blink up at him, trying desperately to keep it together, but my eyes sting anyway. “I can’t cry. My makeup—”
He smiles softly, lifting his hand to brush a thumb just under my eye. “You’re still beautiful, even if it gets a little smudged.”
Something inside me unclenches. He says it so easily, like it’s the most obvious truth in the world.
“Come on,” he says. “Let’s find Ava.”