Chapter 12
The door to my room is closed and locked, but it doesn’t feel safe. It feels like a cage where I’m trapped with my own echoing words and the image of Raiden’s shattered expression.
I pace the small space, from the drafting table to the window and back again, my body thrumming with a restless, agonizing energy.
Hours have passed. The adrenaline has long since worn off, leaving behind the cold, heavy dregs of shame. A hot, crawling shame that feels unbearable.
I wrap my arms around myself, cringing as my own voice plays on a loop in my head. It’s time for a tearjerker, I hope you like it.
I actually said that.
I unloaded a decade of grief and loneliness on a guy in a dusty utility closet like it was some cheap, manipulative trick. I’ve never done that before.
I’ve never lost control like that, never let anyone see that broken, pathetic part of myself. But Raiden… he pushes and pushes until something gives, and this time, it was me. All of me. I practically burst into tears in front of him.
And beneath the shame, a cold thread of suspicion tries to pull tight.
My rational mind is screaming at me. Raiden knew the name of my painting, Winter’s Respite.
Hours later, that very painting, newly and expensively framed, shows up in the middle of a sabotage site.
Coincidence? It feels too neat, too specific.
His sudden, fierce protectiveness, his insistence that I stay away from the party.
Is it genuine concern, or is it part of some larger, incomprehensible game?
Is he the saboteur trying to keep me from my own party for some sick reason, or is he protecting me from someone else?
If he hadn’t spent the last six months messing with my mind, if he hadn’t just had me moaning and coming apart in his hand, I would have asked him. I would have demanded answers. But my brain is no longer a reliable narrator.
All the logic, all the negative thoughts and red flags, are being drowned out by the memory of his mouth on mine, by the raw desperation in his voice when he said my name.
And by the absolute devastation in his eyes when he saw my tears. Christ, can’t believe it’s real…
And that’s the most shameful part of all.
My primary emotion isn’t fear or anger. It’s a gut-wrenching anxiety over what he must think of me.
He came looking for me, he was jealous, he wanted me.
And in return, I gave him hysterics. I showed him the weakest, ugliest part of myself and then I pushed him away.
If his feelings were real, if any of this was sincere… what will he think of me now? Did I just confirm every bad assumption he might have had about the fragile, emotional art kid and destroyed the one incredible thing that was starting to happen between us?
He has to come tomorrow.
That’s the only way I’ll know. If he shows up for the final prep, after everything I said, then it’s real. He has to.
~ ~ ~
The next day passes in a fugue state. I can’t focus in class, can’t eat. Every time my phone buzzes, my heart leaps into my throat, hoping it’s him, only to be disappointed by a group chat notification or a spam email.
On my way back from my last lecture, I nearly walk straight into Professor Whitmore as she breezes out of her office, a whirlwind of floral perfume and organizational fervor.
“Artie! Just the man I wanted to see!” she chirps, her smile bright enough to power a small city. “I had the most wonderful chat with Raiden Blackwell this morning.”
My blood runs cold. “Oh?”
“Yes! He said he’s been an immense help to you this whole time, just working quietly in the background, a real team player. It’s wonderful to see our athletes so involved!” She beams at me, waiting for confirmation.
This is it. The moment I could tell the truth. I could say he was a saboteur who only showed up for two days before disappearing. I could expose him. But the thought of it, of betraying that fragile thing between us, feels like swallowing glass. My foolish heart makes the decision for me.
“He has,” I lie, the words feeling smooth on my tongue. “He’s been great. A real asset to the team.”
“Fantastic! I knew putting you two together was a brilliant idea!” she says, before clicking away down the hall.
I stand there for a long moment, the weight of my lie settling in my stomach. I just made myself an accomplice. I just placed a bet, all in, on him.
~ ~ ~
By nine o’clock that evening, I know I’ve lost the bet.
The common room is alive. The rink, miraculously, is frozen. The ice is a little rough around the edges, but it’s a smooth, gleaming sheet under the twinkle of the fairy lights.
Karolina, Josh, Cameron, and Stella are the first ones on it, gliding and stumbling and laughing, their breath pluming in the cold night air.
The speakers are playing cheesy Christmas music, volunteers are wiping down the last of the surfaces, and the smell of pine and cold air is thick with anticipation.
It looks… magical. It looks exactly like the picture I had in my head.
And my heart is a cold, dead stone in my chest.
Raiden isn’t here.
Every time the door has opened for the last two hours, my head has snapped up, my body flooded with a surge of hope so powerful it makes me dizzy.
And every time, it’s been someone else, and the hope has crashed, leaving me feeling hollower than before. He’s not coming. The argument in the utility closet wasn’t just a fight. It was the end. I showed him who I was, and he walked away.
“Artie, come on! Get your skates on!” Karolina calls, doing a wobbly spin near the boards where I’m standing. “The ice is perfect!”
I shake my head, forcing a smile that feels like it might crack my face. “No, you guys go ahead. I need to supervise.”
“Supervise what? Us falling on our asses?” Cameron yells as he nearly takes out Josh.
I watch them, my friends, their faces flushed with cold and happiness, and I feel a million miles away.
I had this whole scene planned out in my head. A stupid, romantic fantasy where Raiden would show up, I’d pull him aside, and I’d ask him to come to the party with me tomorrow. To spend Christmas with me.
The thought is so painful now it makes my eyes burn. I turn away from the rink, from the laughter and the lights, and face the dark, empty corner where the fire was. It feels more honest.
A hour later, I return and my friends skate over, their joyful energy dimming as they get closer and see my face properly.
“Hey,” Stella says gently, her red hair bright against the dark wood of the boards. “What’s wrong? You’ve been over here almost all night. You look like your dog just died.”
“I don’t have a dog,” I mutter.
“You know what I mean,” she says.
Karolina, Cameron, and Josh gather around, their expressions a mixture of concern and confusion.
They’re looking at me, really looking, and the dam I’ve built around myself for the last day, for the last year, for the last decade, just… breaks. I can’t hold it in anymore. I have to say it out loud, or the loneliness of it will eat me alive.
I take a deep breath, staring at the scuffed toe of my boot.
“I’m gay.”
The words hang in the cold air. The silence that follows isn’t awkward or shocked. It’s soft.
“Okay,” Karolina says finally, her voice gentle. “And?”
I look up at them, at their four worried faces. “And,” I swallow, the next part so much harder, so much more humiliating. “I think I have feelings for Raiden Blackwell.”
A collective, soft intake of breath. Cameron’s eyes widen. Stella just watches me, her expression unreadable.
“Artie…” Josh starts, pushing his glasses up his nose.
“But it doesn’t matter,” I rush to continue, needing to get it all out, needing to frame it as something I’ve already survived. “Because I think he was just playing with me. Using me for some kind of… game. He’s not here. He was supposed to be, but he’s not. So I guess I have my answer.”
My voice cracks on the last word, and I hate myself for it. I hate the weakness, the self-pity.
I square my shoulders, forcing myself to meet their eyes, to find some shred of dignity in this wreckage.
“But I’m not going to be a coward about it,” I say, the words gaining strength as I speak them. “I’m not going to hide who I am because some asshole hockey player decided to mess with my head. So. Yeah. I’m gay. And that’s just… how it is now.”